Chapter 87

Chapter 87
Blaze

“We all started racing and training together to help Blaze.”

That’s what Alexi tells some random dude last night when we stopped at the gas station for energy drinks. I was halfway in my own head, helmet still on, but I caught that line. And weirdly, it stuck. Not because she said it out loud like we’re in some after-school special. But because it hit me. That it’s not just about getting back into racing. It’s about having people who give a shit. Who aren’t here to fuck me over or look at me like I’m broken merchandise.

It’s been a week since the news dropped. Carlo and his porcelain Barbie. And yeah, I thought it’d haunt me longer. Thought it’d live under my skin for a while like all his other bullshit. But then Route 419 happened. The second Alexi said the name, something in my brain clicked. Like an old fuse reconnected and suddenly I could breathe again. That circuit was mine. Before everything fell apart. Before the crash, the limp, the ghost of who I used to be.

So now we train.

Every night.

Sharp turns. No streetlights. Twists that could kill you if you blink wrong. But I fucking love it. The danger, the speed, the way the world fades when the engine roars beneath me. It’s the only place I don’t think about Carlo or what he turned me into. On that road, I’m just Blaze. No pity. No cameras. No past.

Just the ride.

“Shift lower before that curve, dumbass!”

Alexi’s voice blasts through my earpiece, and I grunt as I lean harder into the turn. Gravel flies. My tires slide just enough to make my pulse spike. The thrill shoots through me like fire. I push harder, grip tighter.

We’re in the industrial outskirts tonight—bare, dark roads with empty warehouses and broken fences. The kind of place no one gives a shit about. Perfect for crashing without witnesses.

I pull to a stop a few minutes later, sweat dripping even in the cold. My hands ache. My leg is throbbing a bit, but I’m used to that. Alexi pulls up next to me, flips up her visor.

“Better,” she says, breathing heavily. “Still sloppy as hell, but better.”

I laugh, shaking out my fingers. “That’s just my signature style.”

She snorts. “Signature crash, maybe.”

Felix rolls up next, calm as always. The guy rides like he’s making love to the road. Smooth, precise. Annoying.

“That last turn almost ate you alive,” he says.

“Yeah, thanks for the reminder.”

He grins but doesn’t push. Felix never lectures. He just observes. Point out the shit you already know but don’t want to say out loud. I like that about him. No drama. Just the truth.

We park at the old shipping dock, leaning our bikes against a rusted container. The air smells like oil and metal. My gloves are off, fingers cracked from the cold. Alexi tosses me a bottle of water. I chug half of it before sitting on the edge of the platform, staring out at the nothing.

Felix lights a cigarette. Offer it to me. I take it without thinking.

Alexi kicks off her boots and lays back like she owns the damn world. “You good?”

I shrug. “Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“I said yeah.”

She doesn’t press, which I appreciate. But she watches me for a beat, like she’s waiting for me to break or spill or snap.

I don’t.

Because there’s nothing to say.

Or maybe… too much.

I flick the ash off the side and watch the ember fade in the dark.

I don’t dream about him anymore. That’s the weird part. The first few nights, I’d jolt awake like I could still hear his voice in my ear, telling me to stop fucking everything up. Telling me I wasn’t enough. That I’d always be second place unless I obeyed his rules.

But lately, there’s silence. It’s… unsettling.

Like I buried something too deep and now I can’t feel it at all.

I glance at Alexi. She’s humming some stupid song under her breath, arms crossed behind her head. Her helmet’s still beside her, covered in stickers and chipped paint. She’s been riding since she was fifteen. Maybe earlier. No fear. No bullshit. She’s the only one who ever beat me fair in a street race and then bought me a drink like it was no big deal.

I never liked people much. Still don’t. But Alexi? She’s the kind you keep around. Even if she drives you nuts.

“You think I’ll win it?” I ask.

She sits up, blinking. “What?”

“Route 419.”

She studies me for a second, eyes narrowing. “You want the truth or the pep talk?”

“Truth.”

“If you keep riding like you did tonight? No.”

I smirk. “Well, fuck you too.”

She grins. “But if you get your head outta your ass and stop hesitating at the curve points? You’ll leave them in the dust.”

Felix exhales smoke. “You just need to trust the road again. That’s all.”

Trust.

That word again.

I trusted Carlo.

Look how that shit turned out.

I look down at my gloved hands. The leather’s wearing thin at the knuckles. My palm still goes numb sometimes. But I grip the throttle like it’s the only thing tethering me to reality.

“I forgot about him,” I admit suddenly.

Alexi raises an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Carlo.”

I pause. “It hit me just now. Like… I haven’t thought about him in days. Not really. Not in that pit-in-your-gut kind of way.”

Felix flicks the ash off his cigarette. “That’s called healing, bro.”

“No,” I say. “That’s called finally being too fucking busy to hurt.”

Alexi makes a sound like agreement. “Racing’s like that. Eats the pain alive if you let it.”

I lean back against the metal, eyes closed for a second. My body’s sore, tired. But it’s a good kind of ache. Earned. Alive.

I wonder if Carlo knows I’m racing again. If he’s heard. If some asshole in his snobby circle told him Blaze Ashford is back on the circuit. The broken loser he left behind? Out here prepping for the same fucking track that made him a legend?

I hope he sees my name on that list and chokes on his fake champagne.

No cameras. No suits. No engagement rings or PR spin.

Just me. The road. And the storm building in my chest.

“I want this,” I say, more to myself than anyone.

Alexi hears it anyway. “Then take it.”

Simple as that.

We ride another hour before calling it. Alexi races me on the straight path back to the city, and I lose. Barely. But she knows I let her win. She flips me off with a grin and disappears into the night.

I stop outside my place. Pull my helmet off. My face is cold, jaw tight. But my mind’s clear.

Inside, I shower with the water way too hot. My leg throbs the whole time. The scar’s still ugly, still raised and pink and jagged. But I don’t cover it anymore. Don’t give a shit who sees it.

It’s mine.

Everything that came with it? Mine too.

I dry off, sit on the floor by the window, towel around my waist. My phone buzzes, but I don’t look.

Probably Felix. Or some race update.

I light another smoke. The window’s cracked. The city hums in the distance. Quiet, but alive. Like a beast sleeping with one eye open.

I’m not thinking about Carlo anymore.

Not his face. Not his betrayal. Not the nights I spent wanting him to take it all back.

Fuck him.

I’m done carrying that weight.

I got sharper turns to survive. Real ones.

The kind that doesn’t come with apologies.