by A. K. Evans
Copyright 2020 by A.K. Evans
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, distributer, or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover Artist
cover artwork © Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations
www.okaycreations.com
Editing & Proofreading
Ellie McLove, My Brother’s Editor
www.mybrotherseditor.net
Formatting
Stacey Blake at Champagne Book Design
www.champagnebookdesign.com
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
Sneak Peek of Far Beyond Repair
Acknowledgments
Connect with A.K. Evans
Other Books by A.K. Evans
About A.K. Evans
To anyone who is out there breaking down barriers. Keep going.
“Why aren’t there any girls?”
“What’s that?”
I stood up from where I was sitting on the open ramp door of the trailer and walked over to where my dad was crouched down on the opposite side of his Corvette putting air in the slicks. Slicks were racing tires, and my dad and I were at one of my favorite places in the world. The racetrack.
I knew a lot of people thought it was weird to see a twelve-year-old girl with her dad at the track. Or, maybe it wasn’t that they thought it was weird so much as they believed I was here because I had no choice.
They were wrong.
I loved this. I loved being here. More than anything, I loved being here with my dad.
There wasn’t anything we didn’t do together. Of course, it was just the two of us, but I didn’t mind it. Nobody loved me like my dad did. Nobody. Not even my mother who walked away from the both of us when I was just a baby.
Bringing myself to a stop beside him, I repeated, “Why aren’t there any girls here?”
My dad looked around us before he returned his gaze to me and answered, “There are.” He jerked his head toward the pit next to ours where a man was busy working, bent over the engine bay of his car, and a woman was sitting in a chair in the trailer filing her nails while she chewed and snapped her gum noisily.
I scrunched my face up and shot my dad a disgusted look.
He saw it, laughed, and asked, “She doesn’t count?”
Shaking my head, I explained, “I’m not talking about just any girls, Dad. I’m talking about racers. Why aren’t there any girls here who race? It’s all boys.”
After checking that he’d put enough air in the tires following his last pass down the drag strip, my dad turned completely toward me and said, “Most girls aren’t interested in racing, I guess. In fact, most girls aren’t even interested in cars.”
“I am.”
A look of pride washed over him. He grinned at me and replied, “I know you are, Aves.”
Then he picked up the air line and moved to the other side of the car to put air in that tire. I followed behind him and wondered, “Are there any girls who race here?”
He sighed. “There are women who have raced, and there are women who still do it, but there aren’t many. And I’ve never seen any women racing here at this track.”
That was unfortunate.
And frustrating.
At that moment, I made a decision. I was going to do it.
“I want to be one,” I declared.
“Be what?” he asked.
“I’m going to be a drag racer when I grow up,” I told him. “And I’m going to be one of the best the sport has ever seen.”
Dad had finished airing up the second tire, so he stood and started wrapping the air line back around the compressor he had bolted to the floor at the front of our trailer.
“I have no doubt you’ll accomplish that,” he said. “You’ll be one of a few.”
He misunderstood me.
“No,” I corrected him as he carried the fuel jug and funnel out of the trailer. “I don’t mean I’m going to be one of the best girls to race. I’ll be that for sure. But I’m just going to be one of the best racers the sport has ever seen, boy or girl.”
My father stopped moving, set down the fuel jug by the car, and sat on the ledge at the side door entrance to the trailer. He reached out to me, tugged me close, and insisted, “I know what you meant, Avery. And I have no doubt you’ll do exactly what you set out to do.”
His words left me in shock. My dad had always encouraged me. Always. But something about this felt different to me. “Really?” I asked.
Nodding, he replied, “Yes. You might only be twelve, but you’re the smartest and most hard-working little girl I know. And if you want to become the best drag racer the world has ever seen, I have every confidence you’ll be just that.”
“What if… what if people say that I can’t?”
“Screw them,” he stated. My dad always had a knack for just putting it out there. I was his little girl and he was gentle when he knew he needed to be, but he never held back from giving me the truth.
“Well, what if I fail?” I wondered.
“You keep going,” he immediately answered. Then, as he often did, he gave me a pep talk. He continued, “My girl is the toughest girl I know. If you fail, you get back up and you dust yourself off. You keep going. This is racing, Aves. Stuff is going to happen. You’ve seen me working on my car. You’ve done the work with me. It’s never smooth sailing. But I don’t quit. I get up and get back behind the wheel. And you, my darling girl, you don’t quit either. You get up and you get back behind the wheel, too.”
I allowed his words to sink in. When they did, I felt a burning deep inside my belly. I felt a determination like I never felt before. And when it came over me, I couldn’t stop myself from twisting my neck in my dad’s direction and smiling.
That look gave him the confirmation he needed to know his message had penetrated.
I was his daughter.
I could do anything I set my mind to.
And with him in my corner, I felt invincible.
Sixteen Years Later
This was it.
Finally.
I was finally going to prove it to myself. To him.
I was going to win my first event today. After all these years.
To think I’d only been back in the driver’s seat for a few weeks now made this even more surreal. But life happened and interrupted all the plans I’d made growing up.
When I’d gotten back behind the wheel for the first time in years just a couple weeks ago, it felt a lot like coming
home. This was where I was happiest; the racetrack was where I had some of the greatest memories of my life.
I had only taken the car out to a testing session at that point and had done a few since then. As incredible as it had felt, it still didn’t compare to this.
I was officially back. At a race. And I was going rounds.
I’d made it through qualifying yesterday. After all the qualifying rounds, I landed in the number three spot. Today was eliminations. I’d gone through each round of eliminations and made it to the final round.
Just one more pass.
That’s all I needed to finally prove I could do this.
I was running against a worthy contender, but I didn’t let that get inside my head. Our cars were equally matched. I’d been running consistent times all weekend, my best pass being an 8.83 elapsed time at 160mph. My car was making one thousand and twenty-two horsepower, and I knew there were better times to be had. It was still early in the season, though. These things took time.
My opponent had some issues yesterday during qualifying, but he seemed to rectify them. His car had been running consistently throughout eliminations today. His best pass was an 8.65 elapsed time at 161mph. From a power standpoint, we were evenly matched.
But there was one spot where I knew I had him beat.
At the tree.
Right off the line.
If there was one thing I’d perfected, it was the art of cutting a light. Cutting a light meant getting a good reaction time. In drag racing, reaction times could make or break a race. Essentially, I could have a slower car and still win a race if I managed to leave the starting line long enough before my opponent.
And ever since before I could start driving I’d been practicing my reaction time. My dad bought me a practice tree. He set it up for me in the house and I’d spend hours of my time every week working on that time.
A perfect reaction time was .000, and if you managed to do that, you were guessing.
After years of practice, I was good at guessing.
All weekend long, my reaction time ranged from .008 to .043.
There were few people I believed could give me a run for my money when it came to cutting a light. My current opponent wasn’t one of them. He was decent, but I knew I’d get him off the line.
I’d just pulled up to the burnout box. Ricky Palmer, the owner of Altered Atmosphere and my former boss, was waiting only a few feet ahead to get me staged. When the track official gave me the thumbs up to start my burnout, I did it. Then I waited a few seconds for the smoke to clear out.
After it did, I pulled ahead and followed Ricky’s prompts to steer left, right, or straight as I inched the car forward to the pre-stage beam. Once I was there, Ricky stepped away. Then I took in a deep breath before I pulled into the first beam.
It was crazy to me that I’d have jitters all the way up until I pulled into the burnout box. Now, all my nerves had melted away and I was in the zone.
I pulled into the first beam. My opponent stopped existing once he lit up the second beam. From that point forward, I was running my own race in my own lane. I pressed my foot on the gas pedal a bit, inched forward, and lit up the second set of lights. Completely mashing my foot to the gas pedal, I gave myself half a second before I let off the clutch and dropped the emergency brake.
By the time I’d made it to the eighth mile—the halfway point—I was feeling really good. I was out in front and knew this because nobody was ahead of or beside me.
But just as I reached the top of third gear, something happened. The car pulled hard to the left, and I was fighting the wheel to get the car straight.
It wasn’t going to happen.
I wasn’t going to get it under control.
Either there was something on the track or something broke in the car because it had been dead consistent all weekend.
Though I fought as hard as I could to correct the car, it completely spun around while drifting closer and closer to the wall until it ultimately hit along the side, rear quarter, and ass end.
Fuck.
What a way to make a return.
Disappointment didn’t even begin to describe what I was feeling. That was mostly because I was still in shock as I tried to assess myself.
I wasn’t injured.
Though, I had stopped breathing. So, I took a few seconds and reminded myself to do that. With the air filling my lungs again, I released my harness and got myself out of the car.
When I stepped out onto the surface of the track, I vaguely heard cheers coming from the stands. While I knew it was done with good intentions, it sucked. I would have much preferred them cheering for me because I’d won the event.
Luckily, I didn’t have too much time to dwell on all the disappointment I felt because a paramedic ran up to me and bombarded me with questions.
For the next little while, I was distracted by everything happening around me. The paramedics were checking me out while the track officials got my car on a flatbed and cleaned up the track.
It wasn’t until I was back in my pit a little while later that disappointment became crushing. Not only had I failed at accomplishing my goal and trashed my car in the process, but I also had nobody to lean on. Because the team that I’d been part of for the last couple of years didn’t seem the least bit concerned or upset by what had happened to me.
It was then that I was grateful for the fact I could see them for who they were long before today and had interviewed for another job two weeks ago.
Tomorrow, I’d start my new job. And I’d do it with a team that I believed would have been there to support me.
It was a bit odd.
Feeling so excited not even a full twenty-four hours after crashing my car into a wall seemed strange. But I couldn’t deny that it was precisely how I felt as I drove to work in my truck.
This would be my third time making the drive to LT Motorsports. The first was two weeks ago when I applied and interviewed for a job opening they’d posted for a business manager.
The story of my interview is a little funny when I look back at it now. I’d managed to get the in-person interview after I wasn’t entirely truthful when I originally submitted the application and my resume. I had been working for Altered Atmosphere. It was no surprise to anyone that worked in the performance automotive industry that Ricky, the owner, and his crew were not exactly friendly with Logan Townsend, the owner of LT Motorsports, and his crew. I purposely neglected to mention on my resume that I was essentially working the same position at Altered Atmosphere because I was convinced I wouldn’t have gotten the interview.
But during the actual interview I knew I needed to be truthful. While a big part of me had wanted to hold that information back, I knew it wasn’t going to be a good way to start. Much to my surprise, Logan hired me on the spot. And he was really cool about it.
When Logan learned that I didn’t want Ricky knowing that I was quitting my job to go and work for him, he respected my request not to reach out to Ricky. And when I saw him at the track, he didn’t approach me. Or, at least, he hadn’t until the end of the event yesterday.
After my car had been towed back to my pit, and I spent some time getting things cleaned up in my trailer so I could pack it in for the day, I took a break to run to the bathroom. On my way there, I was stopped by my new boss and his girlfriend, Kendall. The two of them showed me such compassion following the incident, wanting to be certain I was okay. And I loved that Kendall was incredibly supportive. She not only expressed her sympathy for what had happened but also told me she thought I was a badass.
That felt good.
In an industry dominated by men, it was hard to find women at all let alone one to befriend because she wasn’t threatened by the fact that I knew what I knew about cars and was a racer.
But the concern Logan and Kendall showed me didn’t stop at my physical well-being. Logan immediately offered up a space in his shop for me to store my car so I could work on it and get it rebuilt.<
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I took him up on it and followed them back to his shop last night to unload it. That was my second trip to LT Motorsports.
And now, it was early on a Monday morning, and I was eager about my third trip to the world-renowned shop. Because now I was part of it. Today, I was starting my new job. And I couldn’t wait.
I pulled into the lot just as Logan was getting out of his car. When he looked up and saw me approaching, he stood there and waited.
If his previous actions hadn’t already convinced me he was a good guy who warranted the reputation he’d earned, this was just another reason to believe the hype. I was honored to be part of such a highly-respected business.
I parked my truck, grabbed my phone, and pulled the key out of the ignition. I left my wallet in the center console because I knew I wouldn’t be needing it. After getting out and locking the doors, I moved toward Logan and offered a friendly smile.
“Good morning, Avery,” he greeted me.
“Good morning, Logan,” I returned.
“Feeling any pain today?” he asked.
Wow.
Right there.
Right there was just another reason proving to me that I’d made the right decision to leave Ricky’s shop. My former boss and co-workers could barely be bothered to ask if I was alright immediately after the crash yesterday. And here I was a day later with my new boss, and he was still showing his concern.
“I’m a little sore, but I’m okay. I’ve got a couple of bruises from where the harness was holding me in place and my muscles are a bit achy, but it’s not unbearable pain,” I shared.
“Well, the bruising and soreness are unfortunate, but it’s better than the alternative, right?” he reasoned.
He wasn’t wrong about that. Being in the industry for so many years, I’d seen just how bad things could be. Though it was rare, fatalities happened. It was always awful. Always.
But more often than not, the safety equipment that was required to race at most tracks and events did the job it was there to do. In the end, the driver might end up with some aches, pains, and bruises, but they’d survive. That was all that mattered.