Shifting Gears: The Complete Series (Sports Bad Boy Romance) Read online

  “Here we go,” I tell her and I stomp on the gas.

  There’s a patrol car just pulling into the station, but as I’m switching into third and coming up on triple-digit speed, I can see him flipping around in the lot. His lights go on and so it begins.

  I’m almost tempted to slow down a little and make the race a little bit closer, but that officer has something I don’t have: a radio.

  It doesn’t take a mile before we’re passing cops at cross streets as they join the chase. It takes another mile before we run into our first real hurdle: a road block.

  Kate’s screaming as I drive onto the shoulder and around the two patrol cars, still doing at least seventy-five.

  We’re back on the road proper, and I’m looking for the nearest place to hide out.

  “You don’t want to just run too long,” I tell her. “We’ve got a nice straight here, but cop cars are souped-up enough they’ll be able to keep with you for at least a few miles. A lot can happen in a few miles.” I slam on the brakes, drifting into a sharp, right turn, the Chevelle pitching hard in my direction.

  “What do we do?” she asks. I think the fear is finally starting to grip her. That’s good. If she can’t get used to the fear, she can’t overcome it.

  Or maybe she’ll decide it’s all too big a risk and she’ll rethink wanting to be a part of it directly. Of course, it’s also possible that she could get so scared she won’t want to even be around me anymore, but there’s no time to think of that now. If I pull over, there’s a good chance she gets arrested, and an absolute certainty that I would.

  The road takes us through what racers have taken to calling Ghost Town: the old industrial portion of the city, now abandoned after the collapse in ’08. The bad news is that the cops around here know very well about Ghost Town, but on the bright side, for now at least, I still know it better than they do.

  Going about eighty, I drift to the shoulder of the road and continue on that trajectory right through the open fence in front of one of the warehouses in the area. The cops are far enough back they won’t know exactly where I am, but they would have seen me pull off, so I can’t stop here.

  There are strategic gaps in the fences around Ghost Town, but even having lost more cops here than most people get pulled over by in a lifetime, they’ve started to catch on. That first gap got me in here, but the next gap has been closed by a new section of fence.

  “Hold onto something,” I tell Kate and flip around, facing the opening I came through. The police already have it blocked off.

  “Oh my God,” Kate says. “We’re going to get-”

  I hit the gas and we’re off, driving first toward the parked police cars, but as the warehouse nears, I go hard left, putting the building between me and the cops. “What’s your favorite color?” I ask.

  “What?!” she screeches. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Better hurry,” I tell her. “They’re going to be around that building in less than ten seconds.”

  “Violet,” she says. “My favorite color is violet!”

  “All right,” I groan. “Violet it is.”

  She’s sweating and now she’s yelling, “Wait, why are you-”

  She’s cut off as I hit the gas again.

  “What do you do when there’s no hole in a fence?” I ask.

  “You’re going to ruin your car,” she shouts.

  “That’s right,” I tell her, “you make one.”

  There’s not a lot of space between the back of the building and the closed gate between this factory lot and the next one, but it’s more than enough to break through the padlock and the chain.

  The front of the car jerks left with the impact, but I manage to keep it from spinning out. I’m looking along the fence line of the new lot, hoping they haven’t sealed everything across Ghost Town, but it looks like they have.

  I have only one way out, and it’s through the front gate of this factory’s lot. The last one probably still has cops blocking it.

  This drive is going to cost me a lot more than a near-miss and a few gallons in gas if I have to keep ramming things to get out of here. On the outside, though, I try to appear calm, fearless.

  Make no mistake, though, I’m petrified.

  This gate is just a single bar, but it’s a lot heavier than that fence I went through, and it’s going to take a little creativity to get out of here without ending up with it coming through the windshield.

  At the last possible moment, I jerk the wheel to the right and clip the bar with the left part of my front bumper, scraping off both a lot of paint and my driver’s side mirror. I like to think I could have made the gap without hitting anything at all, but I’d rather get a little on my side than risk Kate getting hurt.

  “Now,” I tell her, as I come onto the road on the other side of the gate, trying to keep the car steady, “we’re in a bit of a mess here, but we can’t go back until we’ve lost them.”

  Kate’s not responding. I should probably wrap this up now.

  I hit the nitrous and the tires screech beneath us as the speedometer all but falls to the right. Before I knew they’d started patching up Ghost Town, I had planned for this to be a much longer run. Now, though, I don’t know what’s open and what they’ve sealed. I just want to be done with this before people start pulling guns.

  Today’s been a hell of a day.

  We’re in the middle of Ghost Town, among the taller, closer-together buildings. None of the buildings on the next few blocks have entrances I could fit this thing through, but I haven’t given up hope.

  “There!” Kate shouts and points toward a fence on the left side of the street.

  The gap is still there.

  Without a word, I drive over the curb, just barely hanging onto control as we reach the gravel of the old, empty parking lot. There’s nowhere here to hide, but it looks like they haven’t patched the fences here, so I keep my foot on the accelerator and charge the next gap.

  I can’t hear the sirens, but that doesn’t mean the cops aren’t close.

  “What about there?” Kate asks, pointing to a ramshackle warehouse.

  “The problem with that thing is that it’s an echo chamber,” I tell her. At one time or another, I’ve used pretty much every building that will fit a car. This one almost got me busted once when I thought the coast was clear a little too early.

  “So, you go around back so we’re out of sight, turn the car off, and we push it in—or is there not a rear entrance to the building?” she asks.

  I answer by hitting the gas.

  We go through a gap in one fence and out another before reaching the warehouse. I put the car in neutral and coast around the back before pumping the brakes, bringing us to a stop behind the building.

  There’s not a door, but part of one wall is collapsed. It should just be wide enough to fit the car.

  I turn off the engine, and I’m out of the car a second later. I’m waiting for Kate to join me, but she’s having some more trouble with her harness.

  There’s no time, so I gesture the motion of steering a car and she nods. The car’s in neutral, so I’m not all that worried about it being able to roll. There’s a bit of a lip going into the warehouse, though, and I’m not sure I can push this car’s heavy ass over it.

  The sound of sirens in the distance convinces me to give it a shot.

  I manage to push the car as far as the lip, and then I have to rock it. I can’t see around the side of the building to tell if the cops are coming this way or not, but the sirens are getting closer. It’s a bad sign.

  I rock the car back and forth a few more times before one of the back tires makes it up the lip and then comes back off of it again.

  “Come on!” Kate’s muffled voice calls. She’s fumbling with her harness now instead of the steering wheel, but it’s lined up enough that’s not going to be a huge issue. I’ve already got to give the thing a new paint job after those two gates, anyway.

  I let t
he Chevelle come forward a little bit farther than I have been and use the small amount of extra space to get a better start at it.

  The sirens are almost on top of us when I get the back wheels over the lip, and I use the distance of the wheel base to get up enough speed for the front. I don’t stop pushing until the car is well out of sight.

  We’re in a long, wide hallway that branches off into different sections of the warehouse. As long as the cops don’t notice the fresh tire tracks, we should be all right.

  “Could you help me get this thing off?” she asks in a quiet voice. She’s still tugging at her harness.

  “I can,” I tell her, “but I don’t think there’s a way for me to do it without touching your…you know, without the back of my hands pressing against your…”

  “Cop a feel if you need to. Just get this thing off of me.”

  I lean over and turn to face her as best I can. The harness is tight enough she can’t really turn to give me a better angle. Fortunately, I’m able to unfasten the harness before I’ve stolen too many bases.

  What I don’t expect, is Kate removing the now loose straps of the harness, turning toward me, putting her hands on the sides of my head and putting her tongue in my mouth—not that I’m complaining.

  “Sorry,” she says, pulling away. “Had a bit of adrenaline there.”

  “Yeah,” I agree, “me, too.” I pull her back toward me, kissing her deeply on the lips.

  I’ve been racing a long time, which means I’ve been running from the cops for a long time, but this is a first.

  I hardly even notice when the sirens fade into the distance until Kate pulls away, saying, “All right, can we get out of here now?”

  Chapter Five

  Race Night

  Kate

  I’m just getting home from the hospital when I find my parents waiting for me in the living room.

  “Hey,” I greet. “What’s up?”

  “Do you see what I’m talking about?” Mom asks.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Honey,” Dad says, “your mother and I have been noticing some changes in your behavior recently, and we’re a little worried.”

  “What do you mean? I haven’t been acting any differently.”

  Mom sighs, but she lets Dad do the talking.

  “You’re usually so quiet,” Dad says. “From what I hear, though, you’ve been sneaking out of work.”

  “I haven’t been sneaking anywhere,” I tell him. It’s nearly the truth, too. “I talked to my boss once a few days ago to see if I could take off a little early because I wasn’t feeling so well, but-”

  “We think there’s a boy,” Dad says. “Are you seeing anyone?”

  I’m agog looking at my dad. How old do they think I am? I’m creeping up on twenty-one and they’re talking to me like I’m just starting to notice men.

  “I don’t see how that’s really any of your business,” I answer.

  Mom grits her teeth. Okay, maybe I am seeing a bit of a change in me.

  “We’re your parents,” Dad says. “You’re our daughter. We love you and we want what’s best for you, but we can’t do anything if you won’t tell us what’s going on with you.”

  “What is going on with me, Dad?” I ask. “I’ve been your perfect little girl my entire life, and you’re really going to go off on me for leaving work early one time?”

  Actually, it was twice that I left work early and I went out with Eli both times. I don’t think either of those facts will be of much help to me here, though.

  “Honey,” Dad says before hesitating.

  “Would it really be the end of the world if I started seeing someone?” I’m tempted to tell them simply out of spite for keeping me locked up, thinking I just wasn’t the “fun-loving type” for the last twenty years or so, but I think better of it.

  “So, you have started seeing someone,” Mom says. “Do you have any idea what it takes to become a doctor?”

  “I’d say I know that better than most,” I start.

  “Constant dedication,” Mom says. “Would you want someone digging around inside you if they were off with boys while they should have been studying?”

  “First off, I’m not interested in boys, I’m interested in men,” I counter. Both my parents’ faces go red, but I’m already in it, so I may as well keep going. “Second off, if I was seeing someone, I don’t think I’d tell you about it because I know how the two of you are. If it’s not about being a doctor, you’re not interested. You think you’re so much better than everyone else!”

  “Go to your room!” my dad growls, rising to his feet.

  “Honestly, how old do the two of you think I am?”

  “It doesn’t matter how young or old you are,” Dad says. “While you’re living under our roof, you’re going to be respectful and mind your mother and me. You’re grounded!”

  He doesn’t appreciate me laughing, but this is just absurd.

  “Whatever,” I say and walk out of the room.

  It’s been a while since I was sent upstairs to my room, but I’m not staying there. Tonight is way too important.

  Tonight, Eli’s taking me to my first race.

  I showered at the hospital before coming home, so all I really have to do now is get changed and get some makeup on and I’m ready to blow this place. By blow this place, of course, I mean sneak out for a few hours and then sneak back in, hoping neither of them decides to come upstairs to talk to me during the interim.

  This is what being a teenager must feel like to other people.

  I get changed, but when it’s time to start on the makeup, I get nervous. If my parents come in here right now, I’ll be fine. I wouldn’t have to explain to either of them why I would want to change out of my hospital clothes.

  If I start with the makeup, though, they’re going to know something’s out of place.

  “Screw it,” I say to myself and grab some foundation just as there’s a knock on my door.

  I set the small bottle on my vanity and walk to the door, but I don’t unlock it.

  “What do you want?” I ask.

  “Dinner’s ready, sweetheart,” Dad answers.

  I scoff. “I’m not hungry,” I tell him.

  “You’ve got to eat something.” There’s a lilt in his voice that wasn’t there when he was sitting next to Mom. Of my two parents, Dad would be the good cop.

  “Maybe I’ll order some pizza and see if they’ll deliver it to my window,” I counter.

  He lets out an uneasy chuckle. “Well, they might have a little trouble getting it up to you on the second floor.”

  “We’ve got a ladder,” I tell him.

  If I’d known I’d come home and turn into Rapunzel, I would have set it up beneath my window before I entered the front door.

  “I don’t like arguing with you,” he says. “And you’re right: you are still my perfect little girl. Your mother and I just worry about you. That’s all. There are a lot of things your generation has to deal with that we never had growing up.”

  “Like cellphones? If it makes you feel any better, I’ve never had one of those, either. I’m pretty sure things haven’t changed that much in the last fifty years.”

  God, I feel so pathetic right now.

  “You’re not like other girls,” he says. “You’re smarter, more determined. You’re more capable. Does it really strike you as odd that we’d want to go out of our way to protect you?”

  I don’t answer. I’m at my window, looking out for some way to get to the grass without breaking anything.

  Even though we’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks now, Eli’s still never been to my house. I think the reasoning there is fairly obvious.

  “Kate, come on,” Dad says through the door. “Talk to me.”

  “I have nothing else to say. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve had a long day and I’d like to try to get some sleep.”

  There’s a pause.

  “All right. Come down if you ne
ed anything.”

  Right.

  Now, to figure out a safe way to the ground…

  * * *

  Believe it or not, with the right kind of thread count, you actually can tie bedsheets together and use them as a rope.

  I find Eli at his shop, under the front of his Galaxie.

  “Did you get the transmission replaced?” I ask.

  There’s a loud clang and an even louder expletive before Eli rolls out from under the car.

  “Hey,” he says. “Yeah, I got the transmission switched out, but it’s leaking oil.”

  Mouth open, I breathe in through my teeth. “Yeah,” I say. “We’re not really going to be able to take mine.”

  “Oh, it’s not a big thing,” he says. “I’ve got a patch on it that should hold at least until we get back. Are you ready?”

  “Have you showered?”

  I’m not sure if it’s the oil or the sweat, but he’s a bit ripe.

  “Not yet,” he says. “There’s a shower in the back of the office from when the old owner used to live here. I was expecting you to be a little longer.”

  I check my watch. It looks like I am a bit early.

  “Sorry about that,” I tell him. “I just had to get out of the house, you know?”

  “Oh, it’s fine. I’ve been off for a while. I’ve just been trying to get this patched up while I was waiting for you. Do you mind waiting while I jump in the shower?”

  A more daring part of me than I’m used to nearly asks if I can join him, but my frontal lobe kicks in just in time to save me. “That’s fine,” I tell him. “Where should I wait?”

  “There’s a TV in the main office. If you want, you can set up in there. I shouldn’t be too long.”

  I follow him into the office proper, where he shows me to the waiting room before ducking into Maye’s office. She must be off tonight.

  It’s ten o’clock now, and we’re supposed to be at the meet-up spot in an hour.

  Apparently, the way it goes is something like this: everyone who’s racing or tagging along meets up at a gas station or a restaurant, there’s some argument over where to do the run, and, sometime before sunrise, everyone heads to the agreed-upon start point.