by Alice Ward
And I supposed he was right. I’d gone just about half the race, thirty laps around the two and a half mile track, and I knew I’d need to pit at least once during this race. Maybe twice. I was still in the middle of the pack, but there was time to make my move. Someone had lost his wheel and spun out, which was the cause of the flag. I pulled off onto pit road just as the caution car was sliding out onto the track.
I took advantage of the break and slurped huge gulps of lemon water from the water bladder attached to me. During a race, a driver could lose up to ten pounds of fluid. I was about there. My body was drenched with sweat as I felt my crew lift the side of the car, then drop, lift the other side, then drop. One of the crew tapped the back of my car, giving me the go-ahead.
I gave them a thumbs-up. They’d made excellent time.
I eased out onto the track as the caution car was still looping. When I hit the restart zone, Brody shouted in my ear, “Green, green, green. Get on out. You’re clear!”
I stomped on the accelerator, riding ahead of all forty cars. This wasn’t the time to give up position. I needed to gain, and fast, over those who hadn’t gone in for a pit.
I pushed ahead, and the cars behind me dropped back in my mirror. And there was fucking Kahne again. He’d gone in for a pit too, and now he was bump-drafting me, pushing my car ahead so that he could switch ahead and find a way around me.
I was having none of that. I switched to the inside, hugging the curve tight, riding the grass for half of it. Kasey followed me, trying to skirt around me, but with some fancy maneuvering, I didn’t give him the privilege. I cut hard to the other end of the track just as he was trying to sail around me, leaving him no choice but to cut back and eat my dust.
“I think Kasey’s gonna have some words with you later,” Brody said. He was trying to play it cool, but I could hear the amusement in his voice. “No nice ones, either.”
“I think he needs to accept that the best place for him is behind me,” I said calmly, surging ahead and letting him fade in my mirror.
I felt the adrenaline pumping through my veins as I easily passed three more cars. “Holy shit,” Brody said, and I wondered what the fuck I was doing wrong now. Or maybe there was an accident on the field. Damn Brody.
“What, bro? Don’t leave me hanging like this,” I said as I passed another car. I wouldn’t take my eyes off the road, but I couldn’t sense that anything was wrong. The green flag was still out.
“No. You’re doing good. Do you realize you’re in sixteenth place?”
I blinked.
Holy shit.
I was.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Locke
I was not going to throw up.
That’s what I kept telling myself as I watched the green flag go up and saw Emma surge ahead.
I hadn’t felt this nervous since I was a teenager, navigating the hallways and trying to avoid the bullies. My palms were sweating. My face was overheating, despite the air conditioning being pumped into the room. Meanwhile, the thirty VIPs in our private suite surrounding me went on, sitting in their seats behind the glass, sipping champagne and dining on filet mignon and lobster. They casually glanced at the race, chatting and laughing as if the whole world didn’t revolve around what was going on below us.
Me? I nearly had my nose pressed against the glass and couldn’t take my eyes off her car, not even for a second.
God forbid she was in a wreck. I’d be in pieces.
“She’s killing it,” Ron Brady said to me, breaking through the shell I’d built around myself. I turned to him. He was the lucky reporter who’d won a ticket to hang with the other VIPs in the suite with us.
I nodded and took a swig of my Coors Light. “Er. I know.” My voice broke like a teenager’s.
I looked at him. He seemed surprised, like I might as well have been the CEO of UnHinged.
Calm, I reminded myself. To show I wasn’t worried, I grabbed a handful of nuts. Not exactly health food, but after the bacon, I’d gotten braver. I started popping them into my mouth. “Of course. Our girl’s going places,” I said with blasé confidence.
“You have a comment for the press?” he asked.
I nodded. “Like I said. Our girl’s going places,” I repeated since I couldn’t bring myself to come up with eloquence right now. “We’re thrilled to be working with Emma James this season. Great things are ahead for her.”
And I managed to tear my eyes away from the oval for an impressive thirty seconds, until Ron was out of the picture, heading toward the buffet.
Then, I went right back to the action.
And couldn’t believe what I was seeing. She’d gone around Kahne. A minute ago, he’d been in front of her, and now, he was choking on her exhaust. How the hell did she manage that? I couldn’t relax. Couldn’t make the mistake of looking away like that again. This wasn’t a five hundred, but they still had a long way to go, and anything could happen. Everything hinged on split seconds in this sport. One blink and the whole world could fall to shit.
She passed another car. Every time she did, I clenched my fist, pumping it.
Wow, she was fucking phenomenal. Half of me was bursting with pride. Half of me was bursting with nerves. I’d climbed Everest and done ultramarathons, but this was, by far, the most intense experience of my life. And I wasn’t even in the damn car.
“You okay, Pudge?”
I didn’t turn. I had a few nuts in my palm, warm from my holding them for the past five minutes. I fed them into my mouth and crunched on them as I watched the race like an obsessive fan. “Yep.”
“She’s doing great,” Laura said breezily, sitting on one of the stools beside me that lined up right in front of the glass. “You think—”
“Shit, yellow flag,” I broke in. “She’s going to be—”
“She’s fine. She’s on the other side of the oval. That’s… who is that? Busch, I think. The leader.”
I nodded. “Okay. Okay. We’re good.” I took a deep breath to calm myself. “Damn. Why’d we get into this again? This is stressful.”
I fixed on my headset to see where her mind was. Her father was trying to get her in for a pit stop. She was arguing that she didn’t want to, but then she gave in. She was a daddy’s girl, obviously. I watched her sail safely into pit road.
Meanwhile, Laura stood beside me, nudging me. I’d forgotten she was there. “Hello?”
I pulled off the headset. “What?”
She eyed me with concern. “How are you doing?”
I shrugged, watching the caution car loop around, the cars easily circling behind it as the wreckage from Busch’s car was cleared. “Fine.”
“And here I thought you had no interest in NASCAR,” she said, leaning against the table, still eyeing me suspiciously.
“I have concern for our investments, like any businessman would.”
She crossed her arms over her business suit. “Admit it,” she whispered, leaning in. “This has gone beyond that.”
“No, it hasn’t.”
“You told me you weren’t fucking her before,” she said, her eyes flashing in the glass, where the green flag had just come out. “Are you now?”
I pressed my lips together.
From her expression, she took that as a yes. She frowned. “Don’t think it isn’t obvious how you feel about her.”
I nodded. I supposed it was obvious. I was good at pushing myself out of the realm of where I could feel things because once I started feeling, I had a fucking terrible poker face. And no question, I felt for Emma. In a big way, a way I never had. “Okay.”
“Is it serious?”
I didn’t speak for a long time. I watched Emma, fearless, swerve around another car. People in the VIP box were starting to take notice. They were cheering her on now. I nodded. “Yeah.”
She blinked, surprised. I didn’t think she ever expected me to acknowledge it. “Yeah?”
The room broke out in applause, and someone behind me whooped. “Y
our girl just smoked Ryan Blaney,” one of the VIPs called to me. “Like he was standing still.”
My eyes went to the oval. Sure enough, she’d gotten around him, and was now gaining ground on the next car.
“As serious as it can be,” I admitted. I took a swig of my beer. “I think I’m falling in love with her.”
Her eyes widened. “Really? Are you sure you’re thinking clearly?”
I snorted. “What do you mean? I don’t fly off the handle all the time, do I?”
“No. But this sport is about adrenaline. It’s easy to let it cloud your judgment.”
“My judgment’s not clouded.”
“Are you sure? Because Emma is a corporate asset. What if the press finds out? You think this is a good move? Not even just for the company, but for Emma, personally.”
I broke my gaze from the oval and looked at her. “What do you mean?”
“Remember what happened at the press conference? And that little stir up on the beach? There was all this speculation about her, as a woman. It’s different for women. Men, they can go and fuck any woman they want, and it’s no big deal. Hell, it’s celebrated. But women? Emma? They were all over her, at the press conference, on the message boards, everywhere. There are already accusations that because she’s a pretty piece of ass, she fucked her way onto the oval. If they find out you and she are together… it’s only going to get worse.”
I inhaled sharply.
“You really want her to get crucified any more than they’re already crucifying her?”
I shook my head. No, I wanted them to leave her alone. But that wasn’t possible.
Shit. As always, Laura, my voice of reason, was right. I looked at her, then back at the track, where Emma had just passed another car. I pulled on the headset, partly to hear what was going on, and partly to drown out Laura’s reason.
Sixteenth place. She was fucking in sixteenth place and coming up close on fifteenth.
I kicked back the stool and stood up, placing my palms on the glass.
Go, Emma. Go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Emma
Around a curve, Ryan Blaney tapped my back-right side, sending me careening forward, but I managed to correct and keep it off the wall. He sailed past me as white smoke started to plume in my vision. I adjusted the face shield on my helmet, trying to detect the source of the smoke, just as Blaney’s car missed the curve, skidded around full speed, right into the wall, bouncing back sideways in front of me.
“He’s blown a tire,” Brody said.
“Clear, inside, go, go, now,” my spotter advised me.
“On it,” I said, finding the opening.
“You got it.” My spotter got me through it, giving the directions I needed until I was safe. I pushed ahead toward pit road as the yellow caution flags came out again.
When I sailed into my pit stall, Daddy gave me a wave from behind the wall as my crew handled my change. I grabbed my water and downed half of the thing in two large gulps, flipped my shield down, and revved the engine. No, I wasn’t first, or second… but I wasn’t fortieth either. I was a respectable sixteenth, way better than the bookies thought I’d do.
Take that, bookies. I tightened my gloves around the wheel. Time to bring this baby home.
When Jonesy tapped on the back of the car, I sailed out, following behind the caution car. The second the green flag came out, I was on it. “Let’s bring this home,” Brody said to me. “You’re looking real good. Just keep at it.”
“I intend to, bro,” I said, stomping on the gas and getting into the fray again.
Twenty more laps to go. I greased another car, getting myself into fourteenth. It was easier now, like it had been in the beginning, when I’d been go-karting in the dirt with Brody. I was in the groove where it felt natural, powerful. Exhilarated.
By the white flag, I’d sailed past Joey Logano, and I was in twelfth place, fighting for purchase with Austin Dillon’s red number 3. Somehow, I slammed ahead of him in the straightaway, even though he was trying to push me to the wall. “Inside, inside, inside,” my spotter said calmly into my ear.
When the checkered flag came out, I pulled both fists off the steering wheel and pumped them hard. I hadn’t just finished, as was expected of me. I’d gotten eleventh place. It was solid and definitely enough to qualify me for the Daytona 500. Holy shit. Maybe I’d be able to trample Ryan and Kasey in the real deal and get enough money to get Brody’s fancy driving arm.
But by the time I sailed back into pit road and found my stall, the excitement had withered.
I should’ve done better. I should’ve won the whole damn thing.
I pulled back the net, ripped off my helmet, and stepped out of the car. The first person I saw was Brody. He was smiling, but the smile didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Not bad for a rookie,” he grumbled, adjusting his ball cap on his head.
“This rookie just qualified for the Daytona 500.” I laughed, giving him a smack upside the head so that his hat fluttered to the ground.
He glared at me, a glint of brotherly rivalry in his eyes.
I stepped closer, wrapping my arms around him, wanting us to be okay. “Maybe you can beat me next time… after I get you your driving arm.”
He said something I couldn’t hear because I was swallowed up by the waiting arms of my parents and pit crew. They embraced me and jostled me around, and I smiled as they patted me on the back and congratulated me. “Woo-wee!” my father shrieked, grabbing me. “My girl sure knows how to race!”
Reporters invaded our circle after that, and I knew I was expected to hang around for post-race interviews. But as I scanned the faces surrounding me, I was really looking for only one person.
Locke.
I knew he’d be happy, even if I wasn’t so happy myself. I knew I’d done him and UnCaged proud. I just should’ve done better.
When he broke through the crowd, my heart, which had already been beating double-time, did its own Daytona 500 inside my chest wall. He looked… in a word, elated, his smile bigger than I’d ever seen it.
All I wanted to do was jump into his arms.
Instead, he put out his hand, very businesslike. “Congratulations, Miss James.”
I reached over and shook. Geez, how could he be such an amazing lover and give the lamest, most unenthusiastic handshake? “Thank you,” I said stiffly.
Time stood still for a moment, as confetti poured down around us. And suddenly, my world fell apart. “Why does it say on the board that Emma James has been disqualified?” Laura said to me.
I looked up at the board. Sure enough, it did. I looked at Daddy, and Brody, and they were both listening into their headsets and frowning.
I stormed over to them. It had to be a mistake. “What the hell?”
Brody shook his head, and my father let out one of his infrequent curses. Tom’s dark face, covered in sweat, was sadder than I’d ever seen it. “The pit crew went over the wall a couple seconds too fast,” Jonesy explained to me, wrapping an arm around me. “It happens.”
I stared at him. Yeah, it happens, but not with us. Not with Brody. Brody knew better.
“What the fuck, Brody?” I said as a terrible thought occurred to me.
He’d done that on purpose.
He gave me an innocent look and backed away, but I hadn’t raced my heart out just to get my ass disqualified. I reached for him, rage distorting my face, wanting to wrap my hands around his neck. “Did you do it on purpose?” When he just shrugged, rage slapped me in the face. “I’m going to rip off your head and shit down your neck!”
“Okay, okay, calm now,” Locke said, coming forward and taking me from behind before I could get to my brother. Meanwhile, Brody just stared at me in a stony way that exuded guilt.
I tried to wrench away from Locke but couldn’t. “He did it on purpose!” I shouted. “I need a new pit chief!”
“No, he didn’t,” Locke said, trying to calm me down, and it was then I realized that I had
my share of reporters around me, and they were all snapping like crazy.
I swallowed. Then I threw down my helmet and dropped my head.
“You did good, Emma,” Locke whispered to me. “We’ll get it next time.”
I nodded woodenly.
The winner, Jimmie Johnson, was doing his victory lap around the oval, the screech of tires on the asphalt echoing through my head along with all the other noises from the day, threatening to cause a splitting headache. I looked up expectantly at Locke, who gave me a very soft, very sterile kiss on the cheek.
“Save that fire for the next race,” he whispered. “See you tonight?”
I nodded, happy to defy Brody for the first time. And here, Brody thought me being with Locke was ruining my chances at a win. Now, I didn’t give a shit what Brody said. From now on, I’d do everything on my terms. “Damn straight.”
And then Locke disappeared, swallowed up by the crowd of friends and admirers and reporters. The celebration went on around us, but I skulked through the crowd, feeling like a loser. I knew it had nothing to do with the way I’d raced. It was all my pit crew. But it didn’t matter. It meant I was still no one. I might as well have come in dead last.
The team mulled in its sorrow for only a little while after that. My dad hugged me and told me to get a good night’s rest, that things would be better in the morning. But I wanted Locke there. I wanted to cry to him and yell out my frustrations at him, and let him make things better.
As I went back to the apartment, I realized I had another item for my bucket list.
I wanted Locke and me not to be a secret. I wanted him to grab me in front of all these people and kiss me passionately, stay by my side and tell me that the sun would come up tomorrow, and for being with him to be okay.
As impossible as people told me winning a Cup race would be, at least there was a chance. All I had to do was push myself harder. With another few races, I felt confident I could get there one day.
But Locke and I being accepted as a couple? I didn’t see how I could make it happen. Not with the way Brody had looked at me. What had he said? You just fuck your way to the top. And he was my brother. Something told me popular opinion would be even more scathing.
