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Rory’s worried expression morphed into a broad grin. “She’s amazing. I have to say she’s a hell of a better driver than I am, and she might be even better than you, brother.”
“That’s awesome.” Dalton smiled. “I was watching some of her stuff from yesterday. I think you’re right. I think she’s the best in the family, but don’t tell her I said that.”
“Come on out and see.”
Dalton got up and went into the garage. He watched Jordana do a couple of laps, and there was no denying she was the best in the family in terms of raw skill. Dalton could still take her at this point, but by the end of the season, it would be a dead heat between them.
“Still gonna rain tomorrow,” Gus said.
“What?” Dalton turned to his mechanic.
“Rain. I’m telling ya it’s gonna rain for the race tomorrow.”
He shrugged. “Okay, well, we’ll have to deal with it.”
“But at least I found my screwdriver.” Gus held it up.
Dalton glanced at it and then looked back at the screen. Hans was coming along nicely. “Where did you find it?”
“Funny thing. I was over at Johnson Wright’s garage, chatting with Lars, their mechanic, when I saw my screwdriver. Lars had set it aside. He had no idea who it belonged to. I must have had it with me when I went over there the other day. Anyway, it’s back now, and I feel much better.”
Dalton made some non-committal noise as he watched Tatum spin and hit the tire wall. He listened as Mario spoke to Tatum, who replied, “I’m fine. That asshole. It’s his fault. He pushed me off the track.”
Mario glanced at Dalton, and the two of them exchanged a look. It had been Tatum’s fault when he’d dove into the corner and hit Jack Roundtree. It was a rookie mistake, and now he would have to go apologize. That would go over like a lead balloon with Tatum, but this was racing, and it was part of the sport to apologize when a driver did something stupid on track.
He glanced around and saw that Gus was busy with getting Jordana and Hans squared away. The flatbed would bring in Tatum’s car and the driver. When he walked by Gus, the man stood up. “Oh, and you know what? I saw one of the entourage over there, too. Apparently they know each other from a car event in Vegas. Small world.”
“You know the racing world is very insular.”
“Yeah, but these guys aren’t really racing guys. Moore’s kid, Brian, is here as well. He’s upset about something. Just like his dad if you ask me. Always pissed off at the world.”
The flatbed arrived on pit lane, and they proceeded to get Tatum’s car off the back. The driver came storming into the garage. “It was all his fault. I was?—”
Dalton held up a hand cutting off his driver’s tirade. “We can discuss this in the trailer.” He helped Tatum shed his gear. The other man was cursing and swearing up a storm as they made their way to the trailer. He stomped inside, and everyone present looked up. A second later, Tatum turned to Dalton and launched into his explanation of events.
Dalton stopped him and had him sit, then pulled up the video. “See here?” Dalton said, slowing the video down. “There was no room for you, but you tried to make a hole. Jack had nowhere to go. This was on you. He wasn’t closing the door on you. There was no opening.” Being blunt seemed to be the right tact with Tatum.
The other man stared at the screen. “But?—”
Dalton shook his head. “Now we’re going to go over there and apologize for knocking him into the wall. Depending on the damage, you might have ended his race before it’s begun.”
Tatum glared at Dalton and then glared at the screen. Then he swore some more and stood up. “Fine. Let’s do it.”
Dalton stood, too, and they walked through the paddock to the Johnson Wright garage. As they approached, Clyde’s personal car was parked outside with some damage to the bumper. Clyde would hate that. Lars must not be able to fix it until they get back to their home garage.
As they entered the garage, he braced himself for what was to come. Jack wasn’t known for having patience or being a good sport. Clyde was standing next to Jack’s car, talking to Lars. “Clyde,” Dalton called, “is Jack around?”
“Here I am,” Jack said as he came up behind them.
“Jack.” Dalton offered his hand. They shook.
“Sorry,” Tatum said, offering his hand, too.
Jack smiled. “Ah, it’s okay. Rookie mistake. You’ll get the hang of it. We’ve all done it.”
Dalton tried not to stare, but he could’ve been knocked over with a feather. Clyde came over and was shooting daggers at them, but Jack was totally serene. “Lars says he can fix it. I’m buying some parts from some of the guys. I’m still missing some. Do you guys think?—"
“See Gus. He’ll help you if we have anything.”
