Now
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Jackson
My skin prickles with adrenaline, the rush of the win making my ears thump with every beat of my heart. In the mirrors, I see the checkered flag still being waved to signal my final pass over the finish line.
I’m so high on everything that I forget to lift my foot from the gas, only doing it when I arrive at the turn. People on the other side of the wire fence are shouting with excitement, clapping for me.
I do the entire cooldown lap on cloud nine, still in disbelief of what just happened. I won. I fucking won my first regional SCCA race. I made it on the podium the first two times, but it’s the first one I won. And it was televised. This is it. This is where it all starts.
Now, I’ll be noticed. Sponsors will want to work with me. Scouts will put me on their radar. People will start knowing my name.
When the track official motions for me to enter the pit lane, I comply and drive all the way to the impound. Once the car is parked, I unclip the strap of my helmet. I’m suffocating in there. Or maybe I’m just barely able to breathe because this doesn’t feel real. I fucking won.
Someone taps on my window, so I dismiss my stupor and step out, but not before I tug at the hood release.
As soon as I’m out, I pull the helmet off, the cool air feeling amazing on my sweaty and overheated face.
My hair is soaked with sweat, and because it’s braided, shaking it doesn’t help.
I guess I’ll have to deal with it dripping down my neck.
Winnie smells like burnt rubber and hot steel, and I promise myself I’ll be gentle with her on the ride back home. I’ll definitely have to change the tires, and maybe even the brake pads.
“Jesus, he’s just a kid,” someone lets out.
“Great driving there, bud,” another one congratulates me, tapping on my shoulders.
“Thank you.” Shit, my throat is dry, I’m so thirsty.
It must be a common side effect because one of the race officials hands me a water bottle. I open it and down it all in one go.
A couple of them are looking under Winifred’s hood, confirming I haven’t cheated. I should probably make sure they don’t touch anything, but some serious-looking men in tan suits are making their way toward me.
“How old are you, kid?” one asks.
“It’s my birthday, actually. I just turned seventeen.”
“Happy birthday, boy. I can’t remember the last time I saw someone drive like you. You beat everyone by over half a lap. And in this old thing?”
“Winnie has more under the hood than meets the eye,” I defend.
“She sure does. But I think we can all agree you’re the reason she performed the way she did.”
“I guess.”
“We’re all good here,” one of the men who was inspecting the engine says.
“Do you have a legal guardian present?” the suited guy asks.
“Yeah, my aunt. She’s in the bleachers.”
“Let’s go get her. We have to talk.”
“Can I—can I make a call first?” I hesitantly wonder.
The men look at each other, apparently surprised by my simple request. “Sure, kid. We’ll wait for you over there, okay?”
I nod, and once they’re away, I take my phone out of my race suit’s pocket. I quickly find Evie’s number and call her. She picks up before the first ring is even over.
“Hi!” she greets with enthusiasm.
“Hey, princess. I won!”
“I know! I’m at your parents’ place! We watched everything.”
“I can’t believe I did it.”
“I can. I always knew you could do it, Jax!”
“Thank you for believing in me.”
Still too hot, I tug at the zipper of my race suit. Once it’s low enough, I’m reminded of the necklace and the locket hanging on it.
“It worked,” I say, swallowing away the emotion gathered in the back of my throat.
“What did?”
“Your lucky locket. It worked, Evie.”
I can guess her huge smile when she replies, “I told you it would.”
My mom wants to talk to me, so Evie passes her the phone. Then it’s my dad’s turn to congratulate me, and I’m back with my girlfriend. “When are you coming back?” she asks.
“I’m not sure how long this whole thing will take. But if I can, I’ll come back today. If not, I’ll stay another night at my aunt’s and come back tomorrow.”
“Okay, have a safe drive, Jax. I love you.”
My heart skips a beat. It’s the first time she’s said it.
I know she loves me because she’s shown it in so many ways.
Every time she looks up at me with those eyes, every time she gives me the little money she’s made to help with my dream, every time she lets me touch her and trusts me with her body …
I knew she loved me, but hearing her say it …
All I can think of replying is, “I love you too, Evie.”
The suited guy taps on his watch, staring at me with authority, and I realize I can’t jeopardize it all now. “I need to go, princess. I’ll let you know when I’m coming home.”
“Try making it today if you can. I’d love to celebrate your birthday with you.”
“Now that’s all the motivation I needed. See you soon, Evie.”
“See you, Jax.”
I hang up and walk up to the men, who lead me to the stands. There, a few journalists shove their mics in front of me, which I wasn’t expecting. Well, I guess I should have seen it coming, but I’m not ready for this.
“What’s your name, kid?” one of them asks.
“Jax—Jackson Reyes.”
“Is this your first SCCA race?”
“Uh, my third.”
“Have you ever won before?”
“Only rallycross races. I’m good at those.”
“Looks like you’re pretty good at this, too,” one of them shouts, making the others laugh.
“You look very young, kid. How old are you?”
“I turned seventeen today.”
“And when did you start driving?”
“My brother taught me when I was nine.”
I realize a little too late that sharing that information might not have been the most clever idea. It’s probably illegal, and I hope no one will come after my brother over this.
“Well, now it makes sense,” the suited guy replies, laying a firm hand on my shoulder. “This kid’s been training for eight years!”
Again, the journalists laugh. “One last question,” he decides. “Then we have to talk business with this kid.”
“Who do you dedicate this win to?” someone asks first.
I don’t even have to think before saying, “To my girlfriend. This one’s for you, princess. And all the ones that’ll come next.”
“Ambitious kid, eh? Come on, let’s go find your aunt, Jackson. My friends and I have some money we’d love to give you.”
“Does this victory taste even sweeter?” the journalist asks before bringing the mic to my lips.
“Why?”
“Today’s your birthday, isn’t it?”
“Oh, right.”
“You’re turning thirty-one today, right?”
“Yeah. And no, victory always tastes the same. Redundant.”
The woman laughs, even though I barely meant it as a joke. Her colleague beside her asks, “You’re three-for-three so far in the season. Three races, three wins. And it’s your third Grand Prix win here in Japan. Do you have anything to say about this double trifecta?”
“Let’s hope I’ll be four-for-four in Jeddah.”
“Do you think this year might be the one where you beat your personal record of eighteen wins in one season?”
“All I know is I’ll try. I think my boss would like that. Right, Wes?”
I turn to Wesley Pryce, my team’s owner and founder of Altron, standing on the sidelines. He nods with a smile and a thumbs-up.
“You took some big risks that paid off on laps 45 and 46,” the next journalist asks. “Can you tell us what happened there?”
“I tend to get bored during the third quarter of my races,” I explain, unable to hold back half a grin at the reminder of Evie’s notes. “I lost my advantage during that time, so I needed to regain it. But like you said, it paid off, right?”
The press officer makes me take a few more questions, then I’m escorted to the team hospitality room.
“Only you could be bored at two hundred and twenty miles per hour, Jackson,” Wesley declares as he walks in.
“Anything can be boring if you do it for long enough.”
“Are you telling me you want to quit?”
I shake my head with a smile. “What other job could I do? Bus driver?”
“With your style, I don’t think anyone would make it to their destination alive.”
I open the front of my race suit, slip it down my arms, and let it hang at my hips. The fireproof crewneck underneath is drenched in sweat, but it helps cool me off. At least I keep my hair short now, and I don’t have to endure the displeasure of having the sweat run down my neck and back.
“Do you want to talk about what happened out there or …?” Wesley asks.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re usually a lot more fun during those interviews. Are you alright?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t want people to start spreading rumors that my star driver is unhappy. Ferrari and Mercedes have been circling you like vultures for years.”
“I’m not interested in switching teams.”
“Are you sure? If it’s a money thing, I can up your pay by a few million.”
“What did I tell you the day we met?”
“That if I believed in you and took you into my Formula 3 team, I’d gain the lifetime loyalty of one of the best drivers in the world.”
“Is your lifetime or mine over, Wesley?”
“No.”
“Then we’re good. Keep making fast cars, and I’ll keep driving them.”
He leans back into his armchair, seemingly content with my answer.
“I still remember that day perfectly, you know? The way you forced a meeting, all balls and youthful confidence, demanding I hire you … Or rather, your girlfriend was demanding it.” He’s quiet for a moment, as if taking a stroll down memory lane in his mind. “Didn’t you marry her at some point?”
“I did.”
“She was a force of nature, that one. She pleaded your case very well. Came with a whole binder of stats and charts.”
“And she was right, wasn’t she?”
“Clearly. Seven seasons, and you’ve already won me more Grand Prix trophies than some outfits have managed in decades.”
“That’s what you get for believing in the rallycross kid rather than another silver-spoon karting brat.”
“Hey, be nice. All the other racers came up through karting. And a couple of them even had humble beginnings, like you.”
“And I’m better than all of them.”