If ZA Maxfield has three gears, good, better, best, All Wheel Drive inches towards her best. And, as testament, I found myself quoting her gifted words, rather than writing a review.
Plot: Just as Healey obtained his PhD in Physics, his bipolar ex-boyfriend almost killed him in a road rage accident. Confused, he leaves the hospital AMA, thinking only to rent a room in his childhood home and lick his wounds. “He had the added bonus of incontrovertible proof that each second truly could be his last. Which wasn’t a problem, until he started to think about it. Until he started to dwell on it. Until he was aware of his mortality at the cellular level and it started closing in on him.”
Diego’s accident left him wheelchair-bound, unable to feel below his waist, forsaking his career as a photojournalist in favor of editing footage from Bluewater Bay’s vampire TV show. He has avoided intimacy because, “Being that emotionally interested without the corresponding physical sensations sucked. It frayed his nerves. It filled him with inexplicable rage.”
And now his family is pressuring him to create a documentary on his mother’s life as a renowned artist. “Each piece, each memory glittered sharp as a shard of glass under his skin. He unearthed them painfully. Quietly….” “Petulance, your name is Diego.”
For Diego, “Like an accountant, he’d drawn a great big double line beneath the date of his accident on his mental calendar, balanced the debits and credits, and paid his debts. Now there was nothing before. No pages, no notes, nothing worth looking back at. Nothing worth thinking about.”
Learning Healey’s whereabouts, his dad and twin, who readers met in Hell on Wheels (though All Wheel Drive reads as a standalone) arrive, circling while he recharges. “He could simply-finally-rest, because his family had his back.” Diego resents the twins’ comradery. “And he didn’t know why. But if he did know, it might be because he was lonely now that his mother was gone.”
Both men, defiantly avoid their memories. They circle each other cautiously, like drivers in a romantic NASCAR meet. “Why is it I always feel like I’m playing checkers and you’re playing chess?” Healey asks. When Diego responds “I have to protect…” Healey interrupts. “Your skin, I know. And your heart. And your dignity…your autonomy. Your independence… your self-concept…”
Like with his twin, Healey challenges Diego non-stop, often with brainy facts. Diego counters with sarcastic humor. “It works best if you hold the end and wiggle the tip sharply from side to side,” Healey offers at breakfast. “We still talking about sex?” Diego asks. “The ketchup, Jesus,” Healey answers.
Throughout Wheel Drive readers are treated to Maxfield’s signature homespun observations.
“There’s a problem when the distraction becomes as important as the mission.”
“When you love someone, you’ll do anything for them, even if it isn’t in your best interest…or theirs.”
“Funny thing. You can look into the distance, but not the future.”
“(Love isn’t) a resource issue like land or food. The more I give away, the more I’ll have to give.”
Maxfield simply revs my motor. Healey and Diego are etched to psychological perfection. Their tango of approach and avoidance have more passes and collisions than most races. And I would read her books for her gentle wisdoms and relationship advice alone. Maxfield explores the trust issues within and between the men brilliantly.
If you love witty verbal volley, well drawn personalities whose clashes prod growth, laugh aloud moments, tender, gritty intimacy, and want to learn a thing or two about love, this is a must-buy. All Wheel Drive earns 4.5 hearts, but I’ll gladly round them up to 5 for her audaciously sexy details, showcasing how an alpha with a spinal cord injury can rock and roll.