I realise how obnoxious that was of me to post that last chapter and not follow it up with the next right away. I was fixing to post this chapter the day after, but it just didn't happen. Just a lot of personal issues going on right now. There's a lot happening that I managed to get myself tangled into, quite a charming mess. But I'll try to be better about posting. I don't have any more cliff hangers, not in this fic or the next.

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4: Rebound

The Dodge screeched to a halt beside the wreck. Driver's side door flew open, and DW rushed around the truck. His eyes locked on the once white Ford F150, at the steam that billowed from under the crushed-in hood, and at the headlights casting shadows upon the woods beyond. Jagged hunks of sheet metal wrapped around a coniferous tree, which was now a foot from the windshield. DW's jaw dropped.

"Kevin!" he cried out, his jog slipping into a sprint toward the truck. Within feet of the vehicle, he caught sight of a still silhouette. His face went pale.

DW reached out and ripped open the driver's side door. Inside the cabin, Harvick sat upright in his seat, the base of his skull against the headrest, eyes staring at the ceiling. His chest rose and fell like Morse code. Eyes shifted and made contact with DW's. Kevin smiled.

"You have no idea what, what kind of a rush that was!"

Closing his eyes, DW heaved a sigh. His eyelids fluttered open, and he glared at the other. "Harvick, what the hell were you doing out there?" He drew his hands to his waist.

Grinning, Kevin replied, "I was showing you how, how driving's done, done nowadays."

"You know you could have killed yourself? You gotta watch your speed in a drag race! We don't have nearly enough safety equipment out here!"

Kevin laughed. "I think that's what made it, made it such a rush."

Darrell wagged his head. Furrowing his brow, he asked, "Well, do you hurt any?"

Reaching for the clasp on his seatbelt, Harvick shook his head. "But I killed Ward's truck, didn't I," he stated, fumbling for the release.

"His wife's, actually," DW grimaced. He stepped back as Harvick jumped out. The two sauntered around the vehicle and each stood cross-armed, surveying the damage.

"Whoa, Nelly!" DW shook his head. "Boy, did you do that truck in!"

Harvick adjusted his Goodwrench cap, and refolded his arms. He nodded his response.

Pursing his lips, DW turned to the other. "Let's say we get out of here," he suggested, nudging his head toward the Dodge Ram. Darrell headed around the truck, and Kevin jumped into the passenger's side. The two buckled their seatbelts. Sighing, DW started up the ignition, and slid the car into first gear. He studied the clutch when he shifted, and the road ahead when he let off the brake. Glancing at Harvick, he caught the younger driver staring out the window. DW rounded turn four, and snickered while passing the flag pole.

Harvick swiveled his head in the other's direction. Furrowing his brow, he asked, "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing much," DW smirked, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "Just that I just won the race…"

Chuckling, Kevin wagged his head. "You don't seriously believe that, do you?"

"Well you sure as anything didn't win!" DW led the Ram out of the school parking lot. Jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, he added, "With that truck there, you weren't even in the position to finish!"

Heaving a breath through his nose, Harvick raised a hand in the air. "You didn't even give me the chance to try!"

"Who was stopping you? But do you really think that truck woulda made it another inch? Probably couldn't even back it out of the tree."

Kevin flopped the base of his skull into the headrest, puffing a sigh through his lips. He scratched the side of his face. "I was WAY ahead of you, old man. I was going to win, and you know that."

"Now wait a minute!" DW gapped, glaring at the other. "What if that had happened at Martinsville today? If you wreck your ride and can't finish a race, then you're out of the race! It's time to pack up and go home."

"That's the rules of NASCAR!" Kevin scoffed. "What we were doing was drag racing, and I was obviously the faster driver."

DW shook his head, his sights trained on the road.

Harvick sunk deeper into the passenger's seat. Crossing his arms, he stared out the window. The plush green leaves of the trees. Almost black in the night, ran together and streaked colour across the span of Harvick's vision. He yawned at it, his eyelids drooping.

Darrell glanced at the other and smirked. "Racing an old guy didn't get you all tuckered out, did it bud?"

"It's been a long day," Harvick murmured, sliding his head against the window. He rubbed his right eye and re-crossed his arms.

"Yeah, I hear ya," DW nodded. Sighing, he looked to Harvick. "Listen, Kevin. I'm real sorry to hear what NASCAR's done to you, buddy. I know it's eating at you, and that it affected your racing tonight."

Harvick released a heavy breath. Slipping an arm away from the other, he ran a finger along the door frame.

"It's a real shame they won't let you race tomorrow too."

"Yeah," Kevin breathed. He scratched his nose and turned to DW. "But at least Kenny gets a shot. You know, he deserves a Winston Cup ride."

Raising his eyebrows, DW nodded. "He sure does. Just not at your expense."

"NASCAR sucks," Harvick huffed, his sights drifting out the window. His face tensioned, a fist forming and rapping against the door frame. "Maybe I'm just imagining things, but it really seems they're out to get me."

DW grimaced. "Well, lately, I'd have to agree with you there, bud. Does seem they've been more strict with you."

Opening his hand, Harvick slapped his palm against the window. Then lowered his arm. "But hey, what the hell can I do about it?"

Darrell took in a deep breath. "Kevin," he voiced, and the other looked over. "It might just seem like NASCAR's out to get you. Now it could be a fact, but that's not the point. See, the thing is, son… you can't let them get you. You have no control over their actions, but you can work on your own." Darrell tapped the wheel. "Try to keep focused, try to just watch the road and keep on racing like you do. You know you're an excellent racer." Chuckling, he added, "And I ain't buttering you up like a Thanksgiving turkey. I mean what I say. You've got something to hold onto there. You're going places. Don't let anyone take that from you."

Biting his lower lip, and looking to the floor, Harvick nodded. DW glanced at him, and the two made eye contact.

"That doesn't mean you're off the hook with that anger of yours." DW smiled. "You know, I think you ought to quit picking up extra Busch Series and truck races at short tracks."

Harvick cracked a smile. "But I like the short tracks."

"Yeah? Well they don't agree with you all too well."

Chuckling, Harvick slapped DW's arm. He settled back in his seat.

The Dodge Ram slid into Ward Burton's driveway and rolled to a stop. Cutting the ignition, DW turned to Harvick. "Now who's gonna tell Ward what we did to that truck?"