That is All I Ask For: Chapter 10: Trademarks in Ash
The pit was unusually quiet after
the race, as if the very concrete under their feet was holding its breath. The
team lingered near the cars, catching their breath, sipping water, talking in
hushed tones.
Micah stood off to the side, his
eyes fixed on the track entrance. He felt it before he saw it—the way the air
shifted, the way his gut twisted like a rope yanked too tight.
Then came the roar. Sleek,
predatory, and unfamiliar.
A matte black vehicle tore into
the lot, stopped with surgical precision, and from it stepped Vex.
The air felt colder. Even Daniel
stopped mid-conversation, staring with a mix of awe and confusion.
Vex pulled off his helmet and
flashed a slow, deliberate smile. "Still keeping the seat warm,
Micah?"
Micah didn't answer. He didn't
move. His knuckles were white where they gripped his gloves.
Dante approached cautiously.
"That's him?" He asked, quiet.
Micah nodded once.
"I thought you said he
disappeared." Daniel murmured.
"He always comes back."
Micah said flatly. "That's the problem."
Vex walked straight to Dante and
offered a gloved hand. "Heard a lot about you. From Micah. He made you
sound like a god. Can't wait to see it for myself."
Dante took the handshake, brows
furrowed. "You're racing?"
"Solo entry. Got approval
this morning." Vex's eyes flicked back to Micah. "Thought I'd make
things... interesting."
Micah stepped forward. "He
doesn't belong here."
Dante glanced between them,
unsure. "Micah, we already talked about this. You warned me. But if he's
allowed to race, we can't stop him."
"You can choose not to let
him in the team."
"He's not in the team."
Daniel added, but there was something in his tone—something almost hopeful.
"Not yet."
The days didn't break apart so
much as bleed into each other.
Vex became a constant
presence—shadowing Dante during meetings, running simulations with Daniel,
cracking inside jokes with the engineers. What began as polite tolerance turned
into reluctant camaraderie... and eventually something worse.
Comfort.
And Micah? He stopped being seen.
He'd walk into the garage and
conversations would stutter, then resume without him. His suggestions were met
with vague nods. His corrections dismissed.
One night, he stood at the edge
of the paddock, helmet in hand, watching Dante and Vex laughing over telemetry
readings. Their heads bent close together, silhouettes thrown against the track
wall like ghosts of something Micah used to be part of.
He turned away before anyone
could see the flicker in his eyes.
Meredith noticed. But even she
couldn't reach him. Not when his silences were longer than his words. Not when
his gaze drifted past her as if she, too, was already gone.
It wasn't a decision. Not at
first.
Just a slow erosion of
connection—thread by thread, until there was nothing left to hold onto.
So one morning, before the sun
had even reached the sky, Micah packed up his gear, left his ID card on the
table, and walked away from the only team he'd ever let himself love.
The garage door creaked open at
6:45 AM. Meredith walked in with her tablet in hand and found the far corner of
the space... empty.
Micah's gear was gone.
No message. No call. Just
silence.
That afternoon, Meredith stormed
into the team tent where Daniel, Dante, and Vex were poring over lap data.
"You all disgust me."
She snapped.
Dante looked up, confused.
"Mer—?"
"You let him leave."
She said, voice cracking. "After everything he's done for this team, for
you—he's the reason we have this garage, this equipment, this shot at a
tournament. And you tossed him aside like he was nothing."
Daniel frowned. "He chose to
go."
"No, he was pushed to
go." Meredith turned to Dante. "You especially. He cared about you
more than he ever let on. And when he finally asked for trust, you threw him to
the wolves."
Dante's face crumpled slightly,
but he said nothing.
Vex stood in the back, arms
folded, watching. Not smug. Not sorry. Just watching.
The final practice session before
the tournament was scheduled for dawn. The team gathered on the track by six,
cars lined up under the soft orange bleed of morning. Everyone was there—except
Dante and Daniel.
"Where the hell are
they?" Meredith muttered, glancing at her comms. No messages. No pings.
Radio silence.
At first, it didn't seem odd.
Maybe they'd gone to check tire compounds or test telemetry from the control
tent. Maybe they were just late.
Then five minutes passed. Ten.
"Still nothing." One of
the crew members said. "Their trackers are off."
Meredith's gut sank.
Vex stood off to the side, arms
crossed, calm as ever. "Probably overslept." He said smoothly.
"They've been pushing hard lately."
"They're not answering
calls." Another engineer said. "Neither of them."
Meredith turned to Vex. "You
were the last person seen talking to Dante last night."
Vex gave a short laugh. "I
talk to everyone."
But his eyes didn't match his
tone.
Meredith's mind spun through
possibilities—road accident? Unlikely. They had to check in at security gates.
Did they leave the premises? Not without clearance.
Then her phone buzzed. A private
message.
No name. Just one line.
"He should've stayed gone.
Now you'll see why he ran."
Her blood turned cold.
She ran from the paddock, breath
short. She didn't even know who she was dialing until the call connected.
A familiar voice answered,
clipped, wary.
"Micah."
Micah was sitting in a dusty
garage outside the city, trying to fix a faulty belt tensioner on a vintage car
no one else bothered to restore. His phone buzzed once—he almost didn't answer.
When he saw Meredith's name, he
picked up without hesitation.
"Where are you?" She
snapped.
"Now's not a good—"
"Dante and Daniel are
gone."
Silence.
"I think it's Vex." She
continued, voice tight. "He left no trace, but I just got a message.
Micah, it sounds like him. You said he'd do this."
Micah was already grabbing his
keys.
"Send me everything.
Now."
He hadn't driven like this in
years.
Not since the last time he hunted
Vex down—back when they were still friends, still dumb enough to think
adrenaline and love could coexist.
Micah tore through old streets,
taking shortcuts only he knew, scanning the fringes of the track map, thinking
like Vex. Where would he take them?
Not to kill them. Not yet.
No, this was Vex's game: control,
spectacle, humiliation.
And Micah knew exactly where it
would play out.
The abandoned circuit. The one
closed after their last race together. The place that still smelled like
regret.
Micah moved like instinct, not
memory.
The road to the abandoned circuit
stretched in shades of gray and blood. Trees flashed by in a blur, headlights
carving tunnels in the mist. Every turn was a calculation. Every moment a
silent scream.
They're gone because I left.
Because I gave up. Because I couldn't bear the weight of being misunderstood
one more time.
He reached the circuit just
before dawn.
The track still bore the scars of
the past—the place where he and Vex first stopped being friends and started
becoming enemies.
And in the control room, tied to
rusting chairs, were Dante and Daniel.
Vex stood between them like a
puppet master admiring his handiwork.
"You took my place." He
said. "Now I take yours."
Micah didn't respond. He didn't
need to. The look in his eyes said everything.
What followed was brutal—two men
who once moved in harmony now locked in a violent duet. Vex's rage was
theatrical. Micah's was quiet and precise.
When he pinned Vex to the floor,
arm twisted at an impossible angle, the fight was over. Micah stood, blood on
his brow, chest heaving. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.
He turned to Dante and Daniel,
cutting them loose.
Daniel gasped.
"Micah..."
But Micah's eyes were on Dante.
Dante looked wrecked. Not just
physically. Emotionally. The way his gaze trembled, searching for
something—redemption, maybe—shattered the silence.
"I didn't believe you."
He whispered. "I thought... I thought you just wanted me to stay away from
him. I didn't see what he was doing."
Micah swallowed hard.
There were a thousand words
crashing in his chest. All the things he could say:
"I missed you."
"You hurt me."
"I would've stayed if you'd just listened."
But none of them made it past his
lips.
Because if he let them out, he
wouldn't be able to walk away. And walking away was the only way he could
survive this with even a sliver of himself still intact.
"I'm glad you're safe."
Micah said finally, voice like smoke. "That's all I wanted."
He turned away, boots echoing
against the concrete. He felt every step like a blade.
Behind him, Dante called
out—"Micah, wait—please, don't go. Please."
Micah stopped.
He didn't turn around.
He wanted to. God, he wanted to.
To look back. To run into Dante's arms. To believe that things could be fixed.
But the memory of being
doubted... of being left behind in silence... of watching the person he trusted
most laugh with the one who destroyed him—those wounds hadn't healed.
And he couldn't let them open
wider.
His voice trembled when he said,
almost too softly:
"If I turn around, I won't
be able to leave."
Then he walked into the
lightening sky, alone.
The next morning, the paddock was
buzzing.
News of Vex's arrest spread like
wildfire. Whispers, rumors, shock.
But Micah's name wasn't
mentioned.
His car sat untouched in the
corner. His locker still closed. His chair still empty.
Comments
Post a Comment