Page 16 of Downforce

“Second fiddle,” I repeat.

“Yes,” she answers immediately. “Severino knew how to build a team. Do you think Amato was who they became before he signed with them? No, but he knew the value of hard work, of what it took to become a champion.”

“And I don’t?”

She stops, slowly looking me up and down. Though I know where this is going because this is where it always goes with her, there’s something inside of me that still holds out hope that my own mother won’t find joy in crushing my dreams.

“No.” Her words come out as flat and cold as her eye color. “You and I both know that you don’t have what Severino had.” She pushes out a heavy sigh. “I’m just glad that he’s not alive to see his own son tear down his reputation.”

A vision of kicking my mother out of my flat, and telling her never to come back until she can find a modicum of respect, fills my head. Instead, however, the words of my father that I’ve carried for almost two decades pass through my mind.

“It’s our responsibility as men to take care of the women in our lives.”

Just months before he died, he made me promise that if something ever happened to him, I’d step up and be the man my mother needed. To always make sure she was taken care of, the way he would’ve if he were around.

At six I didn’t give it much thought. All I knew was that my dad was my hero and I’d do anything he said to make him proud. Little did I know that I’d have so much less time with him than I thought.

Which is also the reason why I don’t have any room for a real relationship in my life. Women are more trouble than I have time for right now, maybe ever.

“My father’s reputation is safe with me.” My voice is tight as I push the words through my tightening vocal cords.

“I certainly hope so,” she throws back. “But I doubt it. Just do your best not to embarrass our family. Let Travis be the standout that he is, while you …” she looks me up and down again, “can be his number two.”

“I’m nobody’s second driver.”

She rolls her eyes toward the roof. “That is your problem right there.” She points with her red-tipped fingernail. “Your jealousy. Severino knew how to learn from others. Then again, he had no reason to be jealous of anyone because he was already the best. And he raced back in the days when the sport took real talent and work. Today the car does everything for you.”

There’s no point in arguing or replying. While she says these things matter-of-factly, I often get the sense that she’s trying to goad me into a fight. For what reason? I’ve yet to figure out why she speaks the way she does.

And ever since my signing with Amato went public, she’s gotten worse with these digs about my playing second to Travis. Yes, he is the returning champion, which means expectations are high for him this season.

A great season for the both of us could lead us to a team championship, which is a monumental accomplishment not only for the drivers, but for all of the engineers, team principal, and owners of a team.

As much as Travis and I are teammates, we’re also rivals. That’s how it works in my sport. Same colors, same car design, same team principal, different goals.

Yet, any driver worth their weight wants to be crowned World Driver’s Champion. We dream of it from the time we first sit in a go-kart at five years old.

That’s what happened in my case, anyway.

Not every driver had the privilege of being raised by Severino Ferreira.

Privilege and curse, I think as I stare into my mother’s icy gaze.

“Well.” She claps her hands together, raising her shoulders. “We’ll see what happens once the season starts.”

Her words drop like an anvil on my chest.

Her tone reveals the minute amount of faith she has in my abilities.

“I have a luncheon with some friends since I’m in town. Oh,” she turns to me, stopping at the doorway, “my account is running low and the credit card bill is due tomorrow. Will you …” She trails off.

“What happened to the deposit I sent this week?”

The huff of air she lets out tells her annoyance with my question.

“I needed a new couch, if you must know. I’m your mother. How dare you count my expenses? Your father would never try to put me on such a restrictive budget.”

I snort without thinking.