by Anna Cove
Amanda, one of my mechanics, held out her hand to me. "That was amazing," she said, practically bouncing as she pulled me the rest of the way out of the car. Her blond hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, her eyes bright and eager.
She wouldn't look so bushy-eyed if she had just done that for over an hour. "You call that amazing?"
"Yeah. I mean, to have the chance to do that… doesn't it feel wonderful?"
"It would feel better if I had come close to the top five." I grimaced, rolling my shoulders and stretching my neck. Amanda's eyes dimmed just slightly, and I immediately felt terrible for my attitude. "You had a great race today. You pulled that fuel hose in really well."
"Thanks." She winked. "I worked my ass off on my time. Not as fast you, unfortunately. I would give anything to trade places with you one day, though."
"You drive?"
"Yeah." She beamed. "That's how I got this job."
We'd been on Team Gianetti together for six months and I didn't know this about her. We hadn't had much time together in the off season, and I'd been too busy training to hang out. Now was not the time, either, as Ed Gianetti, the team owner, approached.
"Thanks for everything today, Amanda. We'll talk later, okay?" I said.
Amanda nodded. She twisted away from me in slow motion, her eyes wide as if she was taking it all in. I followed her gaze as she traced over the pit lane, the grandstand, the palm trees, the crowd… trying to remember what it was like to see this for the first time. For the life of me, I couldn't. Was this what happened when you'd been racing for over half your life? Had it felt this way even last year? Before one of the biggest teams in racing had dropped me like a sack of potatoes?
When Ed reached me, he handed me a bottle of water. "You did great today," he said. "You got squeezed there in that third turn, but it wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known that Moray was there on the inside."
I nodded, taking a swig of my water. The bright sun seemed to draw my headache to a pinpoint straight behind my eyes. Despite this, my mind traced over that turn, how Moray had knocked me and I'd bounced off the wall. It was a small crash, especially in comparison to what could have happened, but it had forced me to take an extra pit stop to fix my broken wing. Unfortunately, there wasn't such a thing as a pit stop to stop the pit in my stomach.
Ed wiped the sweat from under his sunglasses. "You could have pushed a little more in that sixth turn. You lost precious seconds there."
"I know." I held my stomach. Maybe something was wrong with me physically. Maybe I should have gone to the doctor before now. For the past two weeks I'd barely eaten enough to sustain my workouts. My stomach was always knotted or upset. It didn't matter if it was early morning or late evening or before a race or after a race or during an interview. It was just constantly off.
"You better head back to the paddock. Your father's in the transporter." Ed patted me on the shoulder. "I believe in you, Billie. You can do this. You've just got to believe in yourself."
Believe in myself. I did believe in myself, in the end. Did he sense ambivalence? "I do," I said, my mouth quivering as I tried to smile.
Ed squinted and nodded once. "Good. Go see your father, then."
I turned and walked down the alley to the paddock area. Ed had taken a chance on me. After the major team had dropped me, after no one would return my calls, he picked me up for his brand new team on a trial basis. It was an adjustment working with so few people, on a much smaller budget, and I was acutely aware that their employment depended on my racing. The whole team depended on me.
I had to do better. For them. For Ed. For me.
The grandstands provided some shade from the sun, though the ache behind my eyes didn't ease up. My father would summarize my mistakes before I met with my team and they did the same, though much more nicely. I would probably have some sponsorship meetings after that, and then… bed. Sweet, sweet bed. Sure, I would have to watch the race on repeat, but at least I could do it from the cushioned comfort of my hotel room. Still, I had a long time before that arrived.
I moved through the people in a pain-fueled haze, barely paying attention until I felt a touch at my elbow. I turned to see a little girl with long dark hair parted down the middle and dark eyes.
Despite the exhaustion in my muscles, I crouched to get on level with the girl. She was probably about ten and wore a shirt with my face on it that said Race like a girl. Her father—or whoever had brought her—stood a little behind, his arms crossed as he watched us.
"Will you sign this for me?" She pushed a little helmet and a Sharpie my way.
"Sure, sweetie," I said, feeling guilty for almost blowing by her. "What's your name?"
"Bella. You're my hero," the little girl gushed. "When I grow up I want to be just like you. I've already started racing go-karts and I'm beating all the boys."
I smiled. She was bright and excited. Sparkling and energetic. Amanda had that, too. It was like a fairy dust I knew existed, but couldn't quite find on my own. Was it youth? Or something else?
"Keep beating them," I said, handing back the helmet. "And you'll be right over there someday." I pointed to Victory Circle.
"Do you have any advice?" Bella asked.
I thought for a moment. I'd answered this question dozens of times, but mostly for reporters. I wanted to give this little girl something more. This would be an important moment for her, one she would look back on in years to come. "Learn to trust your gut," I said. "Don't let anyone tell you what you can and can't do."
The girl beamed, thanked me, and rushed back to her father. In her place appeared one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. I did a double-take. It was the woman I'd met at the meet and greet. She was striking, with dark curls rolling over her shoulders and a huge smile of bright white teeth.
I turned away.
"Billie?" she asked.
I pretended not to hear her and walked away quickly. I didn't know if I could resist her otherwise, and resistance was necessary. The day would take enough energy without a beautiful woman to distract me.
"I found my card," she called. "Just in case you…"
I didn't hear the rest. My stomach turned as I walked farther away from the first woman who had made me laugh in a long time. It had been such a stupid joke, and we'd laughed and laughed. When was the last time I had laughed like that? Months? Years? Women like her were dangerous, though. They threw me off my game. Though it hurt to walk away from the potential, it would be much worse in the future if I got to know her and then had to walk away.
The walking away always happened. Women just didn't get my job. The two didn't mix.
Thankfully, the crowd was too thick for her to follow me, and I entered the paddock alone.
My mother greeted me with a quick kiss on the cheek. My father stood with his arms crossed. He didn't even let me sit on one of the leather couches before starting in.
"Do you even want this?" he asked.
My chest curled in on itself like a wilting flower. "Of course I want this."
"Your performance today didn't show that."
"Ed said I did fine."
"He has a stake in your mental well-being," Dad said in a low voice. His eyes bulged, the veins in his temples pulsing. When I'd stepped out of the car, the air had felt cool in comparison. Now it was heavy and laden with moisture again. Now, it was also in short supply.
As Dad paced out some of his anger, I glanced at Mom, who focused intently on the wall of the trailer as if it was made of gold. I sunk down on the couch, propping myself in the corner. I was covered in sweat, but showering would require getting up. And getting up wasn't looking good. "He's the owner of the team. He knows what he's talking about."
"Here's the thing. I know you—and that out there? You were just phoning it in. You can do better than that. Or, I thought I you could. Once. Maybe you can't any longer."
I pushed my fingers into my eyes in an attempt to relieve the pain. The irritation had strengthened
in my stomach to the point where it felt like acid burning my insides. Great job, honey. Would he ever say that to me?
Dad stopped right in front of me. I could see his loafers from under my hands. Freakin' loafers. Who would have thought a retired economics professor would spend most of his time on the racetrack? "That third turn—" he said.
"I know."
"Are you going to listen to me or are you going to talk over me?"
The wilting flower in my chest crumbled to dust. My limbs felt heavier than they had in the car. I brought my eyes up to meet his, a strangled feeling coming over me just like when I was five and broke the Swarovski crystal vase my parents got as a gift on their wedding day. In the same way, my mother hovered like a ghost, never meeting my eyes. Unlike when I was five, I refused to let my lip tremble. "Go ahead."
"You cut in too soon after passing Moray. And in the sixth turn, every time, you backed off. I could see it on the engineers' screens. You were almost a second off where you should have been. If you don't pull it together, you're not going to have a job come May."
"Don't be so dramatic." I hadn't meant to say the words, but they had just flown out of my mouth. And since they had done so, I leveled my gaze at my father. What are you going to do? Send your thirty-year-old daughter to her room?
He lifted his chin. "I expect more from you."
How was that possible? I was doing exactly what he wanted. I was still racing, right? I was doing the best I could. I was… failing. That's what I was doing. Shit. "I'm sorry, Dad. I have a terrible headache. Can we talk about this later?"
"There's no room for headaches," he said. "Pull yourself together."
He stormed out of the trailer.
My mother, his attachment, walked over to me and placed a kiss on the top of my sweaty head. She offered me a smile like none of that had happened, said nothing, and followed him out. I gave myself a minute to watch the door, a tangle of emotions knotting inside. It was too much, so I didn't look closely. I was too tired.
As I closed my eyes and rested my head for the few seconds before my next meeting, Krysta Ekert's smile popped into my mind. Her stupid joke. The way she had just asked me out.
I wish I could be free like that. I would never be free like that.
CHAPTER THREE
KRYSTA
The race was more exciting than I thought it would be. And with the beautiful day, lots of food that was probably terrible for me but oh so good, time with Ty, and plenty of people-watching, I couldn't help but enjoy myself. The only problem was, I hadn't gotten a date with Billie Page, and the thought of thick hedgehog turds loomed large in my mind. What also loomed large was the little crush I'd developed on Billie.
When Ty explained g-forces to me, I imagined Billie in the car, holding her body against those wind speeds, against the corners. I imagined her foot pressing the pedal to the floor on the straights in front of the grandstands where we were sitting. It wasn't hard. Not only was she strikingly beautiful and therefore seared into my brain, but a larger-than-life flag with her image on it rippled in the wind right in front of us. She had her helmet in one arm and stared right out at the viewer.
I am queen of the world, she said.
Except she wasn't. Not quite. Though she came close to the front, she never led the race, and finished somewhere in the middle. In my mind, she had won, though. I couldn't get her laugh out of my head. As Ty and I approached the exit, I hung back, running my fingers along Ty's arm.
"What do you say we double or nothing our bet? I sleep with her or I'll take your hog for the entire duration of your cruise." At the thought of the former option, my insides warmed. My mind flashed dirty, dirty thoughts. I imagined me wrestling Billie to the bed. I imagined her fighting back, caging me against the wall with those strong arms. Later, her legs curled around me like a vise. Her body, both hard and soft, strong, but womanly. That spectacular, surprising laugh.
He raised an eyebrow. "Wow, she's really got you hooked. Is she really your type?"
"She's hot, so, yes. She is my type."
Ty chuckled, shaking his head and rolling his eyes up to the sky. "You are incorrigible, my dear."
I secretly liked this assessment of myself, but I punched him in the shoulder to hide it. Ty caught my hand and brought it to his lips like a courtier. "We're on. Be careful, okay?"
"Of course." I pulled out of his grasp and pushed him away. "Go."
"Pictures or it didn't happen," Ty called over his shoulder.
"Go!"
After he left, I roamed around the enclosure, watching the people at the food tents pack up and chat with one another, until the only thing left to keep me company was the litter. I wound my way back to the paddock where all the team trailers were stored. This area had contained the tent for the meet and greet earlier, but no one seemed to be paying attention now.
I slipped inside.
A little thrill ran through me. The moment someone saw me they would know I didn't belong. The question would be whether they cared enough to kick me out. To decrease those chances, I walked with purpose around the maze of tractor trailers, adrenaline sharpening all of my senses. My eyes, like an eagle, zeroed in on the names for the team trailers. My ears listened for any sounds of discovery.
Butterflies occupied my stomach. They were my fuel. I felt alive.
Billie's trailer was toward the back of the paddock area. Like the rest, it shined like it had been washed just that day.
Suddenly, I wasn't sure what to do next. Should I knock on the door? Or should I hang out? Knocking on the door would be risky. If she wasn't there, I would have a hard time explaining my presence and may be escorted out. If she was, then how would I get her to go out with me? I decided the best plan was just to watch for now.
It wasn't chickening out. It was strategic.
I found a place between two trailers and secured myself there for a little while, pulling out my phone to entertain myself. I watched every interview with Billie I could find, researched as much about IndyCar as I could. When she finally did come out, I wanted to be able to impress her. What about her made me feel all mealy mouthed? Like a shy fifth grade girl afraid of making a mistake and being uncovered as uncool?
She left her trailer an hour and thirty-seven minutes after I took up my position. I hung back and waited to see where she would go, but she disappeared into another trailer.
The sun was low in the sky. There was more activity now, people packing up and leaving. Mostly men. Some saw me but didn't say anything. One tried to start a conversation, but I shut him down pretty quickly. "What would your wife think about this conversation?" I pointed to the ring on his finger.
I would give Billie another hour, until five or so, but I hoped she would come out. I could not lose this bet.
Billie re-emerged an hour and fifteen minutes later, looking exhausted. I drummed up my nerve and stepped out of my hiding place, but before I could approach her, she produced a baseball cap and pulled it down over her eyes. Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she charged toward the exit onto 2nd Street.
A clutch of people separated us and when I emerged through the exit, I lost track of her.
Shit. All that time waiting around for nothing? I searched through the crowd of the streets, but couldn't see a blue baseball capped woman. Could I find someone else and convince Ty that I'd snagged Billie? No. If I found someone else I'd just be thinking of her all night. It wouldn't be fair to whatever woman I picked up. Plus, I liked to think myself a woman of honor. I couldn't tell such a big lie to Ty.
As I separated from the crowd and headed for the bus, I caught sight of dark hair under a baseball cap. The woman stepped up on to a bus that went right by my house. What were the chances? I hurried to catch the same and crouched in the front of the bus until she got off near the end of the line. Then I followed her some more straight into a hotel parking lot. The Beachcomber.
Up to this point, I felt okay on this path. It was slightly creepy, all in the name of
avoiding hedgehog turd, but if she went up to her hotel room, the game was over. I would have to stop. It would just turn into plain Stalker 101 at that point. Thankfully, she didn't go to a room. She went straight to the beach behind the hotel and took off her shoes at the sand line.
I found a position behind a palm tree and removed my sandals. When I came out from behind the tree, she was gone. I loped out into the sand, feeling the latent warmth of the setting sun on my feet. There were enough people on the beach to scan, but not enough to lose her in. Where could she have gone?
Immediately after that thought, something hard hit my back and I found myself eating a mouthful of sand. A weight settled on top of me, pinning me to the ground. "Why are you following me?"
My neck ached from snapping back during the fall, but I twisted around to see Billie's face, the wind whipping her hair across her nose, framing those green eyes. Those angry green eyes. I spit the sand from my mouth the best I could. "Could you maybe shift down a bit please?"
She tightened her grip. "Answer me. Why did you follow me?"
This was not exactly what I'd imagined when I'd dreamed of us together, though as the pain diminished, the press of her legs against my sides was edging closer to it. "I wanted to talk to you. Do you mind loosening your grip? This hurts. And while I kind of like it, I'd also like use of my shoulders tomorrow."
Billie's grip loosened, but only slightly. She held both my wrists in one hand, the other ranging over my back and sides.
I realized what she was doing and my throat tightened. She thought I was going to hurt her. Why wouldn't she? In a post-Selena world, I could be some crazy-ass stalker fan. Silly Billie. She would see I was harmless eventually. I let her search, my skin warming with her touch. "I might be carrying something in my bra, too. Don't forget to check there."