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Haisley
Tuesday - August 9
“Jesus Christ, the social media world is blowing up about the news of Bud’s firing,” I mumble to Elle over breakfast. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Ride the wave,” she replies. I shoot her a look. “What? Honestly, the circumstances behind it are made for movie plot lines.”
I shake my head and roll my eyes. “You know what I freaking mean, Elle. The internet is calling for a statement.”
“I already issued one on your behalf, stating that you support the decision of the racing team and look forward to working with Saint in his new role.”
I let out a huff. “They want to know if I am pressing charges,” I mumble as I scroll through more posts. “Did you see the video leaked?” I hold up my phone and show her the caption of Bud staring into the camera.
“I swear I didn’t release the video,” Elle claims.
“I didn’t. Actually, I haven’t even seen the damn thing.” And that’s the truth. Saint offered to show me, but I just couldn’t handle watching what we suspected. “This is all too much,” I whisper as a text from Saint comes through.
Saint:Please don’t look on the internet today.
Me:Too late. [Screenshot of video] Tell me you didn’t leak this.
Saint:What? NO! That’s evidence if you want to press charges, which you should at least for attempted assault, or whatever the lawyer thinks is winnable.
Me:I’m not pressing charges. He’s already being judged in a court of public opinion, and he won’t be able to work on matchbox cars. I just want to move on from this.
Saint:I understand, but you can’t let them get away with it.
Me:I’ll think about it, but I won’t make promises.
Saint:Are you coming into the shop today? We have a week and half until World Wide.
Me:I’ll be there this afternoon.
Saint:See you then.
Me:Bye.
“So, who do you think leaked the video or at least the screen shot of it?” I ask Elle.
“I’m not sure, but it wasn’t anyone in our circle,” she replies finishing her coffee. “Come on, we have a race to get ready for.”
“Please don’t remind me,” I mutter as we head out of the house.
***
Friday - August 19
The last week or so has been unbearable. Insane with a capital I. The entire racing world is in an uproar over the video, my accident, and are placing bets on if I’ll press charges or not. I don’t even have time to breathe.
“We have media in twenty,” Elle reminds me as I finish a bottle of water in the RV.
“Fun times,” I answer sarcastically.
“You’ve avoided the interviews all week. Corporate will fine you if you don’t show up at the media panel.”
“The questions are not going to focus on the race or the season. They are going to revolve around the accident and Bud’s involvement. I don’t want to deal with it right now,” I tell her honestly.
“Well, you don’t have much choice. So, put a fake smile on your face if you need to, and get ready to answer those questions.” She nudges my shoulder, and I stand up.
