22-Julian
Talladega Superspeedway
“How do you feel?” I ask.
“Professionalism is overrated.” A camera inside Matteo’s truck isn’t necessary to tell me he’s itching to take his hands off the wheel to talk. The man uses his hands to speak more than anyone I’ve met. “Half of them out here need a lesson in manners.”
That’s the joy of the truck series. It requires a different style of driving than Cup while also encouraging aggression for aggression’s sake. Some younger drivers will attempt to barrel through their competitors rather than use aero and skill.
“You’ll find the 82 after turn three. He’s two laps down but throwing blocks on others. Be ready for it.”
“Why?”
I shrug. “Why is the sky blue?”
It’s a long day, and my feet throb. Standing on top of the grandstand, surrounded by three dozen spotters all yelling into a headset, doesn’t help either. An early bedtime, on the other hand...
“Trucks pitting. The 28 coming off the lead, and the 42 taking over.”
“How far back am I?” Matteo asks.
“Buddy, you are right dead in the middle,” I say.
Matteo’s chief butts in. “How are the tires?”
“Grip is decent.”
We’ll work on that over the next several races, along with air, tires, fuel, and power. Driver skill is necessary, but he needs to understand all the rest to perform on the track.
“28 off pit road. You can expect him to climb back up. Move on the inside.”
The race is almost done, and then back to the trailer.
∞∞∞
Getting around at a superspeedway requires a golf cart or the stamina to run a marathon. Once the race ends, it takes me time to escape the grandstand and head towards pit road.
Matteo tricked me into going out with his excited screeches about Talladega being one long party. He’s not wrong, but my weekend includes an entire weekend of races, and my heart isn’t in it. Not this time. Not lately.
Busy pit crews ignore me, most wanting to clean up the boxes and put away their respective trucks. Matteo is probably changing out of his fire suit. Either that or he forgot about me, which is fine.
“I was asked to tell you to wait here,” Sarah says from where she sits on the pit wall. Her husband and Robert Deere are busy talking.
“It’s good to see you again.” It’s the first time in over a week. After looking for her in their new offices, I wondered if she avoided me. “We need to talk.”
“I’m a happily married woman, Julian. You’ve come too late.”
I roll my eyes at the obvious bait. “We both know I don’t eat from the office break room.”
Sarah cranes her neck and snorts. “Is that what you’re calling it? Okay, wonderful talk. Let’s do this again soon.” She delivers sarcasm nearly as well as her brother.
I stare at my pretend watch. “Would you look at that? It’s soon. Stay out of my private life. It’s off limits.”
“White looks good on her, doesn’t it?”
“Not answering that.”
Sarah briefly considers and jumps down. She’s tall enough to nearly meet my eyes straight-on. “You realize this means I’ll do it even more, right? No other woman has gotten to you before.” She pokes my chest. “Lily did. Very fascinating.”
“We’re friends.”
“Yes, that’s your pet phrase. Say it louder so everyone in the stands can hear it, too.”
She thinks this is about me, a refusal to acknowledge we’re dating or seeing each other. This isn’t like my past relationships, because I don’t have any. Once a woman even breathes the word, I’m gone.
My life has amused Sarah for a long time, and she believes Lily adds to it. “Leave her be.”
“I’m not the one who drooled over her in a white dress.”
Gross. “I didn’t drool.”
Sarah puts her hands on her hips. It’s an old gesture, the one that says she’s right, and you’re wrong. “This is for your own good, Julian. Trust me, I know what’s best.”
“Best for what?” Jake asks. He approaches and puts an arm over her shoulders.
I get it, dude. She’s yours. It’s fine. I’m not interested.
Fucking hell. Does everyone think I’m plotting to get into another woman’s underwear?
“I’ve decided Julian needs my help,” Sarah says.
Jake’s eyes light up. “Your problem is solved, then. She’s amazing, isn’t she?” He pulls her even closer, away from me. “We have a fun evening planned. A relaxing dinner and a movie. See you in the morning and enjoy your…. uh… nightlife.”
∞∞∞
Every race is an excuse for a party weekend, especially Talladega. It’s infamous for all-night parties, women dancing shirtless, endless drinking, and all the other fun that ends in a hangover.
I tear off the damp paper from the brown bottle and take another small sip.
“Not thirsty?” Matteo asks.
“It’s a busy weekend for me. A headache can interfere with my plans.” Not all of my plans take place behind the wheel, either. Lily flies in tomorrow morning.
Matteo leans against the bench and puts his foot up on the seat. “You’re second in points. You intend to stay up there this weekend?”
This is Boone Rivers’ track. He’s won this race two years in a row, and every motorsports reporter has listed him as their favorite. Betting markets agree. “This track and I don’t always get along.” Then again, I know how the tires will perform, which gives me an advantage.
Matteo doesn’t hear me. A pair of blonde women are more interesting than my latest racing strategy. He raises his bottle, acknowledging them, and they approach.
“I’m Staci,” one of them says to me. “You don’t remember, but we met last year. You signed my chest.”
I signed many chests last year. “If you have pen and paper, I’ll sign something more permanent.”
Staci’s smile falters a little. She sits on the bench opposite me. “Any chance you’ll tell me your racing strategy this weekend? My older brother has a bet going on you.”
That’s flattering. “What kind of bet?”
“This year’s Cup champion.”
I lean back. That’s a possibility I’ve refused to consider. The focus has been this week’s race and then next week’s. A lot of racing and a lot of laps means anything can happen. “Tell him I’m flattered.”
“I will.”
Matteo is busy with her friend, so my wingman job is nearly over, and I can leave. “It was nice to meet you again, Staci.” Did she give a last name? Do I care?
“I’ll be here all weekend,” she says. Her expression shows she’s about to make an offer. “If you want my number-”
Someone clears his throat.
It’s Pete, clad in a trucker hat, RMS shirt, and a disapproving glare.
Wait. Shit. “What are you doing here?”
“Officials changed your qualifying time, which changes your sponsor work,” he says.
Staci listens curiously.
“Why didn’t you text?”
“We did, and considering your evening activity, it looks like my visit was needed.” Pete lifts his hat and brings it back down. “Try to show up on time.”
“I’ll be there,” I say, already grabbing my phone out of my pocket. It’s still on silent from the race. Worse, there’s a waiting text from Lily. “I’ll see you around, Staci.”
Morning plans are bumped up an hour. That’s fine. Wake-up times can be adjusted.
Lily: I didn’t watch your race. It’s boring, and you weren’t in it. What’s the point?
She’ll never be a huge fan, and that’s fine as long as she’s cheering me on.
Julian: Are you free soon?
Lily: To beat you? Always. If my homework is done on time.
My chest inflated at the beginning of her message and then shrunk back into itself by the end. We haven’t spoken today and barely texted.
I miss her.
∞∞∞
One quick stop and this day is over. Pete was sent to find me, which means I’m still wanted.
Boone opens his trailer door before I even finish knocking. “Does this mean Pete found you?”
“Message delivered,” I say.
“Come in.” Boone steps back, giving me the room to climb the narrow steps.
Inside, only a dim kitchen light and television give off light. Boone wears a pair of gray sweats and nothing else. Madelyn sits on the sofa, clad in one of his tshirts, with a blanket strategically covering her legs.
Great, I interrupted their evening. “You two were busy.”
“We were getting ready for dessert. You want some?” Boone pulls a carton from the mini freezer. “It’s raspberry sorbet.”
“No, thank you.”
“How much for you?” he asks Madelyn, and his voice drops, growing softer.
“Only one. It’s very sweet.”
Why is Boone so unusually polite?
I take in the intimate scene, especially Maddie, who watches him scoop raspberry sorbet into matching bowls. He’s spending an evening with his wife, creating a little oasis in the middle of a race track.
Boone Rivers is a prickly ass. He never smiles and often appears irritated, even when he doesn’t mean to be. He’s changed a little since Maddie came into his life, with his decision to delegate being one of the more striking changes. Boone would never have agreed to me mentoring Matteo Diaz before. He would make annoying comments about the stink of women’s perfume rubbing off on his drivers and then decide my help would only make Matteo worse. I would know because my first year working with him was spent in similar scenarios.
Maddie doesn’t merely make Boone happy; she makes him mellow. Is that what married life does to a man? It didn’t work with my father, so maybe not.
“I’ll be brief. Matteo did well tonight. He needs more experience, but he’ll get there,” I say.
Boone and Maddie share a look before he says, “I want you to do the same for the rookie, too.”
“Sam?” Samantha Edwards is the other driver under RMS. Her first year in the Cup series, with a lot of talent and even more raw nerves. We’ve barely shared words since the season started, mostly because she’s spent time with Boone and her crew chief. “She worries about mistakes and never makes a move.” You can’t move up the track without taking on at least some risk.
Boone nods. “She’s defensive. Let’s see what you come up with.”
A woman. Pete will appreciate that. “Is that the only reason you sent Pete?”
“Do you remember Harriett Blackwood?” Maddie asks me.
“Your old boss; she is difficult to forget.” Maddie worked for Harriett before her new job as Boone’s assistant. “She’s going to be here tomorrow, isn’t she? You’re breaking the bad news in person,” I guess.
Their returning expressions confirm it.
“She gives us money,” Boone says.
“I want to know the best way to handle it,” Maddie says, interrupting Boone before he insults me. “She’s mentioned you a couple of times, so if there’s a relationship there, or was a relationship there, this is a heads up. Would it be better if we kept her away?”
I slept with Harriett once and successfully avoided her since. “I can be professional.”
“It’s not your behavior that worries me,” Maddie says. Her diplomacy is appreciated, as it always is. No wonder Boone left this part of the conversation to her.
“Don’t worry about it. I can handle it.”
“Are you sure?”
No. “It won’t be a problem.”
Lily will be there, and Harriett does not recognize boundaries.
Great.