Chapter 50
Travis
What the fuck am I doing here?
Pissed and only two days after Alyssia gave birth to our son, I walk into the headquarters of Amato Racing. They’re both home, resting, surrounded by family, but I should be with them.
Instead, I have to deal with bullshit.
“We didn’t have to do it this way,” Drake tells me from my left side.
I don’t say anything as I eye the reporters and cameras setting up on the ground level of the building’s atrium.
“Yes, I do.” I need to make this very public and very clear for all to know.
“Travis?”
The voice instantly has red shading my vision.
Skyland Grant unwisely approaches me, wearing an innocent expression, or maybe he’s attempting concern.
“Shit, I’ve been a mess for two days after learning what my agent did to your—”
“Cousin,” I say through clenched teeth.
His eyebrows spike and he turns his head to the side slightly before looking back at me.
“Yes, we’re cousins … distant cousins,” he hastily adds. “But we mainly had a business relationship.”
He tells me this as if my family’s security team hasn’t worked with local authorities over the course of the past forty-eight hours to uncover the ways Gus and Skyland tried to set me up for blackmail, and when that didn’t work, started putting out rumors and lies to make the public doubt my credibility as a competitor.
Gus did all of this because of his gambling addiction. Which he paid for with his life. I’m still proud of Alyssia for defending herself, though I wish like hell she’d never been put in that position in the first place.
Skyland, however, is a different story. He wanted my spot at Amato. Apparently, the little shit was tired of playing the number two role and thought he deserved more. Obviously, his plan to get me out of the way backfired.
“I had no idea he was in as deep with his betting and gambling to do such a horrible—Ahh!” he yells when my first punch cracks his nose.
Blood seeps through his fingers as he presses a hand over it. Despite the gasps from other members of my team, I punch Skyland again.
The second blow nearly sends him to the floor, but I hold him up. As I angle my right hand for a third punch, a group of officers surround us, separating me from my former teammate.
He stumbles backward once I finally release him, again almost ending up on the floor, but the officer now cuffing his hands behind his back holds him up.
Skyland tries to blabber something through the blood dripping into his mouth. I reach for him again, hauling him close by the scruff of his shirt.
“You’re going to have a real good time in prison, motherfucker,” I say loud enough so that only he can hear.
When I push him away from me and spin around, I find my team principal and a few other Amato Racing officials looking at me in half astonishment, half fear.
“Let’s get this over with,” I say.
The reporters, on the other side of the atrium, weren’t a witness to what just transpired, which I suppose is a good thing for Amato. I, on the other hand, wouldn’t mind having my picture of punching the fuck out of Skyland splashed across the sports news.
It would send a clear message that my family is, and will forever be, off limits to fuck with.
That’s what my words are for, I suppose.
Minutes later, I’m seated next to Drake in front of a slew of sports reporters, asking the same question over and over from slightly different angles. It’s tedious as hell and the urge to lash out and let them know I have a family at home comes close to taking over.
Yet, Alyssia’s words right before I left stay with me throughout the duration of tis press conference.
“Do not get yourself fired. I’m not marrying an unemployed baby daddy.”
I firm my lips together to stifle my grin. She’s so damn cute.
“Who will be the number two driver for Team Amato for the remainder of the season?”
The reporter’s question brings me back to the present. Drake informs them that one of the alternative drivers Amato keeps has already been informed he’ll be taking Skyland’s place.
“And will he go on to compete for Amato next season?”
I barely pay attention to her follow-up question, but it’s the expression on Drake’s face that gives me pause. I’d assumed that the alternate driver they chose, if he performs well, will be in the lineup for next season.
Drake’s brief hesitation in answering is what tells me that might not be the case. Drake Horner isn’t a man who hesitates. Not in press conferences.
“We’ll take things one step at a time,” he finally says.
Interesting.
“Travis, this must be a difficult situation finding out your teammate was the one behind setting you up and spreading false information. Can you tell us how you’re taking this?”
I clear my throat and glance around the room until my eyes land on Norm. He’s the only person I brought here with me today. I look back at the reporter who just asked the question.
“In all honesty, it’s been a whirlwind few days that I’m still processing. But I came here to make one thing clear: my priorities have shifted. While I will always give one hundred percent while I’m on the track, I have a new number one in my life—my family.
“Nothing comes before that. Ever.” I look over at Norm, glaring more like it.
His head dips an almost imperceptible amount, but I see it. He understands I’m talking to him. Do not ask me to choose between my family and my career. My family will always come out on top in that war.
“Alright, I think it’s about time to wrap this up,” Drake tells the crowd.
A reporter raises his hand.
“One final question. Travis, given all of the upheaval you’ve had so far this season, what do you make of your championship title prospects?”
The question doesn’t instantly conjure up images of champagne splashing while I stand at the top of the podium holding a trophy over my head.
What comes to mind instead if my smiling fiancée in the hospital bed, looking beautiful as she holds our newborn son.
I lean into the microphone.
“I’ve already won.”