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As Devin had recovered the morning after his club debacle, I’d filled him in on the conversations with Rafe and my mom. He’d been in awe of Mom’s gutsiness.
“The worst thing Rafe could have done is stir up this shit,” Devin had said. “Now you have him with his back against the wall. In essence you run and control this team.”
I didn’t see it that way and didn’t want to see it that way. As far as I was concerned, it was Rafe’s team, not mine.
“I can’t wait until this weekend is over,” Rafe said as I read over the weekend’s itinerary.
“Neither can I. ”
I looked around the garage and set my gaze back on Rafe. “This place always gives me a funny feeling.” I’d felt uneasy since we’d arrived.
“I think it’s all the press. It will die down.”
Devin came over to the Perez pits shortly before noon. He sat down in the motorhome sipping his drink. He had modified my recipe. He didn’t like the way it tasted and had added sugar. I was about to tell him how counterproductive that was but chose not to.
“Have I gained weight?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I see you all the time, so I can’t tell.”
“Do I look out of shape?”
“No,” I lied. I wasn’t in the mood for this conversation.
“Don’t tell me what I want to hear; tell me the truth.”
“You look fine,” I said, biting into a sandwich the chef had made for me.
“Just fine?”
“Seriously, Devin, what do you want me to say?” I said with frustration.
His eyes opened wide at my tone, and I momentarily felt bad, but didn’t he understand how stressful this weekend was?
“I want some honesty. Am I out of shape?” he asked, showing his own frustration.
I took one long and deep breath, telling myself not to get annoyed with him. “Fine, you could be in better shape, but so could half the people around here.”
“So I’m fat.”
I put my sandwich down and massaged my temples. “Devin, doyouthink you are fat?”
“No, but someone told me today that I look like the mascot of a particular tire company, and I took offense to that comment.”
I swallowed a laugh that would hurt his feelings if I let it escape. “You look good. Don’t worry about it.”
He watched me eat my sandwich. When I could stand the leering no more, I handed it over to him. “You eat it,” I said. “You look hungry.”
Apparently, the irony was lost on him.
* * *
Just before I left the track that evening, I ran into Blake. For the first time all year, he barely said hello. I should have been happy about that, but for some reason it hurt. Even after all the times I’d told him to leave me alone. My mother’s words about having mixed feelings flashed through my mind. I needed to clear the air, or none of us would get through next year unscathed.
“Blake, wait,” I said.
He turned and glowered at me. “What, Luna?”
I sighed. “If you’re racing with Perez next year, we’re going to have to get along. So I wanted to say that I’m sorry about what happened earlier in the week.”
