Page 2 of Drive Me Home (Drive Me #3)
TWO
LUCAS
If there’s one thing my mom excels at, it’s laying on guilt thicker than schmear on an everything bagel. The first time I missed curfew, the speech she gave me was so lengthy and fear-inducing that I was never again late coming back from a friend’s house. My brothers and I have dubbed it her “Oscar speech” because it’s been known to bring tears to a person’s eyes, though not in the same way.
I’ve already apologized twice for being hard to reach, but, ironically enough, she’s barely acknowledged that I’m on the phone. Knowing I just need to wait her out, I make myself comfortable on the couch in my suite. Lord knows how long this will take, and the last thing I want to do after dodging her calls for a week is cut her short.
“I have better things to do than chase after you like I’m an annoying telemarketer,” she huffs. I don’t have to see her to know she’s pacing the living room with one hand on her hip. “Is it so difficult to answer a call from your mother? Thirty-six hours of labor, and I talk to your voicemail more than I talk to you.”
“Mom— ”
“Oh, no, no, no. You don’t get to Mom me, Lucas Noah Adler. It’s been over a week since I last spoke to you. You barely even respond to texts.”
Maybe because her texts consist of phrases like “hi” and “miss you,” rather than anything of importance. Though I keep that to myself. But when she finally takes a breath, I gently remind her. “It’s the start of the season, Ma. Things have been ridiculously busy, but I’m sorry, okay? I’ll be better at keeping in touch.”
“ Humph .” Voice softening, she says, “I worry about you being so far away. I like hearing your voice. That way I know you’re okay.”
“I know,” I reply, my heart heavy at the truth in her words. I twist the silver ring on my middle finger. “Promise I’ll be better about answering.”
“Good,” she says. “Now that we’ve got that settled, have you looked into booking your flight home?”
I drop my head back with a thump against the back of the couch. This is why I’ve been avoiding her calls. “Yeah, I can probably make it in May or June.”
She makes an obnoxious buzzer noise. The sound is so loud I cringe and pull the phone away from my ear.
“Nope. Wrong answer,” she says. “You can make it. When was the last time you visited? Last summer?”
“You saw me in December.”
She and my dad stayed with me in Monaco. We spent the week sailing like we did on the summer waters of Cape Cod when I was a kid. As one of five boys, I don’t often get uninterrupted one-on-one time with my parents, but they make the effort, and I’ll never take that for granted.
“Don’t play coy with me,” she says, her tone suddenly haughty. I can picture her standing in the middle of the room now with her chin raised. “It’s time you came home for longer than a day or two. ”
My chest goes tight at the thought, and I rub at my sternum absentmindedly. “It’s not as easy as you think, Ma. I have commitments here, and with the season?—”
“I know, honey,” she says with a sigh. “But it would mean a lot to us, especially me , if you could make the time to come home every once in a while. The whole family’s driving to Montreal for the grand prix in May. What if you came back with us afterward? You could stay for the week. We all miss you.”
I lower my head, sighing in defeat. I’m not one to air my dirty laundry, so my mom doesn’t know why I’ve been avoiding Boston for the past few years. Taking a surprise trip back only to find my brother Jesse was dating my ex? The ex I was interested in getting back together with? Yeah, I’d say that’s a solid reason to avoid my hometown.
But she’s right. It’s been far too long since I’ve spent time with my family. The ones I want to see, at least. “All right,” I acquiesce. “I’ll see what my team can do.”
“That’s all I can ask,” she says, a pleased tone marking her words. “It’ll be nice to have all of my boys home again.”
My shoulders slump. Boston hasn’t felt like home for me in quite some time, but I don’t mention that.
“I won’t keep you any longer,” she continues. “Good luck today, little lion. We’ll be cheering you on.”
I try not to cringe at the embarrassing nickname. We all have them: Grayson the gentle giraffe, Lucas the little lion, Jesse the jokester jaguar, Ezra the elegant elephant (by far the worst of them), and Finn the ferocious fox. “Thanks, Ma. Love you.”
“Love you more.”
Once I’ve ended the call, I shoot off a text to Mitchell, my manager, and Natalie, my assistant, asking them to make travel plans. That way I won’t be tempted to back out.
Then, putting the conversation out of my mind, I change into my race suit, which is adorned with sponsor logos and hugs me like a well-worn glove. I only zip it up halfway, leaving the mandatory fireproof undershirt to cover my torso. With as scorching as it is outside, I aim to avoid overheating at all costs. My helmet coordinates with the suit, though it’s got a few light blue accents on the side as well as the American flag and my lucky number seventeen. One side is already marred with scratches, thanks to one of the practice sessions, but like the tattoos that wind up my arms and my thigh, each one tells a story.
As I step into the garage, I take a moment to absorb the atmosphere. Mechanics and engineers adjust my car’s settings, checking the tire pressure and fine-tuning every aspect of the sleek racing machine. The distant hum of engines rumbles through the air, welcoming me like a long-lost friend.
I exchange nods and brief greetings with familiar faces as I head toward Charlotte, who’s standing next to my race engineer. She’s curvy in all the right places, and her dark brown hair—a stark contrast to her fair skin and blue eyes—brushes past her shoulders. Her heart-shaped cheekbones are naturally pink as she listens to the engineer go on about something.
Objectively, it makes sense for her to spend the season with AlphaVite. Why shouldn’t she take the opportunity to travel the world while she figures out her next steps? But subjectively? That’s a whole different story.
Theo’s an easygoing guy, and not quick to anger like Blake is, but if he knew I had a thing for his little sister? He’d go full berserker mode. Thanks to my actual brother, I’m all too familiar with how breaking bro code can ruin a friendship. I’m not about to screw up my relationship with Theo just because his sister’s got a smile that can get me to say yes to anything, a laugh smoother than oak barrel–aged whiskey, and a body I’d like to map out with my tongue.
With a long exhale to shake off those thoughts, I approach and greet Charlotte by lightly tugging on the end of one of her curls.
She whirls around, a less-than-pleased frown on her lips. But when my identity registers, her lips tip up into a smile. “Oh. It’s you,” she says, giving me a small wave. “’Ello. You ready?”
“C’mon now.” I nudge her with my elbow. “I’m always ready for race day.”
“I figured as much, but it felt like the nice thing to ask.” She beams up at me, those blue eyes sparkling. “My fantasy team and I are rooting for you to kick some arse today, by the way.”
I let out a chuckle. “What’s your team name? Walker this Way?”
The mile-wide smile that blossoms across her face and showcases her dimples warms me from the inside out and makes me feel like I’ve won before the race has even started. “No, it’s Holy Walker-Moly, but that’s a good one. Honestly, the possibilities are endless. Walker on the Wild Side, Walker Flocka Flame, Walker-ness Monster. Oh! And Walker on Sunshine. That’s an oldie but a goodie.”
“Wow. My guess is lame in comparison to those choices.”
“Not any lamer than your Crocs,” she teases, lifting her brows and eyeing my feet, even though I’m not wearing my favored sandals.
“Hey, my Crocs are cool and comfortable.” I waggle my brows. “You can’t make fun of the guy who remembers your coffee order. Don’t you know that’s a rule?”
Her dimples wink. “Oh, is it, now? I talk a lot, so it’s nice to know someone’s listening.”
I’m sure as fuck not about to own up to remembering nearly everything Charlotte Walker’s said to me since well before I noticed her in that way. I know she enjoys her morning toast best when it’s a little burnt, she doesn’t like her toenail polish and fingernail polish to match, and she always chooses the purse when playing Monopoly.
Before I can come up with a clever response, a loud whistle, courtesy of our team principal, David Green, captures my attention. Several feet behind Charlotte, David is standing out on the pit lane in front of the garage with Theo by his side.
Ah. Time for his pre-race motivational speech, or as I’ve come to call it, his “Al Pacino in Any Given Sunday ” speech.
“Good luck out there,” Charlotte says, gently squeezing my bicep.
“You, too,” I say, then immediately cringe when I realize that sentiment doesn’t apply. Oy vey . “I mean enjoy… watching.”
What the fuck?
Charlotte tips her head back and laughs. “Holy Walker-Moly needs you to score some major points, so get it together, Adler.”
Spending all season in her proximity? Yeah. I definitely need to get it together.