Chapter 11
ELEVEN
“Fuck yeah!” I yell as I step off the track the following weekend, punching the air excitedly. “Fuck yeah!”
I didn’t just win, but won by leaps and bounds, impressing both the audience and the judges, who gave me high scores across the board. It was the first time I landed a backflip since the crash, another trick I’d been avoiding, and it felt good.
Really fucking good.
With one last look at the scores, I grin at the standings. Oliver came in second, Tyler is in third, but the real shocker of the night is that Lana came in fourth, beating out some veteran drivers.
It’s not that I didn't think she had it in her; I’ve seen her in practice and know she can drive a truck. It's clear that, despite her lack of experience, she could easily dominate. Her growth has happened so unexpectedly fast, and her confidence has grown in the span of a single week.
I give the cheering crowd one last wave before following the other drivers into the hallway out of the arena, and straight toward the locker rooms.
I’m light as air, feeling more upbeat than I have in weeks.
I take a quick shower, hiding my clothes so I don’t have another incident, before heading to the press room.
Once there, I sit next to Lana, trading my name placard with Jordan’s.
Strangely, the woman has become my one friend on the circuit, though I’m sure she would say friend was a very strong statement.
“Good show, pretty boy,” she says as I settle in. “Nice to see you’re actually wearing clothes today.”
“You don't have to lie, Lana. We both know you enjoyed seeing me naked.” Her cheeks bloom a pretty pink, and when it creeps down her neck, I can’t help but wonder how far it goes. I knock that thought out as fast as it came, trying to center myself. “You did well, too, looking pretty good.”
“Gotta keep you boys on your toes,” she says, her sass burning off the embarrassment, though I don’t know which one I like better.
“How do you feel?”
“Damn good. Next step is kicking your ass,” she says with a wide, genuine grin.
“Keep dreaming, heartbreaker.” She opens her mouth to argue, but the press starts to enter the room, and she settles in, her mask locking into place.
I’m doing the same, letting the casual look of indifference cross my face as I sit back in my chair, when I spot someone familiar in the crowd, grinning at me.
My dad.
My dad is here.
My stomach seizes. I didn’t know he would be here or that he was attending the race, and I’m unsure how to feel about it.
Thankfully, I’m distracted with a few questions about my performance.
I’m grateful when questions about my reputation or the crash are avoided, and the conversation ends relatively quickly before we head back to the greenroom.
Since Dad is both a family member and a business partner of Phil’s, I’m not surprised to see him walk in soon after.
“Great job, kid,” he says, putting an arm around my shoulder. Nostalgia hits with the words, bringing me back for a moment, reminding me of long days out on the track, winning a race, or even the early days at Monster Smash when he’d often be in the stands cheering me on.
Those days were easier, when it was just me and racing, with none of the other complications.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, still preening under the praise like some kid. His grin is wide as he looks at me.
“We’re at the track thirty minutes from here,” he says, and my gut twists.
I’ve avoided all news about Indy since the suspension, once I realized it put me in a shit mood.
I’m sure if I’d been paying attention, I’d have realized the overlap.
“And we had nothing on tonight. I thought it would be fun if we made a day out of it, came to see you.”
“We?” I ask, confused. But the confusion evaporates when Levi Grund’s grinning face moves to stand beside my dad.
My smile melts off, as does the warmth I previously felt.
It’s not that I dislike Levi, but he’s the DeLuca team member I am most often compared to, the one I often compete against, and the one with whom there is a long and bitter rivalry.
It’s that I fucking hate him.
“You looked real cute out there, DeLuca,” he says. “Doing your little tricks in your giant sheep and whatnot.” I try not to take the bait, though it takes an incredible amount of self-restraint. Instead, I turn to my dad.
“What’s he doing here?” I ask, but Levi answers before my dad can.
“Came to cheer on our favorite driver,” he says, then looks over my shoulder. “There he is! Tyler, my man, how are you? Looking great out there.” Tyler gives him a wave before approaching us.
“Hey, Levi, Mr. Deluca. How’s it going?” Tyler says as if he and my nemesis are old friends. It would track, I guess, since their dislike of me is well-matched.
“Told you before, Tyler, you can call me Kevin,” my dad says, and I fight a grimace.
“I’m doing great,” Levi says, and my apprehension grows.
He always knows how to get under my skin, knows how to poke at the kid inside me who questions whether I’m good enough, whether I’ve earned my place.
“You know, tryouts are this fall, and we’ve got an open slot. We’d love to have you on the team.”
“There’s no free spot, Levi,” I say, knowingly playing right into his hand but unable to stop myself.
“You and I both know there is, Rome. You left one when you were fired.”
“Now, Levi,” Dad says, but I can barely hear him over the grinding of my teeth.
“We all know he’s never going to be welcomed back, Kev, not with everything that’s been happening.
You know, I was talking to the marketing manager at Excel Oil about it at one of the after parties,” he says of the sponsor who got me suspended.
“He’s really relieved you’re gone. Said you were a loose cannon. ”
“Not even around, and I’m still all you can talk about, huh?” I say, my lips tipping despite my irritation.
“That’s not what—”
“You know, maybe if you weren’t so obsessed with me, you would be able to beat me on the track.
Instead, you’ve gotta wait until I get suspended before you get a chance to be top of the team.
Still can’t seem to clinch a win, though, can you?
Bummer.” A thrill moves through me when anger flares in his eyes.
“Fuck off, Rome. You haven’t even raced in months. You’re a nobody.”
“Your girlfriend doesn’t seem to think so.
Maybe you should pay her more attention.
If you did, she wouldn’t have to send me messages regularly to see if we can meet up.
” His jaw goes tight, and I grin at the direct hit.
It’s not just a line, either: Levi’s girlfriend does reach out to me, though I’ve never replied to her.
Despite what the media might think, I have standards and rules about the women I take to my bed, and the first one is that they can’t be in a relationship.
“Fuck you. Molly would never even look at you.”
“Wanna see my DMs? I don’t reply, but that doesn’t seem to stop her.” I pull out my phone, eager to show him, not only because I want to see him miserable, but to clear my name.
“I don’t need to see your lies,” he says.
“Or maybe you just don’t want to see that your girlfriend doesn’t actually like you and—”
Before I can finish my sentence, Levi’s arm pulls back, his fist connecting with my face.
Now, I have good reflexes—it’s a bit of a necessity when you drive hundreds of miles an hour on a track. This means I saw the hit coming and could have ducked. I could have dodged him.
But I didn’t. I wanted him to hit me because if he hits me first, I can hit back. Self-defense and all. That’s why when his fist connects with my cheek, pain doesn’t bloom at the spot. Instead, it feels like deep-seated satisfaction.
Noise erupts around us, though I don’t know if it’s out of horror, surprise, or excitement, but I barely register it. Instead, I snap, pushing him down, and before I know it, my fist is making hard contact with his cheek.
It feels good.
It actually feels fucking phenomenal to let that beast out, to finally hit him.
Is it healthy? Absolutely not. But right now, it’s all I’ve got. He hits me again, a punch to the ribs that will bruise, and I pull my hand back, fully intending on breaking his nose. But I’m stopped by a familiar voice cutting through the blinding rage.
“Stop it!”
It’s angry and firm, and when I look over, distracted for the shortest moment, another punch comes, hitting me near my eye. I hiss and realize that when his ugly ass rings hit me, it split my eyebrow.
“That’s enough,” my dad demands. “Levi, knock it off.” I grin when he drops his hand.
“You’re not going to defend your girlfriend—” I start to taunt, but before he can hit me again, soft hands are on my arm, tugging, pulling me back until I’m on my feet and staring down a small, fiery woman, a mixture of gentleness and anger on her face.
Lana.
She pushes my chest, making me stumble back and away from where Levi is slowly getting to his feet with the help of Jordan and Tyler. “Stop it. Stop it, Rome. You’re giving that loser exactly what he wants.”
“You’re going to let some bitch tell you what you can do?” Levi says, spitting out blood onto the floor.
“Levi!” Dad booms in warning, but I can barely hear him, an angry ringing starting in my ears. He just called Lana a bitch, and that ratcheted my emotions up more than anything else he could have thrown at me.
“It’s not worth it, baby. It’s not worth it,” Lana says, distracting me by putting a hand to my cheek and forcing my eyes to move to her.
“Listen to the girl, Rome. Back down,” Levi says, and over Lana’s head, gives me a taunting look, blood dripping from his nose. I want to put him in his place for attempting to belittle Lana, but before I can, she snaps her head in his direction.
“I promise you, I could kick your ass and land you in a hospital before you could even get a finger on me, you dickweed,” Lana threatens, and despite her cute exterior, I know it to be the truth.
I saw her brothers, and she told me they work as high-level bodyguards now.
I would put a lot of money on them making sure their little sister knew how to fight. I grin at him, and his jaw tightens.
“Levi, out. Go out into the fucking hall before I suspend you next,” my dad snaps. A flash of elation fills me before he mumbles something, then heads out, Courtney following him. That joy fades when my dad turns to face me.
“I thought you were on the right path, Rome,” he says, words coated in disappointment.
An all-too-familiar feeling curls in my chest, the one that settled in when he called me to his office to inform me I would be suspended because I slept with a sponsor’s wife. Indignation mixed with panic and pain.
“I am,” I say, ignoring the blood dripping down my face and trying to focus only on Lana’s hand that’s found its way into mine, treating it as a grounding touch. “I am on the right path. I’ve been staying out of the papers, staying in, doing nothing.”
“You just got into a brawl right in front of me,” he says, crossing his arms on his chest.
“He threw the first punch!” I shout, throwing up my hand. “It was self-defense, you saw it.” He shakes his head like I’m a little kid he’s displeased with, and it weighs heavily around my shoulders.
“You’re still in charge of your emotions. I don’t care what other people do, and neither will the press or the board.”
“What, so I’m just supposed to stand there when he hits me? Not stand up for myself? He gets to lose his temper, and I have to take it? That’s fucked up,” I spit, anger bubbling again. “I can’t believe—”
“Come on, Rome,” Lana’s soft voice coaxes, cutting off my words. “Let’s get you out of here before you say something you regret.” The beast is pounding in my chest, indignant and angry, and I turn to her, giving her my ire.
“What the fuck do you know? You don’t fucking know me, Lana,” I snap, but she doesn’t cower or back down. Instead, her expression softens, and her hand tightens around mine, like she sees that part of me I keep hidden, like she knows it’s all bullshit, so she doesn’t even bother to flinch.
“I know that if you get any angrier, something bad is going to happen, and you won’t be able to excuse it away by saying self-defense. So let’s go calm down and get you cleaned up.”
“Listen to her, Rome. I’ll see what I can do out here,” Dad says with an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair.
He looks exhausted, and guilt floods me at the thought of him having to clean up my messes once again.
That thought is what has me nodding and letting Lana lead me out.
She seems to know exactly where she’s going as we walk silently, opening a door to a room that looks like a small, unused lounge.
Along one wall is a counter with cabinets, and there’s a couch and various seating scattered about.
“What were you thinking, getting into a fight like some schoolyard meathead?” she asks once she closes the door behind us.
I’m still trying to calm down, adrenaline coursing through my veins.
It’s different from the happy kind that hummed there earlier; this one feels like an oil slick I can’t wipe away.
“He’s an asshole,” I grumble.
“Okay, so tell him that. Yell at him. Tell him he’s a fuckwit, and he’s ugly, and ask if his mother dropped him as a child, but you don’t have to hit him.” Despite everything, my lips tip up.
“You think he’s ugly?” She rolls her eyes and begins opening cabinets as if looking for something.
“That’s what you focus on?”
“It’s an interesting piece of intel. Who’s hotter, him or me?”
“You know the answer to that. You’re such an asshole, though, that it takes your hotness down at least three notches.” That pulls a full smile, but when it spreads to my cheeks and eyes, I hiss in pain.
In a moment, her expression shifts from annoyed to concerned, and she lets out a sigh. “Come on, pretty boy. Let’s get you patched up before it scars.”