Page 14 of Trip (Sons of Hell MC #11)

Trip

Stepping out of the shower, I wrapped my towel around my waist and walked toward the kitchen, only to find her sitting on my sofa.

“How did you get in here?”

“The window,” she admitted. “We need to talk, Trip.”

“We can talk tomorrow at the track. Go home, C.C.,” I said, opening the fridge and snagging myself a cold, long-neck bottle of beer.

“I want to know what really happened that day at Talladega.”

Leaning against the counter, I popped the cap and chugged half the contents as my eyes scanned everything around me. I knew this talk was coming and I would have to explain everything to get her to trust me. I just didn’t think it would be this soon.

“You sure you’re ready to hear it?”

“I need to know, Trip. Ansel showed me the footage. What I don’t understand is why you walked away and why the circuit blamed you.”

Placing my bottle on the counter, I shook my head and seethed, “Fucking Ansel. Should have fucking known.”

Pushing off the counter, I looked around as the past haunted me. From the happy pictures of my parents to the cars that destroyed us. It was all there, from beginning to end, and there was not a damn thing I could do to stop it.

The circuit didn’t just take my future.

It took everything from me.

“I had just taken the checkered flag at Talladega...”

“That’s my boy!” my dad shouted as the crew celebrated my win and adrenaline surged through my veins.

The crowd’s roaring cheers reverberated in my chest like the engines still growling in the pits.

My dad clapped my back, grinning from ear to ear, pride radiating off him like heat from the asphalt.

For a moment, I allowed myself to bask in the glory.

It was everything I’d worked for—my dream, our dream.

“Dad, we need to talk.”

“Later.” He smiled happily. “Tonight we are celebrating!”

“Calvin!” I heard my mom shout and turned as she rushed over to me, throwing her arms around my neck. “You won!”

Hugging her tight, I smiled as my best friend Ansel ran over, damn near tackling the both of us.

“You did it, Trip!” Ansel shouted as I held my mom. “Congratulations, man!”

Releasing my mom, I motioned for Ansel to follow me. Away from the crowd, I said, “Ansel, something is wrong with the engine.”

“What are you talking about? The engine is perfect. It just made us millions.”

Shaking my head, I groaned and rubbed the back of my neck. “No, you’re not listening to me. On the last lap, I felt it. Something is wrong.”

“Bullshit,” Ansel clipped. “You designed that damn engine. It’s perfect, and today just proved it.”

“Ansel, listen to me,” I insisted. “Something is wrong with the damn engine!”

My best friend narrowed his eyes. “Don’t fucking do this to me, Calvin.

I’ve invested too much into that damn engine.

You said it was perfect. You said nothing was wrong with it.

Hell, even Crane signed off on it. And you know how damn picky he is.

I’ve got investors lined up to buy the prints.

If they sniff something wrong, they will back out of the deal, and we will lose everything. ”

“I just want to check. Let me take it apart.”

“No!” Ansel roared, getting in my face. “You may have designed that engine, but I own it. It’s mine. That engine is perfect just the way it is. Leave it the fuck alone.”

“If I’m right, Ansel, and it blows, it could kill someone.”

“It’s perfect!” my best friend shouted, walking away from me. “Leave it the fuck alone!”

Knowing I was right, I headed back into the crowd and found my dad hugging Mom as they celebrated my win. “Dad, we really need to talk.”

“About what?”

“Something’s wrong with the engine.”

“What are you talking about, Son?” he scoffed. “You just won your first checkered flag. The engine is perfect.”

Shaking my head, I grabbed his arm and pulled him off to the side. “No, Dad. I felt it on the last lap. The engine sounded off, almost as if it was overworked.”

His eyes narrowed, his smile fading as the weight of my words sank in. “Are you serious?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I could feel the gear slipping.

It’s a miracle I managed to keep it together and cross the finish line.

” I ran my hands through my hair, the adrenaline from the race now giving way to a nagging worry.

“We need to take a look at it before the next race. Can’t risk it giving out and causing an accident. ”

My mind raced with the implications.

I knew engines like the back of my hand, and something felt off about this one.

My dad, ever the pragmatist, cut through the celebration, his voice steady and firm. “Let’s get it back to the garage, then. No point in delaying the inevitable.”

I nodded, grateful for his no-nonsense approach.

We knew each other well; no grandstanding or false bravado was needed between us. My mom, my emotional anchor, placed a hand on my shoulder, her eyes shining with a mix of pride and concern. “We’ll get it sorted, Calvin. You did an incredible job out there today. Trust your instincts.”

Later that night, while everyone was celebrating, Dad and I headed for the garage.

“Are you sure about this, Son?” my dad asked as we walked inside. “Could have been anything. It was the last lap of the race.”

“I’m in that car every day, Dad. I’ve had my hands in the engine. Trust me. Something wasn’t right.”

Flipping on the lights, we both stopped and looked at the car.

Its sleek frame gleamed under the harsh fluorescent light, the scars of the day’s race evident in the grime streaked along its sides.

The smell of burned rubber and oil still clung to it, a testament to the battle it had just endured.

I approached cautiously, my eyes scanning for any outward sign of damage.

Its glossy paint reflected the overhead lights, but to me, it was more than just a car—it was a puzzle waiting to be solved. I grabbed my toolbox and crouched by the hood, my fingers brushing over its warm surface. Without a word, Dad joined me, his expression unreadable but his presence steady.

We worked in silence for a while, the only sounds being the clink of tools and the faint hum of the cooling engine.

It didn’t take long to find the source of my unease.

A gritty substance, almost like granules of sand in the oil.

Holding my fingers up to the light, I rubbed my thumb and index fingers together, feeling the coarse grit that had almost cost me everything.

“Feels like sand,” I muttered as my dad dipped his finger in the oil.

He stood beside me, frowning as he looked at the engine.

His voice was low, tinged with both frustration and relief. “Residual debris from the race, maybe?”

I rolled the grit between my fingers, its edges sharp enough to make me wary. “Maybe, but I’ve never heard of anything like this before. Have you?” I asked, my voice was steadier now but laced with worry, even suspicion.

Dad’s eyes narrowed, his brows furrowing as he shook his head. “A first for me. I’m gonna go run the car around the track and kick out anything else that might be floating around. Tomorrow, we take this baby apart and clean her real good.”

I nodded, the determination in his words grounding me.

“Thought I’d find you two in here,” my mom murmured, walking in all smiles. “You know you both are missing a party, right?”

“Hey, sweetheart,” my dad said, walking over to her and kissing her forehead. “Feel like a moonlit ride around the track.”

“With you?” She smiled warmly up at him. “Always.”

I stood back and watched as Dad started the car.

The engine sounded great, as if nothing was wrong.

Looking over at my mom, he smiled, easing the car out of the garage.

Watching as Dad maneuvered the car onto the track, I grinned when he stuck his arm out and gave me a thumbs-up right before he gunned the engine.

The car roared to life as it streaked across the track under a blanket of stars, its headlights slicing through the night.

I stood at the edge of the pit, the wind carrying the faint scent of oil and rubber.

Mom and Dad looked like silhouettes against the glow of the headlights.

Their laughter carried over the hum of the engine.

As the car disappeared into the evening haze, its headlights casting long shadows on the track, I stood in a comfortable silence.

The rhythmic hum of the engine in the distance was like a heartbeat, steady and reassuring.

I lingered for a moment before the distant roar of the engine grew louder, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood.

I slowly turned, stepping out of the pit.

I could clearly hear the whine, followed by the revving of the engine as it worked too hard.

As the sound of the engine grew louder, my heart began to race.

I knew that sound—the distinct, high-pitched whine of an engine under strain.

My eyes widened as I realized the severity of the problem.

This was more than just a minor issue; it was a potential disaster waiting to happen.

I watched, transfixed, as the car sped towards the finish line, my parents still unaware of the impending danger.

The engine screamed in protest, and I could almost feel the strain on the gears, the metal protesting as it was pushed beyond its limits.

Then, suddenly, the unthinkable happened.

With a deafening crack, the engine blew. Shrapnel flew in every direction, and the car careened out of control.

I stood, frozen in horror, as the car spun to a stop. Silence descended, thick and heavy, and then the pit crew was running, shouting, a chaotic blur of motion.

I forced my legs to move, my heart pounding in my ears as I sprinted towards the car. My eyes frantically searched for my parents, and I caught sight of my dad turning to look at me right before the car blew in a fiery explosion.

My heart dropped as I watched the car come to a violent stop.

The once-cheerful night now felt eerie and haunting, the silence deafening.

I broke into a run, my eyes fixed on the car, my mind racing with fear and worry.

As I drew closer, I could see my parents still inside, my dad’s body slumped over the steering wheel, and my mom, unmoving.

Everyone must have heard the explosion, because men and women raced to get to the car.

My pit crew reached the car before me, their voices a blur of panic and urgency. I pushed through, desperate to get to my parents.

“We need to get them out of the car!” I shouted, my voice hoarse with fear as someone grabbed me from behind.

“They’re gone, kid!” I vaguely heard Mitch say as the fire crew tried to put out the fire.

My legs carried me forward, my breath coming in sharp gasps as I struggled to process what I was seeing.

The car, once a symbol of my triumph, now lay mangled and charred, the engine’s explosion leaving little chance of survival for its occupants.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off, my eyes remaining fixed on the car.

My mind, trained to assess and solve problems, searched for any sign of life, any movement that would indicate my parents were still with me.

But the silence was absolute. The pit crew worked efficiently, their faces grim as they, too, realized the gravity of the situation.

As I stood there, numb with shock, the reality of what had happened sank in.

My dad, my biggest supporter, and my mom, always there with her warm smile and encouraging words, were gone.

The car, which had been my passion and my pride, now seemed like a cruel irony.

It had taken away the very people who had cheered me on and shared my dreams. I felt a surge of anger and denial, wanting to scream at the unfairness of it all.

But my voice failed me, caught in my throat as the weight of my loss bore down.

The crew carefully extracted my parents from the wreckage, their movements respectful and somber.

I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. I owed it to them to bear witness, to acknowledge the sacrifice they had made.

As they were laid on stretchers, I fell to my knees, my body shaking with grief.

I felt a hand on my shoulder again, and this time, I welcomed the support.

It was Ansel, his face pale and drawn, his eyes reflecting the same anguish I felt.

“I told you to leave it alone, Calvin.”

Looking up at my best friend, I whispered, “What?”

“What happens next is on you,” he said cryptically before turning to walk off.

Jumping to my feet, I grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. “What the fuck does that mean? My parents are dead, asshole. I told you something was wrong with the engine, but you didn’t believe me!”

Ansel’s gaze darkened, his jaw tightening as he stood firm against my accusation. “You think I wanted this to happen? You pushed too hard, always chasing perfection, ignoring the risks, and now it’s cost you big time.”

His words struck me like a hammer, each syllable a blow to my fragile shield of anger.

I wanted to argue, to lash out at him, but the truth was, deep down, I knew he wasn’t entirely wrong.

My obsession had blinded me, made me reckless.

But admitting it now? It felt like a betrayal to the memory of my parents, to the dreams we had built together.

“Don’t you blame this shit on me. I told you something was wrong with the engine. My dad believed me. We found debris in the oil, Ansel,” I spat, my voice trembling. “I needed answers.”

Ansel took a step back, his expression a mix of frustration and pity. “Answers? You think answers will bring them back?”

I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. “Fuck you, Ansel.”

“There was an inquiry and investigation. In the end, the circuit called it an accident, but the damage was done. Ansel distanced himself from me, and I never sat behind the wheel again.”

“No one ever found out what caused the engine to blow?”

I shook my head. “Not that I’m aware of. But I know what I felt that night. I felt it again when Sarah and Banks looked in your engine.”

Sighing, C.C. leaned forward. “I don’t know what to say here, Trip. Like you, racing is my life. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. I know something is off with the engine. I’m not stupid, and I’m willing to give you some leeway here, but I’m not giving up my dream.”

“I know.”