Start Your Engines

by Jim Cangany

  She finished her drink and rose to her feet. “All right, lady and gentleman. Let’s go win a championship.”

  With a few butterflies bouncing around her stomach, Gabrielle followed Brad and Barbara back into the suite. The butterflies calmed a bit when Brad offered to shake before he made his exit to break the news to Chas.

  “That went better than I’d feared.” Gabrielle glanced at her black-and-green-striped racing helmet on the kitchen counter, which even sitting still, radiated speed. Her butterflies were replaced with a calm confidence that came from the knowledge she’d be behind the wheel, at speed, in fewer than twenty-four hours.

  “It was the easy part, I’d wager,” Barbara said. “The reporters here are more interested in the International Series race than our Continental Series. That will likely change once our staffing switch becomes public. Are you sure you’re up to that scrutiny?”

  “I’ve proven my ability on the racetrack. After the grilling you’ve put me through, I think I can handle these reporters.”

  “Touché.” Barbara finished her drink. After a moment, she furrowed her eyebrows. “And you’re certain your . . . past with Brad won’t become a distraction?”

  “I’ll admit we’ve never spoken about the crash, but he and I were friends—close friends—once. I’m sure we’ll be able to be friends again.” Gabrielle took a deep breath. “You hired me to drive your car and win races. That’s my sole focus. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  Even if fixing things with Brad was near the top of her personal priority list.

  So what if her raised heart rate and dry mouth when Brad had been in the room meant she still hadn’t gotten over her crush on him? They’d crossed that finish line years ago. It would be strictly business between them.

  But she could still hold onto hope that there could be some personal business, too, couldn’t she?

  Chapter Two

  It was heartening to see a friendly face as Brad emerged from Chas’s private motorhome. The worry lines etched across Scott’s forehead tempered Brad’s relief from having delivered the news and survived.

  “I don’t see any blood, so I’ll take that as a good sign?”

  “You might want to check my eardrums.” Brad massaged his temple. “It’s possible his screaming busted them.”

  Scott patted him on the back. “I could hear him all the way over in the paddock. Thought I should swing by in case you needed to visit the track med center. Can’t have our team director out of commission the first race of the season.”

  “He’s angrier with the track doctor. Threatened to sue her for malpractice.” Brad keyed out a text message to the team about their upcoming meeting. “How’s the car?”

  “Asking about the car.” Scott rubbed his hands together. “Does that mean we have a driver?”

  “You’ll find out as soon as everybody else. Now then, the car?”

  On the stroll across the grassy infield to the paddock area, Scott gave him an update. Most of the damage was superficial. Repairs should be finished in time for the crew to get a few hours of sleep before the nine a.m. final practice session.

  Brad’s thoughts drifted to Gabby. Evidently, she went by Gabrielle now. The new name and a few wrinkles around her eyes made it clear she was a different woman.

  Had it really been ten years? Looking back, she’d been so much fun to be around. All wide-eyed and fired up about the gift they’d been given in the opportunity to race cars. She’d been a great friend, too, what with her uncanny ability to lift his spirits when he was down and to not look at every issue as if it were a life and death situation.

  He pushed the thoughts away. After the crash, she’d tried to talk to him. Shoot, she came to see him when he was in the hospital. But he turned away from her. Refused to respond to her calls and texts.

  A lot of words had been left unspoken between then and now, and with all the miles driven since that day in the rehab center, it was probably too late to speak them. Sure, he’d been both grieving the loss of J.P. and in a great deal of pain from his injuries, but it didn’t change the fact that he’d acted like a spoiled child who dropped his ice cream and then blamed the adult who gave it to him.

  Now wasn’t the time to rehash what he couldn’t change, though. It was going to be a long night. He needed to focus on being team director, not obsess over a friendship he’d destroyed.

  By the time they reached the Gale Force Racing’s spot in the paddock, everyone had arrived except for Barbara, Gabrielle, and Chas. Brad didn’t want to leave the group waiting and give somebody the chance to text some random rumor, so he gave the team an update on Chas’s condition and asked the fabrication guys to report on their progress.

  “Does this mean we’re racing tomorrow?” Troy, one of the tire changers, was rolling some tire nuts in his hand. He was also one of Chas’s best friends.

  “It does.” Brad glanced at the door. “Ms. Sawyer is working on a replacement driver. She should be here any minute with an announcement.”

  “How are we supposed to do that? Qualifications are in less than,” he looked at his watch, “nineteen hours.”

  “With the teamwork and drive you all have shown thus far.” Barbara was in the doorway, with a raised eyebrow and a glint in her eyes. Brad knew that look. He’d seen it a number of times during her career as a sports reporter when she was waiting for an interviewee to say something stupid. You didn’t mess with his boss.

  “Well, sure.” Troy dropped the bolts and scrambled to pick them up. “All I meant was the sooner we get started, the better.”

  “I couldn’t agree more, Troy, so please allow me to introduce our driver for this weekend.” She waved Gabrielle inside. “For those of you who don’t know her, this is Gabrielle Marquez. Her credentials driving open wheel race cars are unparalleled, and she wants to return to racing in North America. I have full confidence in her abilities and look forward to a seamless transition over the next,” she stared at Troy, “nineteen hours.”

  With her hands behind her back, Gabrielle took a deep breath and stepped forward. “I want to thank both Ms. Sawyer and Brad for giving me this opportunity and look forward to proving to you all that their faith in me is well-placed.”

  The group was as silent as a group of mourners at a funeral. The success, or failure, of the transition was on him. He was the team director. Regardless of Gabby’s skill as a driver, if he didn’t give her a car capable of performing, she had no chance.

  He wasn’t going to do that to her.

  “Gabrielle, on behalf of everyone here at Gale Force Racing, welcome to the team.” He shook her hand and faced the group. “We’ve got a thirty-minute warm-up before qualifying tomorrow. I want a top-ten starting spot. Let’s get to work.”

  In an instant, he was in the midst of a beehive of activity, with crew members moving in every direction. Qualifying in the top ten was about as realistic as winning the historic Crossroads Five Hundred, but he wanted to set a tone that said no excuses. He took Gabby by the elbow and guided her to a corner away from the hustle and bustle.

  Though not invited, Barbara followed. Brad grimaced at having his boorish behavior earlier in the day come back to haunt him. Well, with Barbara crashing the party, she could witness his attempt to turn things around.

  “We’ve got a ton of things to do, Gabby, and not much time, but first I want to apologize for acting the way I did in Barbara’s suite.”

  The intensity of Gabby’s gaze made him look away. Her ice-blue eyes contrasted with her light-brown complexion in a way that he’d never noticed before. She looked amazing. He recalled J.P. going on and on about her half-Cuban, half-white heritage, and how striking that was. J.P. had been right.

  “Regardless of what’s happened in the past, we’re both professionals. I assure you I’ll give you one hundred percent this weekend and—”

  Barbara cleared her throat.

  Right, as far as the team knew, she was only driving this weekend. “I’ll answer any
questions you may have.” He glanced at Barbara, who gave him a small nod.

  “Make me proud, young lady.” She squeezed Gabrielle’s shoulder.

  As Barbara left, Brad surveyed the scene. Tires were being moved. Tools were being cleaned. Supplies were being restocked. Everybody seemed to be busy, except for him and Gabby. All right then.

  “Ready to get to work?”

  • • •

  A knock at the door almost sent Gabrielle out of her seat. She’d been on the receiving end of a four-hour crash course in Gale Force Racing’s operation, and a migraine had settled right behind her temples.

  The door opened, and Scott leaned in, a sheen of perspiration on his bald head. “Sorry to bother you guys, but the doc can see Gabrielle for her physical now. Then we’re cleared to take a ride on the track.”

  “Excellent. Gas up scooters while Gabby’s getting checked out, and then we’ll tour the track together.”

  She closed her eyes at the use of her old nickname. In an effort to put the crash behind her, ever since that day, she’d asked to be called Gabrielle. It helped cover the pain from the memories, but it didn’t quite cure it.

  Brad started to stand but stopped halfway. His hand went to his hip and, with a grimace, he finished the effort.

  The wreck flashed before her eyes—the white concrete retaining wall looming ahead, the shock of hitting the wall quadrupled by the impact with Brad’s car shearing off her machine’s nose cone and spinning it like a top. The crash was devastating, but what happened afterward was a thousand times worse.

  First, Jean-Pierre died, the result of being hit in the head by a piece of debris from Gabrielle’s car. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to attend the funeral. His family and the other drivers were understanding and offered her kind words, but the guilt was a tidal wave that overcame and drowned her.

  Then there was the gut-wrenching hospital visit to see Brad. From his bed, he was unable to, or chose not to, offer the same forgiveness. On top of everything else, his refusal to make eye contact when she tried to apologize was too much for her nineteen-year-old self to handle.

  Now here she was, face to face with the man she once adored, the man who had broken her heart into tiny pieces, like the carbon fiber of her race car when it hit the wall, by rejecting her when she tried so hard to apologize for starting the crash that cost him his racing career. Her sweaty palms confirmed that, despite it all, she’d never gotten over him and probably never would.

  She joined him at the door. The past was in her rearview mirror. All she could do was keep her eyes on the road ahead of her, which started with passing her physical.

  A breeze raised goose bumps on Gabrielle’s arms as they strolled to the infield medical facility. Or maybe it was being close enough to Brad to enjoy the greenish hazel of his eyes and the crooked tooth when he smiled. He kept the conversation focused on business while they walked, and if she were ever required to testify under oath, she would have to admit to tuning out most of his words. She was ready for tomorrow, both physically and mentally.

  But she would allow herself to relish the soothing baritone melody of his voice. There was a wall between them, no doubt, but, for the moment, at least, it didn’t seem insurmountable.

  “And here we are.” They were at the front door of a white double-wide trailer with a red cross painted on the metal door. “It’s just a routine exam and drug screen. I have to make some calls, so I’ll be out here when you’re finished.” He hesitated and rubbed the back of his neck. “Anything I can do while you’re in there?”

  “Just one thing.” She pulled open the door. “Would you mind calling me Gabrielle? I haven’t been called Gabby since I was a teenager.” She kept her tone matter of fact. Hopefully, Brad wouldn’t take the request the wrong way, but she wasn’t a kid anymore. She was a grown woman and expected to be treated that way.

  A half hour later, she shook hands with the doctor and made her exit from the med center. The transition from the sterile, chilly exam room to the balmy, humid outdoors made her take in a breath.

  “Everything okay . . . Gabrielle?”

  “Everything’s good.” Especially since he remembered. “Pretty hot out here after being in that freezer.” And she wasn’t just talking about the weather.

  His eyes glittered like jewels in the fading light, and his smile was a ray of sunshine unto itself. “I know what you mean. I think it took me a half hour to warm up after checking in on Chas. Ready to see the course?”

  “More than ever.” Other than a couple of charity go-kart events in which she’d filled a seat as a last-minute injury replacement, Gabrielle hadn’t raced in the United States since the crash. It felt good to be back. It felt right to be back. Shoot, she’d grown up in the Orlando area, so this was practically home. The only reason she’d left racing, and then the continent, was a futile attempt to drive away from the guilt . . . and the pain.

  Now here she was, driving for a team owner who was demanding but knife-sharp and a team director who she knew personally, at least she used to, but not professionally. It was going to take work, both to get reacquainted with Brad and to get acquainted in this series.

  It was also the final step in her recovery from the post-crash PTSD diagnosis. Admittedly, it was a huge step, facing American racing and Brad in one fell swoop, but she needed to do this. If nothing else, Gabrielle was a hard worker, and she was convinced hard work would ensure things worked out.

  • • •

  “The first turn is the key to your lap. To hold your position, you’ll need to drive it in hard and brake late. If you’re not careful, you’ll get passed on both sides.” Brad hit the gas on his scooter and shot ahead of Gabrielle and Scott to demonstrate the line he wanted her to take. They were on the third lap around the one-point-nine-mile street circuit, and she was bone weary from a day filled with information overload.

  Like a good soldier, she followed Brad through the turn, but instead of easing off the gas, she pulled back on the throttle and barreled past him, ignoring his shouts. She leaned forward to lower her center of gravity and reduce wind resistance. As she rolled through the wide arc of turn two, the needle on the speedometer was buried at seventy. It was a fraction of the speed she’d reach in her car tomorrow, but it still soothed her soul to go flat out.

  She took a deep breath and centered her mind. By the time she exited turn four, she was one with the machine. The vibration from the engine kept rhythm with her heartbeat. The side-to-side motion as she navigated the course matched her breathing. She leaned into the final turn and barreled toward the start-finish line without easing up until she flashed across the painted white stripe.

  She checked her smartwatch as she coasted down the front stretch and into turn one. Even after a lap at full gas, her heart rate was a steady eighty-seven. Of course, a scooter, with its tiny engine and pint-size frame—that made it look like a motorcycle which had been hit by a shrink ray—at seventy miles per hour was child’s play compared to a race car that featured four hundred fifty horsepower and could reach two hundred miles per hour.

  Oh, yeah. Her heart rate would be in the one forties tomorrow, when she’d be turning laps a minute at a time.

  She cruised through the rest of the course, making mental notes of areas where she could pass, along with likely trouble spots. Two figures awaited her in the growing darkness as she approached the finish line.

  Brad was off his bike the moment she came to a stop. “Do you mind telling me what the hell that was about? You could have been killed.” He loomed over her, eyes blazing and fists curled into tight balls.

  A memory of seeing an unmoving J.P. in his car as she was led to an ambulance after the crash flashed before her, and she broke out in a cold sweat. Her therapist had warned her she would likely experience symptoms again. Thank goodness Gabrielle had listened to her. She closed her eyes and counted backward from twenty in Spanish. The exercise forced her to concentrate on the moment, which drove out the memo
ry.

  “That was an attempt to get to know this course at speed. Puttering around here at ten miles per hour for the rest of the night wasn’t going to teach me a thing.”

  “Oh, so after two laps you’re a seasoned veteran and don’t need any input from others?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  Someone placed a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off and spun to confront the offender. It was Scott, who had his hands up, as if to surrender.

  “Let’s take a breath, everyone. It’s been a long, stressful day.” He pointed a finger at Brad. “She has a point about wanting to see the course at speed.” With his other hand, he pointed at her. “A little communication about your intentions would have been helpful, though.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, Brad. Gabrielle isn’t Chas.” Scott turned to her. “Did you learn anything?”

  Yes, victory. “Quite a lot, actually, and—”

  “Good. You can show us now.” He went to his scooter. “While we putter around the course one more time. At ten miles per hour.”

  A half hour later, the trio was seated around the circular table in the team’s motor home. Having finished her report of her hot lap experience, Gabrielle sat back and took a drink from her bottled water.

  “What do you think?” Scott tapped his stylus on his tablet and looked at Brad.

  Gabrielle held her breath. The hot lap had been an impulsive decision, not a test of Brad’s authority. Hopefully the move hadn’t wrecked their relationship before she’d even had time to repair it.

  The team director took a deep breath and shook his head. “I think Gabby, I mean Gabrielle, gave us more good information from that single lap than Chas gave us in hours of testing and practice.”

  “Agreed.” Scott chuckled and raised his energy drink to her. “Good job, kid, but promise you won’t try a stunt like that again.”