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“People higher up are talking. And it’s not good, Luca. Better clean up before your career is over.” He shakes his head and walks out of the office our team uses at the track. The door slams behind him, the sound resonating off the walls.
I collapse into a chair. Fuck the reporters. Do they ever forgetanything?
Not to mention, they love to spin the story. Whatever makes more money. Most of the time, I go out once or twice a week, if that. I’d go out more if it weren’t for the watchful eyes following my every move.
Because shit like this happens.
And then I’m left dealing with the fallout.
Fuck.
I hear the door open behind me. “Hey, man. There you are.” Axel’s hoarse voice cuts through the now silent room. “Thought we were meeting downstairs for practice?”
“Shit, sorry. Jim wanted to talk, and I lost track of time.” I stand and walk over to the door.
“Everything alright?”
“The usual.”
“So I take it both of you saw this morning’s paper.” Axel grimaces as we make our way outside and down to the pits.
“Yep. I could sit in church all day, and it’d be a scandal.”
“Ha, I’d like to see that happen.” Axel chuckles as we enter the pits and walk over to where our cars sit side by side. “It’ll blow over. But take my advice, dude, and drink at home.”
“Yeah, I just like—” A loud horn sounds, and my wordsare lostto the shrill beeping.
“Yoooo!” Dylan calls just as he pops up out of his race car. “Ready to rumble, assholes?”
Axel punches the air and yells, “Hell, yeah!” before jogging over to Dylan and his car.
I’m grateful Axel’s distracted, giving me time to finish what I started. I’ve been tinkering with an idea for faster acceleration speeds. If it works, I’m thinking of talking it over with Jim. He’s my crew chief andone-on-oneman. We work closely togetherwhen it comes tothe car and strategize often.
Dylan and Axel head for the track, and I wave them off. “Give me thirty, and I’ll be out there.”
I work quickly, finishing the last minor adjustments. For a few minutes, I’m lost in my task as everything else around me fades away.
No more shitty news reports or sponsors, or angry bosses, and dumb bullshit.
It’s like when I work on Diesel, my muscle car I keep stored in the garage until the warmer months when I pull her out to play.
I’m whisked away to another world where I can forget my problems and focus on what I’m working on.
I just wish more women understood the dedication I have to my racing career and my car. How important those things are to me. But whatever, I don’t need them getting in my way like they usually do.
Walking around the car, I give her onefinal lookover. I slide inside and rev the engine, listening to the car purr to life without a hitch.With a dedicated crew andround-the-clockcare, the car never disappoints.
Pressing down on the gas pedal while still in park, I hear the beautiful sound of the engine roaring.Yes. Exactly what I wanted.
After getting back out and gearing up in my suit and helmet, I hop in and slowly steer out of the pit and onto the side of the track. Pulling into one of the pit stops, I communicate with the track and other drivers to find the safest time to enter.
When it’s time, the world stops.
Just like it always does when I get ready to start.
And then I race.
* * *
