A/N – Sorry it's been awhile since the last update! I was out of town for a week.
Arya is sitting on her bed when car lights shine through her curtains. Gendry. She stands up and glances at Nymeria. The large dog is snoring softly, so Arya decides to let her stay at home. Besides, Gendry would kill her if Arya brought Nymeria to the race. Nymeria is the opposite of discreet.
Arya grabs her purse and slips out of the motel room. There's a car idling in the parking lot, and Arya can see Gendry staring at her through his dark windows. The car is decent at best. It's a black Honda Civic that looks like it's at least five years old. Ancient as far as racing standards go. Arya opens the passenger door and slips inside. "Couldn't afford something nicer?" She asks.
Gendry glares at her. "Nothing like starting the night with an insult." He leans forward. "And why don't you try checking under the hood before opening your mouth? I like powerful cars, not flashy ones. A nice paint job won't win a race."
Arya bites her lip but keeps her mouth shut. It seems like whenever she insults Gendry, he just gives it right back to her. Most people are so offended by Arya's short temper that they ignore her and walk away, but Gendry always holds his ground. Arya doesn't know if she respects or hates him for it.
"There's going to be a big crowd tonight," Gendry says. He pulls the car into drive and maneuvers out of the motel parking lot. He drives with one hand steady on the wheel and the other resting on the edge of the open window. Arya's eyes sweep over his profile as he speaks. His blue eyes are calm, but his jaw is clenched tight. He's nervous, but he doesn't want me to know it. "I thought it'd be best to take you to a big race first. That way no one will be paying attention to you. We can just slip into the crowd and observe. It's best to stay under the radar tonight. Do you think you can manage that?"
"Maybe."
"Always honest, aren't you?"
"Maybe."
Gendry smirks but doesn't respond.
Arya wonders if Jon will be at the race tonight. Probably. Why wouldn't he be there? She would love to see him in a race. It's been too many years since she's seen him speeding down the road, other cars trailing far behind him. He used to race Robb down empty lanes late into the night. Arya and Sansa would sit at the finish line cheering their brothers on. Jon always won, but Robb didn't seem to mind.
The thought of seeing Jon makes Arya's stomach twist in anticipation. Should she go up to him? No. Of course not. But what if he sees her? Should she run away or would that just bring more attention? And what will Gendry say if he finds out Arya's brother is Jon Snow. The only reason Arya told Gendry her last name in the first place is because Jon uses 'Snow' as his racing name instead of Stark.
Gendry and Arya drive for half an hour in silence. The roads morph from busy highways to long, empty stretches of road. Night closes in around them as the lights of the city disappear. It's silent. Calm.
But then lights appear on the horizon, headlights piercing the darkness. Gendry's jaw stiffens as they approach. He removes his hand from the window so that he can clench both hands to the steering wheel. Arya leans towards him and whispers, "Are you all right?"
"Fine," he responds shortly.
"Well you don't look all right."
"I'm fine."
"Okay, but I'm just saying-"
"Arya. Just please stop talking." Gendry glances at her, flashing his dark blue eyes in her direction. His direct look stills the words in her throat. Calm the fuck down, Arya thinks, wondering what exactly has Gendry so tensed up.
As they drive further down the road, the pinpricks of light become larger and larger. Arya can't help but say, "wow," as they pull up to the gravel lot. There's a large man at the edge of the parking lot. He's holding a clipboard in his hands. Gendry nods at the man, and the man nods back and waves them through.
The lot has at least a hundred cars in it. Maybe two hundred. It's hard to tell with all the people walking around, sitting on hoods, and setting up chairs. Arya notices that almost all of the women are scantily clad, wearing small denim shorts and revealing cut-off tops. Arya looks down at her black skinny jeans and old, cotton tank, and she wonders if simply her wardrobe will make her stand out in the crowd.
Gendry notices her stares. "You wouldn't want to dress like that. Women dress like that to attract attention." He shoots a dark glare at Arya. "And it's usually not good attention." Arya suspects that Gendry meant the advice to be comforting, but it has the opposite effect.
"What time do the races usually start?" Arya asks as Gendry pulls into a vacant spot.
"Just after midnight." Gendry turns off the car. He takes a short breath and licks his lips. Arya's eyes are drawn to the soft-looking skin. She blushes when Gendry turns to her. "Come on," he says. "Let's walk down to the stretch. You're so short, you'll need a good spot if you want to see anything but the backs of heads."
They get out of the car and start walking with the crowd of people. Everyone looks at least a few years older than Arya, and she starts to stay unconsciously close to Gendry's side, liking the feeling of him towering over her as they walk. Ever since she was a young girl, Arya has taken care of herself. She prides herself on her independence. But something about Gendry's presence is extremely calming, especially in a crowd of strangers. She feels in control with him next to her. Which is stupid, she thinks, I've only known this guy for a couple of days. Who says I can trust him at all?
"This way," Gendry says, touching Arya's shoulder for just a second to guide her to the left. She bites his lip as his hand brushes against her bare skin. Very stupid.
The crowd thickens, and Arya has to separate some from Gendry as she weaves through the throngs of people. To her relief, no one pays attention to her. And why would they? She just looks like a scrawny little girl to them. She's a ghost, she's no one, until she gets behind the wheel of a car.
They make their way to the side of the street. Arya pokes her head between two men standing in front of her, and she can see cars idling far down the road. Gendry, standing behind her, whistles softly. "Man. Five at a time tonight. This won't end well."
Arya turns around. Since they're standing so close together, she has to crane her neck up to look Gendry in the eye. "What do you mean, five at a time?"
"Usually they only race three, maybe four on this road. It's pretty narrow. Hard to fit more than four cars side by side. I'd put money down on at least one crash tonight. Hell, probably more than one."
Arya has been in a lot of races, but she hasn't experienced many crashes. And the crashes were always caused by a blown engine or a ripped tire. Crashes never occurred because people decided to race on a road that was too skinny. "Well that's dumb, isn't it?" Arya says sharply.
"It's probably Joff's doing. He likes the danger."
"Joff?" The familiar name tastes like venom in Arya's mouth. "Joffrey Baratheon?"
Gendry raises an eyebrow. "How do you know him? I thought you were new here."
"I am." Gendry keeps staring at her. There's no way he's going to leave it at that, not if he's as stubborn as Arya herself. So finally Arya adds, "He's engaged to my sister." And then before Gendry has a chance to respond, she slips between the two people standing in front of her so that she's out of Gendry's reach and standing right on the road for the race. Gendry's tall enough. He won't lose me, she thinks. And it's best to not let him ask too many questions.
Joffrey Baratheon. The name turns bile in Arya's stomach. Joffrey is the son of Robert Baratheon, her father's old boss. A few years ago her father, vice president of Robert's company, was fired without reason. Her father suspected that Robert's wife had something to do with it, but with no evidence, he had to choose between quitting the company or dealing with a lawsuit. At the time, Sansa was interning for the company, and she was head over heels in love with Joffrey. The same day her father was fired, Joffrey asked Sansa to marry him. And Sansa said yes.
There's a reason Arya doesn't talk to her sister anymore. How could Sansa marry Joffrey knowing what his family did to her father? It doesn't make sense. It's horrible. Arya wishes her parents had dragged Sansa home the minute she put that ring on her finger, but instead they told her she was an adult and she could make her own choices.
The Baratheon's own a multi-billion dollar corporation involved luxury car production, and they heavily invest in NASCAR, but Joffrey enjoys betting on illegal races on the side. Not that Joffrey races himself. He's too pathetic for that. Instead, he pays someone to race for him.
Arya chews her lip, wondering for the first time if Sansa will be at the race tonight. It hadn't occurred to her. Sansa never like racing. She said it was stupid, dirty, and dangerous. Sure, she would watch Jon and Robb race, and she would laugh and cheer, but afterwards should would always say how boring and droll the whole sport was.
A loud buzzer blows, and suddenly Arya is pulled out of her thoughts. She focuses on the street before her. Five cars are racing quickly down the road, side by side with only an inch between each one. If one of them swerves, just a tiny bit, they'll all crash into each other. As the cars zoom by her with a burst of harsh wind, Arya thinks she recognizes Jon. Not that she had time to see his face, but she recognizes his driving style, hanging back just a bit, waiting to speed forward at the end and catch the others racers by surprise. She wonders how many races that tactic has won him over the years.
Arya used to try Jon's tactic, but it always made her too anxious. What if she didn't get the chance to cut in front of a car? What if she waited too long to speed up? Arya would rather start in the lead and end in the lead.
After the cars zoom past her, Arya steps out into the road. She watches them trail quickly down the street, smoke billowing down the road behind them. She keeps watching until they disappear into the horizon.
Arya weaves back between the crowd, back to Gendry's side. His dark eyes are trained on her, not the road. "You shouldn't run off like that," he says, his voice cut and low. "I can't protect you if you disappear."
"I didn't disappear. And I don't need you to protect me." Arya crosses her arms. "I've been perfectly safe."
"So far," Gendry says.
Arya rolls her eyes. "So where are they racing to?" Arya asks. Each circuit has a different layout for their race.
"They'll lap around Cross Boulevard before circling back the way they came. The finish line is the starting line." He glances down at his watch. "They'll be back in about five minutes, assuming they don't all crash before then."
"I want to get closer."
"We're close enough."
"No. I want to get closer to the finish line."
Gendry looks at her with that stubborn, bull headed glare. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"What's the point of taking me to a race if I can't actually see the race? Come on." She grabs Gendry's wrist and tries to tug him forward. He doesn't budge. She tugs harder. "Why are you so big?" Arya grunts, tugging harder. "Come on. I'm going with our without you."
"That's a shock." Gendry quickly scans the crowd before looking back down at Arya. "Fine, but if I say it's time to leave, we leave. All right?"
"All right." Arya agrees impatiently. At least she mostly won the argument.
They start to weave through the crowds. Arya is leading, and she quickly ducks between people, slides between tiny gaps.
"Slow down," Gendry says, his large bulk making it a lot harder to get past people. Arya ignores him, knowing he'll catch up eventually. She wants to see the finish of the race, and she isn't going to let some stubborn fool hold her up.
On the side of the road, there's a tent set up parallel to the finish line. When Arya sees it, she stops short, causing Gendry to crash into her. She almost falls the ground, but he grabs her by the shoulders, steadying her with warm, calloused hands. "Sorry," she mutters, face flushed.
"Why'd you stop?"
Arya swallows dryly. She's staring at the tent, where seated in the pavilion is a beautiful young woman with bright auburn hair. Joffrey is standing over her, a hand clutched tightly on her shoulder as he shouts at the empty road. "Hurry up then, you stupid fucking dog!" His screams pierce through the noisy crowd.
Gendry steps forward to stand next to Arya. "Is that your sister then? The red-headed one?"
"You mean the pretty one?" When Sansa and Arya were children, everyone would always fawn over Sansa's porcelain skin, over her wide, beautiful eyes. And then they would turn to Arya and say that sometimes it takes awhile to grow into your looks.
"I've met her before," Gendry says. "Not properly though."
"Yeah." Arya feels defensive for some reason. Sansa and Gendry are two very opposite things in her mind. She doesn't like the idea of them interacting. "I bet she didn't have much to say to a dumb mechanic." The insult comes out quickly, unthinkingly.
"No. She didn't."
Arya pauses, trying to think of something less rude to say. "So you know Joff then?"
"I've done a lot of work for his dog's car." Gendry looks down at Arya and smirks. "He pays me even more than you do."
"His dog?"
"His racer. It's just something people call him. He's feral and wild and mean. He races and Joff pays." Gendry shakes his head slowly. "He's a hell of contender to drive against. Doesn't give a shit if he gets hurt. Those are always the dangerous ones. If they don't care about themselves, than they sure as hell don't care about you."
"I'll keep that in mind." Arya's words are cut off as the roar of engines emerge from the silent night. She steps forward, minding to keep out of sight of the spectators in the tent. Gendry follows her lead, and they watch side by side as the cars race back down the road. There are only three in sight, and Arya is relieved to see that Jon's car is one of them.
"The other two must have crashed," Gendry says softly.
"Guess so."
It's a close race with Jon's car and a dark black model that Arya doesn't recognize tied for first. "That's Joff's guy. His car is custom built through and through. I did a lot of the engine work myself."
"I can't believe you work for them," Arya mutters.
"Why? What do you have against them? Not that I'm a big fan myself, but the money is good, and I take what I can get."
Arya ignores Gendry as the cars approach the finish line. She bites her lip. Even though Jon was so cold with her earlier in the week, she still hopes that he wins the race.
And he does. By just an inch. But he wins.
The crowd bursts into shouts, some angry, some happy. Some people are slipping quickly away and others are rushing towards the cars that just finished the race. Arya hesitates, considering going up to Jon and congratulating him. They'll meet on the street eventually, and she hates being separated from him again after so many years passing.
But the street is thick with people, and she decides against it.
Suddenly the crowd parts, and there's a wave a silence. Joffrey is striding towards the street as his driver emerges from his car. Arya can hear Joffrey's screams slicing through the air. "What the fuck kind of driving was that? I don't pay you to lose you stupid piece of-" Arya wonders how Joffrey gets away with yelling at a broad, scarred man that must be at least fifteen years older than him.
She steps forward, just a bit, so that she can hear better. From the corner of her eye, she spots Sansa. Her sister is sitting head down, hands clasped tightly. "We should go," Gendry says, placing a hand on Arya's shoulder. "It's not smart to hang around when Joffrey loses."
"Yeah. Okay," Arya responds. As she turns around, Sansa's eyes flash to hers, just for a second, but she knows there's recognition. Sansa furrows her brow, her eyes filled with confusion.
She starts to stand up, but Arya weaves through the crowds and disappears.
A/N – Follow me on twitter: LJSilverman
Thanks for reading and reviewing! Hopefully the next chapter will be out faster : )