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“Nah. But our guys are ready. They’ll get you in and out ahead of him. Just don’t speed into the pit and lose your position.”
I didn’t tell him “Been there done that.” He knew. He’d seen it, and it had benefited the previous 18 driver. I’d learned my lesson in a crucial race a couple years ago. Speeding had caused me to lose second place in that race.
“I’ll be a mile under. No worries.”
“Hey, Ax?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t let the car pull you right into the side of the 57,” he advised, referring to my earlier complaint about alignment.
“No worries. I don’t want to catch any of him.”
“Yeah, well, don’t go to the wrong stop. You’re the 18 now, not the 57. Good?”
I chuckled, letting him know I heard.
“Debris! Debris on the center track just ahead,” Ty, my spotter, yelled over the top of us.
I swerved, almost too late, narrowly missing someone else who was running a lap down from the leaders.
“What the fuck was that?”
“Something that got missed from the last pile-up,” Jon grumbled. “Good miss. Your bumper almost got Teddy, though.”
“Was that who it was? Thought I smelled skunk.”
We didn’t chatter while I navigated the following laps, wondering why they hadn’t thrown a yellow flag for clean up. I was damn sure glad they didn’t. The hours in the car were starting to wear on me, and I was sure I’d sweated out ten pounds of perspiration at this point. I wanted to be done, and I was in a good position.
Following Jon’s directions, I veered into pit row at the very last second and decelerated fast to avoid penalties. My ace team got me out faster than anyone else who’d pitted with me, but I still trailed the two leaders.
“How far ahead?” I asked. Jon knew what I meant.
“Less than five.”
“‘Kay.” My fingers tightened on the wheel.
Less than five seconds? Might as well be a century. Okay. Okay. I just had to finish and stay ahead of Teddy. Third was good, even if I could taste the win. Craved it. I’d already proved to Troy that he hadn’t made a poor decision in me.
Ahead of me, the two leaders jockeyed for position, and I looked for an opening, still wanting to take the checkered flag for a second year. We could go three wide. That would give the fans a thrill and offer me the break I needed to surge ahead. But they were weaving too much, one trying for the lead and the other attempting to hold onto it.
Suddenly, they collided, one spinning and the other rocketing off the track and into a barrier. My heart leapt into my throat. Fuck! I veered to the first clearing I saw, hoping it really wasclear.
“Go high!” Jon screamed, but I was already moving. “Go fucking high! They left the green out. No yellow! Go, go, go! Fuck, yeah! You have the lead! Yeah!”
I zoomed toward the wall, hearing a scrape that wouldn’t slow me down as I squeaked past the wreck, narrowly missing debris.
“The 57 is behind you,” my spotter yelled. “The 19 is out. 33 is out. 57 is two lengths behind.”
I didn’t look back, taking the wide-open track toward the checkered flag.
“Yes! Hell, yeah!” I screamed as I took the flag a couple milliseconds ahead of Teddy.
Ripping down the net at my side, I pumped my gloved hand in the air as I took my victory lap. Two years in a row, and this time, Bristol got to see me cement my place in history. Yes!
* * *
Bristol
