16-Julian
“Your last lap was the best this race so far.”
Great engineers lead to great cars. Boone Rivers may annoy me, but his hiring practices are excellent. One came over from BP Racing, Jake’s former employer before it imploded last year.
“Do we have official confirmation of that?” I ask.
“Affirmative. That’s direct from officials.”
“33 is in the lead for this stage. You think you can manage that?” Pete Webb asks.
Lily’s father, and my biggest critic, has joined the chat. If he knew what I let his daughter do to my body last night, he’d be asking me a very different question. For example, I could choose the manner of my death.
“Two to go. It’s two wide behind me. You see anyone trying for a third lane?” There’s no sign from my mirror, but that’s a limited view.
My spotter chimes in. “No one is going for the lane.”
Welcome to the short track.
“They’re saving fuel,” Pete says. There’s a burst of static, and I miss his following statement.
“Can you repeat?” I ask.
“One more lap. How’s the car?”
“Nice and tight. Wheels good.”
“It’s done. Stage two is yours. Boone asked me to pass on his congratulations.”
“Tell him thanks,” I say, not that I care. “Skipping pit road on the restart. Let’s get a few more laps out of this.
The entire field is playing it safe, which means there’ll be a giant scramble at the end. I’ll take my points, wins, and high place in the rankings. Sometimes, you need to concentrate on the long game.
“The 19 gaining on your right.”
Fuck the long game.
I move to block.
One more lap down, and the entire pack is still following along.
Call me the pied piper because a pack of children is behind me.
∞∞∞
“You had a good performance today.” Chris Williamson is a long-time staple in motorsports news, with his favorite being NASCAR. He’s been a fixture at every race since I started my career. He is a friendly guy who also enjoys going there with his questions. Chris hasn’t brought up my family this season, but that’s only because it isn’t finished yet. “A second stage win and most laps led in the race. You want to share your strategy?”
I smile. “It’s no secret. This is a drafting track, which makes fuel saving a big temptation. Once the opportunity came to take the lead, I went for it.” Lily appears over Chris’ shoulder, and my smile turns into a grin. She’s speaking with Pete, but she’s noticing me. “It paid off.”
“Your team has formed a partnership with Black Castle this season. Jake Knowles pushed you to victory once last season. Can we expect more of this same?”
“You know my rule. Race clean, and if there’s an opportunity to return the favor…” Hell, yes. He’s a good man. “Right now, I’m thinking about Martinsville next week and then a tire check in Texas the week after.”
“Tire compounds have been a contentious topic lately. You want to weigh in?” Chris’s friendly voice almost works. Every podcaster, half the drivers, and all of NASCAR has weighed in on this topic.
“Everyone still wants to know what happened at Bristol last season.” Tires lasted only forty or fifty laps before needing a change. It was chaos and some of the most joyful racing of my experience. “My opinion is simple; let us choose.”
Some drivers believe the cars are becoming increasingly uniform—the same power, the same tires, the same everything. Seeing what our engineers are pulling off this season, I’m not sure about that theory.
Yeah, I’m done with this interview. “Thanks for your time, Chris. See you next week.”
There’s a girl waiting for me.
Jake calls my name.
Dammit. “Can this wait until tomorrow?” I ask.
“Good racing. You are having a hell of a season,” he says.
I guess that compliment couldn’t wait. “The right crew can make a difference.”
“Can we talk about Matteo Diaz? That race is in a week, and I want your honest opinions.”
“He’s ready.”
“Got that. Sarah says we’re celebrating it.”
Lily is watching me. She’ll catch a ride home with her father if I don’t get to her in time.
“Yes, he deserves it. I gotta go.”
At least she didn’t overhear that last part because she wasn’t invited. Matteo made his interest in her very clear, and that means I’m keeping her away from him.
You know. To protect her.
“Can I take you home?” I ask, cutting her off before she can reach Pete.
“Dad is taking me home.”
“Yes, I’m preventing you from talking to him.” I shift to block her view. “C’mon. It’s a three-hour drive. We both know you’d rather come with me.”
Lily’s loose braids show off her bare shoulders. The cardigan meant to cover them up dangles in her arms. Between that and her incredibly short skirt, I often wonder if she realizes how much skin she displays. Specifically, I wonder if she does it for me. Probably not.
Last night appeased her curiosity, and I’m okay with that. Mostly.
If Pete ever finds out, he’ll slowly torture me until I’m begging for the sweet release of death.
“When can you be ready?” she asks after a short delay.
∞∞∞
Chris Williamson isn’t the first reporter to comment on my discipline this season. Sure, he asks, whereas Pete and Boone make pithy comments, but it’s all the same. The truth is that my compartmentalization skills have improved. I fell asleep thinking about Lily touching my body and woke up to the same. The thoughts turned off at the beginning of the first lap and right back on the moment, I crossed the finish line.
Dinner last night was casual and easy like it always is. It was as if her hand on my dick only a short time earlier had never happened.
I still wonder: was I correct for allowing her to do it, or was I wrong to not ask her to keep going?
“We’re in the home stretch, only thirty more minutes.”
She snorts. “I thought home stretches were measured in laps.”
“Or seconds.”
“We’ll beat my dad home.”
That’s perfect. I won’t suffer him while dropping his daughter off on the front porch. “I’ll walk you in.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I want to.”
Lily pulls at her scalp. The neat twin braids she sported at the beginning of the trip have fallen victim to her nervous habit. Loose hairs stick up, giving her something of a wild look. “Did we remember my suitcase? It was next to me, and then it wasn’t. My planner is in it.”
“I wheeled it out. If you look behind you, you’ll find it.” Lily twists to check out the Tahoe’s rear cabin, and I turn on the overhead lights for her to see. She sighs with relief. “Feel better?”
“I was thinking about class tomorrow, and then I remembered there was a test, but I wasn’t sure if there was. That’s when I realized it was missing. Thank you for getting it.”
I wheeled it out with her walking beside me. “Does a test tomorrow mean you don’t want a late dinner?”
“Sorry.”
Unless an alternative comes up, I’m going home to a lonely house. “Movie tomorrow?”
“I think so?”
“That means you need to check your planner.”
A small black notebook is the gatekeeper of her life. Every test, appointment, race, flight information, and social engagement goes in there. Lily has shared it with me more than once, and all the social obligations include me.
She pulls at her hair, so I snake our fingers together until our hands loosely intertwine. Her sweet smile is visible in the darkness.
Miles passes as we head south down the interstate. Neither of us speaks much, and I’m okay with that. Mostly.
There’s still no mention of last night because I’m a coward, and she’s anxious. There’s no point asking why I offered because there’s no doubt why. She trusted me, and I wanted to be there first.
She’s ten years younger. If I ever forget that, we would go further, and instinct says our friendship wouldn’t survive it. Lily deserves better than me.
Lily pulls her attention from staring out the window to glance at me, and a shiver goes through me. It’s not possible she guessed my thoughts. I’m not that transparent, am I?
“What are you thinking about?” I ask her. Was it only last night?
“One of my earliest memories. It was late, probably close to the same time as now, and I fell asleep in the back seat. We were coming home from a race since he dragged me to those all the time when I was little. Anyway, Dad picked me up, carried me to bed, and tucked me in. I don’t remember anything else, but I remember how safe and protected he made me feel.”
“I bet.”
Pete Webb fiercely loves his daughter and fiercely dislikes me. For all his judgment, my racing performance doesn’t deserve his criticism. I’ve made the playoffs every year since joining RMS, and work my ass off to be a team player. Pete values loyalty, which makes me immediately suspect. I betrayed my family, which landed me the RMS ride. Doing the opposite would have made me complicit and also subject to his judgment.
“It’s one of those childhood memories. It’s like staying home sick. You’re miserable, but there’s daytime television, which makes it all better,” she says.
I chuckle at that part. “My mother was the one who took care of us when we were sick. My father wasn’t that kind of parent. He wasn’t a cuddler, to put it mildly.”
Lily pulls the last of her attention from the other cars and squeezes our still-joined hands. Her voice lowers, as if the intimate question demands a more secretive voice. Perhaps it does. “What kind was he?”
My jaw tightens, like it often does when I think about him. “Julian Murphy Senior was demanding. Your child psychology books would probably say he has an authoritative parenting style. Rigid. Controlling. Pick your adjective. One is as good as another.”
“Do you have any positive memories of him?”
He never carried me to bed after a late-night road trip. “He taught me racing and made sure I was damn good at it.” Some would say ruining his business and reputation is an excellent form of revenge. Saving my career cost me a family, and I’d do it all over again. “Please don’t share that with anyone. It’s not something I want to get out.”
“My Dad will never know,” she says, correctly guessing who I referred to. “Besides, what is it you say? It’s no one’s business what happens between us. Our friendship is for us, not them.”
Including last night.
“Two freaks in a pod,” I say, and she gives me a combination of snort and laugh. “It’s true.”
“We are not.”
“We’ve spent an hour engaged in the great smoothie versus milkshake debate. That’s a textbook definition.”
“It is in one of my textbooks, now that you mention it.”
“Right next to the part about it’s our business and no one else. I enjoy pleasing you, Lily.”
Her only response is to pull her hand from mine and redo her braids.
A short time later finds us pulling into her driveway. There’s no traffic, and every home, including hers, is hidden in the darkness. The lone street lamp offers barely any light. The faint sound of tree frogs is our only form of company.
“What time is your class tomorrow?” I ask.
“What?”
“Your class time.”
“Oh, class. I forgot. Nine.”
Nine is both later in the morning and early enough that she can’t be convinced to go somewhere else, even if only for a quick meal at some greasy spoon diner.
I grab her overnight bag from the back, and we head inside together.
Lily switches on the lights, and I whistle.
“What is it?”
“It occurred to me the only part I’ve seen is your bedroom.” Sneaking in late at night like a teenager out after curfew. It’s embarrassing and also a blast. Who knew Pete Webb kept such an early bedtime or slept so heavily? “It’s late.”
Lily only nods. “What happens between us is only for us.”
We’re finally going to talk about last night. I once chided Sarah and Maddie for not confronting their partners, and now I finally get it. Uncomfortable discussions can be exactly that. Uncomfortable. “I didn’t plan last night to happen like it did.”
She doesn’t hear me. “I have a favor to ask. You can say no, and I would understand. It’s me, after all. Here goes.” Lily’s eyes slam shut, and she takes several quick breaths.
“Anything.” A thousand problems instantly fly through me, none seeming more likely than any other. “What’s wrong?”
Her eyes slowly open, and she glances past me before boldly meeting my own. “I want you to be my first. I’ve decided it’s time to get it over with.”
Get what over with? “Oh.” It’s my turn to yank at my hair.
“Julian?” The uncertainty in my name is obvious. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t. Not with me,” I say. My thoughts are collected enough to manage that much.
The faint sound of an engine comes from outside.
Perfect timing. “We have company,” I say.
The front door opens, and Pete Webb enters. He glowers at me with all the disdain a protective father can muster. “It’s late.”