CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER twelve
David felt like a husk of a human being by the time he lined up on the grid for the race. He knew how to deal with exhaustion, but this kind had a knife edge. His eyes hurt, shifting from aching to burning. His jaw hurt too from spending two nights sleeping in a race helmet. He didn’t even think about the pain in his neck or the darkening bruises all over his body.
He’d kept his helmet on for most of the weekend and pretended it was a mentality thing when anyone asked about it. The media ate it up. Some claimed he was showing his nerves; others said this kind of thing separated the good from the great. David let them argue amongst themselves about which description applied to him and focused on preparing the car.
An hour before the race, a fan posted a picture of Klaus sitting in the south grandstands. David wanted to thank that fan for putting a location on his father so he didn’t have to look over his shoulder so often, but it made his skin crawl when he’d driven by those grandstands during the formation lap.
He’d always been able to feel when Klaus was watching him. David actually credited his father’s burning gaze with helping him keep his head under pressure. When he was little in karting, he used to shake in his bucket seat while he waited for the green flag. Once, he’d been so scared that his shaking made the fuel slosh in the tank between his legs. Klaus noticed, and he’d beat him so badly after the race that David had to take the next day off school. He never let his fear show after that. His shaking came from excitement and adrenaline, nothing else.
David opened his visor to wipe the sweat from his brow. The dry heat of Los Angeles was balmy in a t-shirt and shorts, but suffocating in Nomex and fireproofs.
His coffee needed to kick in. Adrenaline was starting to take effect, but not fast enough. David had downed four coffees in the last hour—all black, so basically no calories. Pumping himself full of caffeine was the only way he was going to get through this race. Qualifying had only consisted of a dozen laps, and David was still recovering from it. Today he had to drive sixty.
His qualifying result had already suffered because of his inability to perform. Four cars were in front of him, idling and sending high-octane fuel fumes into David’s still-open visor. Mixed with the heat of LA, the race was about to be a fucking killer.
And to top it all off, Noah’s flight had been delayed by a storm, so they hadn’t seen each other before the race like they planned. Noah would arrive during the race or slightly after. David didn’t know which he preferred. He wasn’t sure he’d be in a state to greet anyone after this drive, least of all his boyfriend, whom he hadn’t seen in what felt like a lifetime.
Especially since Noah probably didn’t know Klaus was at the race. David had planned to tell him, but he’d forgotten when he was distracted by trying to find a more potent source of caffeine.
No slipping , he warned himself. No fucking slipping.
The lights turned on over the track. David’s body seemed to rise out of itself as he closed his visor. His aches disappeared, and his vision tunneled. He kept the brake on with his left foot and had his right foot on the throttle, holding it at the perfect RPM—he judged that solely based on sound. His fingers bent to hold the clutch paddle right on the cusp of engaging, so that when the lights went out, he’d be ready to take off immediately.
David had been born for this. Every moment of his childhood had been spent preparing for this moment: his first race start as the reigning champion in Formula America.
He watched the warped red lights over the track, shimmering in the heat from the engines of Finlay and Jacob in front of him.
The lights went out, and David lifted off the brake and stomped the gas, flicking up through the gears as his engine screamed, all gnashing gears and sharp metal. He slipped up Jacob’s inside, adjusting his steering angle slightly to avoid Marcel Perrier’s yellow car drifting toward him on the right.
David became the car, as he usually did. Racing wasn’t a human act for him—it was an opportunity to become something else. Other little kids dreamed of being birds or dinosaurs, but David had always dreamed of becoming a race car. Man and machine moving as one unit. Jacob and Marcel shrank in his mirrors as he hunted down Evan Faris, who had managed to stay in front of him into Turn 1.
David’s real fight was with Finlay Black. He could practically feel Noah’s anticipation for both of them as he drove, pushing but not driving on the limit yet. Evan didn’t deserve that kind of fight. David knew he could outdrive him; he just had to put on enough pressure to force him into a mistake.
Racing was a fast-paced game of chess. As they took a hard right-hander, David glanced further up the track to see Finlay’s rear wing slipping away around the next corner. Evan hung onto the brakes in front of him, and David instantly realized Evan was purposely backing him up to extend Finlay’s lead.
A typical sacrifice play for a team where the drivers were so mismatched in skill.
“Is Jacob ready to fight?” David asked over radio.
“He’s keeping Marcel behind,” Aiden replied.
“Have him come up here. I need him to fight Evan, not Marcel.”
Drivers rarely dictated to the team, but David was the champion. He’d proven he was capable of making good decisions on track. Besides, Evan needed to learn how to fight with a driver who wouldn’t be flawless. Jacob would keep him on his toes.
“Keep those tires in mind,” Aiden warned, but David was well aware. His tires felt perfect on the warm asphalt—grippy and responsive.
The only thing lacking in the car was him and the extra ten pounds he was still carrying.
Evan tripped up getting back on throttle. It cost him a tenth of a second, but that was all David needed to pounce. He shot by as if Evan were standing still and locked him out of the next corner with a ballsy move to the inside. Evan hit the brakes too hard, confirming what David already knew: Evan was scared.
Only a driver worried about upsetting someone would back off that easily. David didn’t care. As soon as his visor went down, relationships didn’t matter. He would fight Noah as hard as any other driver, and he knew Noah would do the same.
“Killer job, mate,” Aiden said over radio. “You’re flying.”
“What’s my gap to Finlay?” David asked.
“Five seconds, but you’re catching. We’re still thinking Plan A.”
David tapped a button to change his engine mode, siphoning some stored power to give his engine more juice. Finlay was actually a challenge, but David had fought and won against him before. He wasn’t worried.
*****
An early pit stop gave David the undercut on Finlay, but by the final five laps, Finlay’s blue car was in David’s mirrors and getting closer. Adrenaline trickled into David’s bloodstream but barely got past his drooping eyelids. His skull buzzed with the full force of a headache, and his teeth hurt from clenching his jaw through the corners where his seat bit into his body.
Klaus always warned him about getting lazy. He told David about African tribes that hunted antelope on foot, running the animal down at a steady pace until it died from exhaustion. Enough pressure for a long enough time, and the impossible became possible. As sweat soaked the back of David’s neck, he understood how a beast could fall dead from the chase.
If you actually lost the weight you were supposed to lose, you’d be four more seconds ahead of him , David reminded himself as he dove into the S-curves. His body screamed at him to stop, but David pushed through the pain. He checked his mirrors again. Finlay didn’t look any closer.
David’s tires were slowly but surely wearing down, and Finlay’s were fresher, but he’d had to use a lot of rubber to get this close. David knew he could hold Finlay off.
He thought about Noah as he flew down the straight past the pit wall. Everyone, including Noah, expected David to win. He couldn’t disappoint. He couldn’t live with himself if he did all this work just to come in second. Klaus deserved to find him if that happened. Maybe a baseball bat would knock some winning back into his battered system.
The laps ticked down, and Finlay crept closer but didn’t make any big gains. David settled in for the final stretch. He knew the limit of the car and the tires. He’d already calculated the tire wear and adjusted for the accumulated heat inside the car. He could win this if he didn’t make any mistakes.
“Final lap,” Aiden said in his ear. “Head down.”
David tapped the button on his steering wheel to acknowledge the message but didn’t reply verbally. He leaned into the left-hand corner, letting out a small noise of pain as his belts dug into his destroyed shoulder.
Muscle memory took over, and he stomped the throttle at the apex, breathing hard to fend off the pain. Finlay was right on his tail, and there were two corners up ahead that would be his only chance to pass.
Noah would only celebrate with one of them. If David lost now, all of the progress he’d made on the team and in his relationship would be lost in a matter of seconds. He never should have treated himself to half an omelet for breakfast. That bit of weight might make the difference between winning and losing.
Finlay made a move for the inside. David veered slightly but kept toward the middle of the track, blocking the move. Finlay reluctantly backed off.
David set himself up for the next corner and imagined several different ways Finlay would try to pass. David knew what he would do in Finlay’s position: a look up the inside, then a switchback to attempt an outside overtake. Risky, but doable for a two-time champion like Finlay.
Sweat dripped into David’s eyes as he sacrificed his entry line to defend on entry, then he took a slightly wider line on exit. Finlay’s front wheels lined up with his rear wheels, but David tapped his engine power button and exhausted the final reserves of his stored battery power to accelerate out of the corner faster, putting him ahead.
The crowd roared as Finlay dropped back, accepting defeat in the way only a past champion could. No use in pushing when the race was already done.
David made it through the final corner and across the finish line in first. He slowed down immediately after, drifting off the racing line. He was so tired he couldn’t even lift his hand to wave to the home crowd.
Oxbow black and red waved in the stands, melting into a blob of color as David struggled to keep his eyes open. His fireproofs were soaked through with sweat, making his skin feel sticky and clammy at the same time. When he turned the corner at half-speed, his collarbone erupted in pain so badly that he feared he’d broken the bone.
“Excellent job, David,” Hugh said over radio. “Thanks for a great drive.”
“Phenomenal,” Aiden echoed. “Great job.”
David watched the big screen for any sign that Noah had arrived, but the cameras only showed Evan and Jacob driving side by side after the finish. David didn’t know what order they placed, but he hoped Jacob kicked Evan’s ass.
Finlay’s blue livery sliced across track to drive up beside him. Finlay waved at him and gave a thumbs-up. David tried to take his hand off the steering wheel to wave back, but it wouldn’t move. Finlay wiggled his thumb as if demanding a response.
David let out a cry of agony in his helmet as he forced himself to lift his hand in a return thumbs-up. He kept it brief and slumped back in his seat.
“Aiden,” he huffed over radio. “I need water. Please.”
He’d forgone adding water weight to the car for the race. Some drivers chose not to drive with a water tank for many reasons. David knew they needed every shred of weight they could stand to lose.
He ignored the fear in Aiden’s voice when he replied, “Of course. Kyle will bring it to you when you park.”
David made it the rest of the way around the track and pulled into the pit lane. A first-place placard sat in the middle of the pit lane, and he pulled up to it but accidentally knocked it over when he came in. A marshal stood it up again and gave him a wink. David sat boneless in the cockpit, unable to move.
His chest rose and fell so much that he could see it in his peripheral vision as he sat there, surrounded by cameras and waiting reporters, but he couldn’t get out of the car. He couldn’t fucking move.
Kyle jogged up to him with a damp towel and a water bottle. “Hey, man. You alright?”
David could only breathe in response. The crowd quieted around him, but he wasn’t sure if that was real or if his brain was shutting down. A Formula America person appeared next to the car, and after a brief discussion with Kyle, they both reached in and unclipped his belts for him, then grabbed him.
David stuffed down his cry of pain as strong hands clamped around his bruised limbs and hauled him to his feet. They carried him to the scale and weighed him for his post-race check. David didn’t look at the weight.
“Is he okay?” Finlay asked, suddenly appearing in the empty garage they used for post-race checks.
“He’s good,” Kyle said. “Hard racing out there. He’s had a hard time with the heat in training, so we’re going to get him assessed for heatstroke.”
Shut up! David screamed in his mind. Stop giving information to the enemy!
“Evan, get over here,” Finlay called. “I’m sure you need to get him some electrolytes or something. Evan and I can get him to the holding area.”
“Here’s his water,” Kyle said. “For when he takes his helmet off.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Finlay said dryly. David let out a whimper he thought was silent until Finlay froze under his arm. “David? Are you hurt?”
“No,” he rasped. He wasn’t about to get his win taken away on some health concern technicality. The rules always had some bullshit about being able to function after races. “Noah?”
“He watched the race on his phone,” Evan suddenly said in his ear. “He’s been stuck in traffic for an hour, but he’s coming. He told me to tell you he’s so sorry, and he’s going to make it up to you.”
David was glad he didn’t have anything in his stomach, or he would have thrown up. Noah was talking to Evan during race day, but not him? Technically, his phone was stuffed under the couch cushions in his driver room, locked and hidden in case his father paid a visit, but still—Evan?
They entered a room with air-conditioning. David slumped into Finlay, stumbling as he did so. Finlay didn’t say a word as he guided him into a seat.
“Guys, get out,” Finlay said, firm but calm. “No cameras in here unless you want a problem.”
He heard the click of a door, and then suddenly David’s head lolled back against his will. He stared at a black ceiling above him. His vision spun, but he could feel his strength returning.
“Are you on a new diet?” Finlay asked, loosening David’s helmet strap for him. Also against the rules.
David didn’t answer. He let out a groan when Finlay pulled his helmet off, overwhelming him with cool air. He shook as Finlay peeled his balaclava off next, freeing David from the tight fabric.
“Jesus Christ,” Finlay whispered. “What the fuck are they doing to you?”
David didn’t care what Finlay thought. He closed his eyes and trembled until something suddenly pressed against his lips.
“Drink,” Finlay said. David drank. The cold water made his insides feel icy and slimy at the same time. “You have to do the podium ceremony or people are going to freak out, but as soon as that’s over, you need to go to the hospital.”
David let out a pitiful snort.
“You’re emaciated, David,” Finlay said in a low voice. “Like, actually emaciated.”
David closed his eyes and drank more water. Some more strength returned to him, allowing him to fumble for the zipper on his fireproofs and free himself from the thick fabric.
Noah loved Finlay. David knew that if it came down to a decision between him and his childhood best friend, Noah would pick Finlay. That knowledge stung, especially when David would pick Noah over his own blood. David didn’t have many friends from childhood—his whole life had been racing, and his father demonized every other kid on the grid he competed against.
Kyle burst into the room and presented more electrolyte water and one of Jacob’s B12 gummies. David grabbed the gummy first, shoving it in his mouth like a starved animal.
“You want to explain to me why this guy looks like a corpse?” Finlay snapped at Kyle. “The fuck are you doing? Look at him!”
David stopped chewing. If Finlay thought he looked like a corpse, what would Noah think? David glanced down at his chest, focusing on the fat rolls as he sat doubled over. A bloated, bruised corpse.
All of this work, just to be called a corpse. Tears stung in his eyes—or maybe it was sweat.
“We’re monitoring his diet very carefully,” Kyle said, annoyed. He was a head taller than Finlay and probably had eighty pounds of pure muscle on him. David never thought about drivers being short until they stood next to normal people. It would be funny if it wasn’t so embarrassing. Finlay was a really handsome guy. If David looked like him, no one would call him a corpse.
“Don’t try that bullshit with me,” Finlay snapped. “I’ve been down that road. Fucking fitness influencers like you come in here and—”
“Guys,” Evan said, poking his head in the door. “They need us for the ceremony. Is David good?”
David took a swig of electrolyte water and swallowed his gummy. He got to his feet and slipped back into his fireproof sleeves to hide his paunchy body.
“Ready,” David said, forcing himself to stay upright. “Let’s go.”