Page 137 of First in Line

“Nothing bad, I hope.”

“No, I was telling Evie how when I first saw you, I thought she’d lied to the Make-A-Wish Foundation or something to get you here.”

“Ah, no, I’m just an old friend who had an empty weekend to occupy.”

She gives Evie a subtle look that I can easily read, having heard their conversation, and returns to me. “She told me, yes. Thank you so much for coming. You’ve made my forty-fifth birthday truly memorable.”

“Of course. I actually meant to get you alone to give you your birthday gift,” I explain, pulling a folded envelope out of my back pocket. I hand it to her and say, “Sorry, I didn’t have time for more. Hope it’ll be alright.”

She opens it and pulls out the printed papers. She skims over them with some confusion, then meets my eyes again. “What is it?”

“Two tickets for the Vegas Grand Prix. The whole three days. And hotel accommodations at the Bellagio. I know it can get very expensive around the race, and I didn’t want the gift to become a strain. Oh, and plane tickets for you and your wife. First class.”

After a few beats of stupor, she shakes her head. “It’s way too much. I can’t take this.”

“Don’t worry, Make-A-Wish is paying for everything,” I say with a wink.

The humor works, and she laughs at the joke, diffusing some of the tension. “Honestly, it’s my pleasure, Cynthia. Think of it as a thank you for giving Evie a job back then. You’ve helped her make her dream come true.”

After one more look at the papers, she returns them to the envelope. She shakes her head as she slips them into her pocket. “They say don’t meet your idols, but you might be the exception to the rule, Jackson Reyes.”

“Honestly, just be happy I didn’t get you, like, ten Hermès scarves.”

A quick peek at Evie tells me she’s biting down a smile at that. Cynthia, on the other hand, seems confused by my statement. Before she can ask about it, my phone rings.

When I check, I see it’s Wesley. “Sorry, I have to take this,” I tell them before walking away.

I strut toward the parking lot, where he shouldn’t be able to hear the karts racing on the other side of the building, and pick up.

“Hey, Wes,” I greet.

“Where are you?”

I frown, taken aback by his tone. “What do you mean?”

“When they told me you wouldn’t be racing this weekend, I expected you would at least stick around, show some team spirit.”

“Come on, the attention is on me whenever I’m around. It was good for Louis and Mattersen to get the spotlight for once.”

“Since when are you so willing to share it?”

“I’m not that big of a dickhead, Wes. And look at Louis. He won third place. His first time on the podium this season. Aren’t you happy about that?”

“He was third because you weren’t racing. Otherwise, he would have been fourth, and you would have been first.”

I sigh, stretching my neck to ease the tension growing at the base of it. “My leg needs rest, Wesley.”

A couple of seconds pass, and he asks, “Are you in Colorado?”

It’s not that wild a guess, since my parents live here, so I ignore the bad feeling in my gut and answer, “Yes.”

“Are you withher?” Now, that’s a little concerning. Especially his tone.

When I don’t answer, it’s his turn to blow out a long, frustrated breath. “Listen, kid,” he starts, “I’ve been a fan of thissport for over fifty years. I’ve seen hundreds of drivers come and go. Some good, some bad, some excellent. I’ve even seen prodigies rise and fall during those five decades. But I’ve never seen your level of talent before. In seven and a half seasons, you’ve shattered every record ever set. And you’ve set some that would take decades to beat if the cars weren’t bound to improve over the years. You have a one-in-a-billion kind of talent, Jackson. Hell, one-in-ten-billion. And I’d hate to see you waste it on something that might not be worth it.”

I allow his words to sink in for a moment, then defend myself with, “I missed one race, Wesley.”

“Right. But you’ve been slacking. Unfocused. The team has noticed. You lost in Monaco, for fuck’s sake. And muscle fatigue, really? You once finished a season with two broken ribs, Jackson.”