Jackson Storm, not Ray's family
An hour or so later, Gale finds him parked beside his trailer, waiting to get gone.
"Why didn't you stay?" she asks.
Storm hates it when she asks things she already knows the answer to. She's always waiting to see if one day, he'll tell the truth.
"It was boring," Storm replies, which isn't untrue. If something's boring, you don't want to hear about it. Storm doesn't want to hear any more of those good 'ol time stories. He's never felt so deficient in his life.
That's a lie.
He's always known.
"Couldn't stand any more of those stupid fishing stories," he says. Not when he will never be a participant in one. Ray's the closest friend he's ever had and Storm still cannot physically imagine ever existing with such ease. Just doing something with someone like that. Ray'd talked about that one barbecue place a thousand times, probably, but that first night with Gale was the first time Storm had ever set eyes on it. They'd gone to a fish store. Once Ray'd brought him plate lunch all the way from the Fashion District because Storm hadn't wanted to go. Eaten with him in the training center because that was the only place Storm wanted to be - and even then, Storm hadn't touched his plate because he doesn't like food. Doesn't really see the point.
It's his fault, isn't it.
"I don't like fish," he says.
"They're mourning, too," Gale reminds him. "If you wanted, you could share something with them. Something they never knew about Ray, too - "
"Stop. I hate you," says Storm, because it's the first thing that comes to mind. Gale's making it seem like he's jealous. Like he needs to feel like his memories of Ray are the most special, the most privileged. He was the closest. Ray meant the most to him. She's making it sound like he needs to be the best here.
Storm hates her because she's right. She's so right she didn't even need to think about it; because he's that simple. It makes him feel naked and embarrassed and also, she's right.
"I needed him," Storm states. The back of his throat aches. He'd needed him the most.
He doesn't care if Ray'd had sisters or parents or good ol' boys or best freaking friends Storm's never met before. Not when it sounds like they have - each other. Or their memories. Or whatever. Not when they have Ray in a way Storm will never have. Because he was late to the game, or wasn't good enough at it. Because he'll never understand how to be that close to someone. Because now he'll never get that shot. All because Ray up and died.
All because Storm is that exquisitely useless.
It's all his fault.
"Jackson," says Gale, and that's it. Just his name. She's right in front of him and he doesn't know when she got there. But for once, he doesn't back away. He pulses closer, until their bumpers are just touching. She plants a light kiss on the edge of his hood and he watches the condensation of his breath on her lacquered blackness, in and out, in and out.
"Jackson," she says again.
He is empty.
And he is alone.
If Storm doesn't race tomorrow, someone else will wear the 20. There's no dearth of other racers. But then Storm won't have anything at all.
"There's a fish at IGNTR HQ," Storm tells Gale. "I want to go see it."
Gale reminds him they're at the Vermont track right now. And Vermont is nowhere near Los Angeles.
"I don't want to do this anymore."
And Gale says, it's okay if he feels that way. No one is going to make him. He just has to say the word. It's meant as a kindness - at least, that's how Gale means it; Storm doesn't know and doesn't care how IGNTR means it - but it feels like nothing at all. It's freefall.
IGNTR wants him to sign 300 autographs for a Ray Reverham charity auction. By tomorrow morning would be best.
Everything feels like one long scream.