Chapter 13
Travis
“I’m not riding in the same car as him,” I tell my teammate, Skyland Grant, barely keeping from glaring at Max.
With two hours before the start of our first race here in Melbourne, the last person I want to sit next to and play nice with is Max Ferreira.
“Looks like it’s me and you, Skyland.” Max claps Skyland on the shoulder while his own teammate from Kr?mer Racing laughs with a couple of other guys.
“No problem with that,” Skyland replies. “Glad there’s no hard feelings after last year’s little mistake.”
Max snorts. “I never said that.”
I barely glance his way as I remember the accident Skyland caused at last year’s Las Vegas Grand Prix that completely took Max out of contention for podium in that race.
“I’m just a guy who understands the meaning of good sportsmanship.”
An image of me punching the sideways grin off of his face passes through my mind.
“Fuck off,” I tell Ferreira.
His grin wavers but he holds it in place. “That wasn’t very kind, was it?”
“You’ll see how kind I am when I leave you in my slipstream in a couple of hours. Think of it as a present.”
“Confident this year, huh?”
“I’m always confident.” I leave the motherfucker off of the end of the sentence only because we’re among other drivers.
Within minutes the parade starts, and various drivers are paired off in tiny cars to drive around the track waving to spectators.
The parade is a chance for all of us to clown around a bit, rev up the crowd, and of course an opportunity for sponsors to show off a little more. I wave and smile just like every other driver during this time, but not once do I stop thinking about the upcoming race.
I utilize the additional drive around to make note of the track, each curve, noting where I would brake in my race car, where I would hit the throttle, and so on.
By the time the parade ends, and Skyland and I make it back to our Amato Racing garage to suit up for the race, I’m mentally ready for the next two hours. And for the first time in a race ever, I slip my hand into the right pocket of my suit, feeling the picture that I now keep there.
It’s the ultrasound image Dr. Slosher gave me after our first visit.
“How’re you feeling?” Annalise comes up behind me.
“Flat out,” I reply, to which my sister frowns.
“Strategy,” she replies.
“That too. But I’m winning this race,” I tell her. “Did you take care of everything?” I ask, changing the subject.
“This is what you want to talk about before your first race?”
“Did you?” I ask.
“Of course.” She sighs. “éléanor’s confirmed that your mystery woman has accepted the position.”
“And the apartment?”
“The movers have already readied the apartment. Now do you want to tell me why you made the huge decision to move out of your apartment, which you love, so this mystery woman can move in?”
I’ve played things close to the vest over the past couple of weeks. Not out of shame, but because I didn’t want to put any more pressure on Alyssia. Once I tell my family about the baby, I know they’ll be all in.
Alyssia, on the other hand, is a different story.
Thinking back on how much of a protest she put up when I talked about moving to Monaco, makes tension roll through my shoulders.
She’s so damn adamant about not taking what I offer, I’m still pissed about the way she hung up on me when I told her I paid her rent for the next two months.
Pissed, but my lips twitch thinking about it.
Fine, I might be amused by it but it’s still frustrating. She should at least understand that being closer to me, allowing me to provide for her and the baby financially is what’s best.
I shove my hands into the arms of my racing suit and zip it all of the way up, not answering my sister.
“Hey?” She shoves at my shoulder. “I’m speaking to you. You’ve never done any of this for a woman before.” She snorts.
“And never in the two years I’ve worked for you, have you ever asked me to run any sort of interference for you when it comes to a woman.”
I glance down at her.
“Is there something you want to tell me?”
“There is,” I finally say after a beat of silence. I pull the ultrasound picture that I’ve carried around with me every day since it was taken out and show it to my sister. “I’m going to be a father.”
“Holy shit!” she shouts, but then flinches as she looks over her shoulder at the gazes she’s drawn from the rest of my team.
“Are you serious? Wait, you joke about a lot, but you’d never joke about something like this.” Ana’s having a conversation with herself at this point.
“What the fuck, Trav?”
“It’s a long story.”
“You think?”
She stares at the ultrasound pics again. “You haven’t told Mom and Dad yet, right? And I know you haven’t said anything to Tristan or Chloe yet. They’re gonna flip out,” she says of our third and younger sister.
“I can’t believe you. How old is this picture? When did you find out? Who is this woman? You—”
“Have a race to win,” I interject.
She pinches her lips together, probably biting back the demand for a deeper explanation.
“I’ll explain everything once I win.” I take the ultrasound photo from her and carefully place it back inside my pocket.
I hold up my hand for our special pre-race high-five. We clap hands then connect elbows, turning our forearms until our palms meet that bottom, high-fiving again.
“Go kick ass,” she encourages, slapping me on the back as I pass.
“Will do.”
Minutes later, I slide my helmet over my head and climb into my bright red rocket on four wheels.
“Let’s do this,” I murmur to the car while running my hand along the steering wheel.
“Fuck yeah!” I yell into the intercom after my first-place finish.
I raise my fist and salute my team who all hang out of the fence that separates our staff from the racetrack.
“Well done, Travis,” my team principal tells me.
For a little extra, once all of the drivers have completed the race, I do a donut in my car to the roar of the crowd, before pulling into my team’s garage.
I greet their cheers and high fives with high fives of my own.
The next hour passes in a blur of post-race interviews, a celebration with champagne on the Grand Prix stage, and me lifting my new trophy above my head.
There are some reporters who ask about last year’s loss and if today’s win feels like redemption. I ignore those questions.
They’re trying to get me to say something that’ll feed their next headline. It’s too early in the season to dredge up bullshit.
“I guess congratulations are in order,” Ferreira’s voice comes in behind me as I enter the main paddock area.
“Keep your congratulations,” I tell him. “You’ll need all of the good words you can get if you dream of ever getting a podium this season.”
His grin drops to a frown.
He and I both know he has a shitty car this year. His team, Kr?mer, a luxury car brand, may have an esteemed history in F1 but they’ve been shit over the past decade.
“Max!” someone shouts, catching his attention. It’s another person from his entourage. “Excellent job as usual!”
I roll my eyes right before I’m tackled from behind by Annalise.
“Amazing,” she says, making me chuckle.
“Did you have any doubts?”
“Not one. Tristan, on the other hand …” She waves her cell phone.
I take it from her and grin at the message from our third. He often gets up in the middle of the night to watch the ending of my races.
“Thank you for not wasting my missed sleep with a loss,” he says. “He’s such an ass.”
“Hey.” Annalise snatches her phone out of my hands. “That’s my brother you’re talking about.”
“I’m your favorite,” I remind her.
“I don’t have favorites,” she retorts.
“If you say so.” I go to noogie her, but she slaps my hand away.
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
“Language, sis.”
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever.” She nods toward the table. “Grab your stuff so we can head out. Your workday isn’t over yet. I’m going to run to the bathroom.”
I go to retrieve my belongings, but as I lift the clothing I wore earlier, a piece of paper slips out, falling to the floor.
I unfold the paper thinking Annalise must’ve written something down for me to see. It’s not her handwriting.
Nice win today. Hope your season doesn’t end like last year.
I stiffen as something ugly and dark rolls down my spine. The ending of last year’s season comes back full force, squeezing the air out of my lungs.
Red, the color of my car, flashes in front of me.
One look around the room and my eyes land on Max who’s in the corner chuckling with two other guys.
“What the fuck is this?” I ask, getting in between him and the other guys.
A stunned look passes over his expression before his eyes narrow in confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.
“Bullshit.” I hold up the note. “You want to threaten me with subtle digs?”
I hold the note out of his reach when he tries to grab it. He looks between the note and me.
“What is that?”
“Pathetic liar,” I throw back at him.
Max’s face contorts into a mask of anger and bitterness.
“You and I both know what a sore fucking loser you are.”
His face hardens for only a moment. “You don’t know a bloody thing about me!”
“How about we all calm down, huh?” a guy from his group asks.
I glare at him but turn back to Max.
“I didn’t send you anything,” he tells me, a serious expression on his face.
“What’s going on?” Annalise’s voice breaks up the tension.
“Nothing,” I reply. “Let’s go.” I snatch the rest of my belongings from the table and storm out of the room, Annalise trailing behind.
No matter what, nothing is getting in my way this season.