Chapter 35
As Mack accelerated through her warm-up lap, she focused on every sound, vibration, and sensation, trying to get a read on the car.
By the time she took the green flag for her qualification laps, all she knew was that the car was loose and she had no choice but to mash the throttle and hope she didn’t wreck a second time.
On the radio, Jimmy and Janet were silent.
For ten miles, she white-knuckled the finicky car around the turns and pushed the throttle on the straights.
Distantly, she felt a sharp ache in her hand and the heavy thump of her own heart but she ignored both.
She didn’t think, didn’t talk, didn’t even look at her own speed.
She did nothing but drive on the edge of control.
She could barely remember a single second of the four laps, but when Mack took the checkered flag to end her run, she knew the answer in her body before Jimmy called over the radio.
Her body felt effervescent, all pain momentarily forgotten, lifted away by the knowledge that she’d done the thing she’d set out to do all those years ago.
Back in the pits, the crew hugged and slapped her back as if they’d already won, and Mack took a moment to celebrate with the people who’d made the impossible happen.
She wished she could tell her twenty-year-old self—the one who’d torn down the posters of her idols, Dario Franchitti and Tony Kanaan and Sarah Fisher, not caring that she ripped straight through the signatures—about this moment.
Mack’s heart broke for that young, angry version of herself, and she wished she could go back and tell that heartbroken girl that it would happen, but not the way she’d planned.
Not linear, not clean or pretty or easy or fast, but she would get there.
She’d made it there. And, somehow, being here today felt even better than if she’d traveled in a straight line.
But there were still drivers to qualify, and one absolute truth of the Indianapolis 500 was that the range of fates here were as big as the track itself.
A beloved favorite could get bumped out of the race before it even began, like James Hinchcliffe in 2018, or an unexpected rookie could win it all, like Alexander Rossi in 2016.
There were still drivers on track and all she could do for now was watch and wait.
Back in the quiet of the garage, she chugged water and wiped her face.
She hissed through her teeth as she gingerly pulled the sweaty tape off her hand.
The ache from this morning had turned into a fiery burn after gripping the wheel for her qual run.
If she had to do it again, she wasn’t sure she could even touch the wheel, much less grip it.
“Congrats, Rookie.”
She turned at Leo’s voice, yanking the last of the tape and jarring her hand.
The garage wasn’t exactly private but she couldn’t stop herself from walking over and standing too close to him.
He’d been with his own team all morning and she hadn’t had a chance to thank him for the loaner parts.
She sighed in relief when he pulled her in close, squeezing her so tightly her spine cracked.
“Thank you, Leo. Thank you.” She couldn’t stop the wobble in her voice. She’d gone from the woman who didn’t cry at the track to the one who teared up at every damn turn. She pulled away and swiped at her eyes.
“Why are you thanking me? You went out there and put down the laps.”
“For the components. I wouldn’t have had a car to qualify without them. If you wreck . . .”
“Teammates, Rookie. You’d do the same for me.”
Would she? Her first instinct was hell no, she’d do whatever she needed to protect herself in a race.
But Leo seemed to expect everyone else to have his same level of goodness, the same kind generosity, and somehow that expectation turned into a reflection.
His easy, compassionate nature encouraged everyone around him to do the same.
She watched him rake a curl of hair off his face and realized what she felt for him wasn’t only attraction, it was a tenderness she’d never experienced.
He pointed at the hand she held gingerly against her chest. “What’s going on there?”
“Nothing,” she said automatically. Between the strain of correcting the Judge’s almost-spin last night and the tight grip for qualifying today, the pain was increasing by the minute. He arched a brow and lowered his voice. “You were babying it last night, too.”
Heat exploded up her neck and she focused on rewrapping her palm and wrist. Last night, they laid in the giant bed of Leo’s RV and Mack told him everything—Kelley’s email, Wes selling the track—while he held her tight and listened patiently.
She’d never shared so much of her insides with anyone.
It was embarrassing, and it was freeing.
Her body warmed remembering how he could so easily inspire both comfort and desire in her.
But the loud, hot garage wasn’t the place to think about that, so she licked her lips and shook her head.
“I hope my time holds. I feel stupid, being so excited about thirty-second place.”
“Stupid? For making the Indy 500? C’mon, Mack.” He leveled her with a knowing look. “Don’t pretend like thirty-second isn’t incredible when the alternative is staying home next Sunday.”
Leo wasn’t concerned with playing it cool or mysterious, and it was possibly her favorite thing about him. “I’m still shaking. I’m worried it’s not real and I’m dreaming.”
“It’s real. You did it.”
Mack was dangerously close to kissing Leo right there in front of the crew, but her family came running into the garage at that moment, Laurie squealing like a child and pulling Mack into her arms.
After Mack’s first win—a quarter midget race when she was eleven—Laurie had cheered louder than any Colts fan on a Sunday night, and that was nothing compared to the tears and wild joy her sister gave her now.
Mack had to hold back her own emotions as she squeezed Laurie.
They weren’t perfect, they weren’t how they used to be, but they were together and they were trying, and maybe that’s what love and family really meant.
“Mama, why does your car look all funny? Is it still broken?” Shaw’s face looked uncharacteristically serious.
“Oh no, honey. The replacement parts came from other cars so they don’t all match. But the car’s as good as new.”
Shaw barreled into her, and Mack kept an arm around her daughter as she hugged Wes, who was openly weeping.
Her dad held her face in his hands as he rambled on and on, telling her all the ways he always knew she’d succeed, sobs muffling his words.
Billie produced a black-and-white bandanna to wipe at his face, and Mack saw tears in her eyes as well.
Mack choked down the emotion in her chest. “We’re okay?”
Wes touched her cheek. “We will always be okay, Mackenzie Mae. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you before. I see now that I should have. I thought . . .” He frowned. “Maybe you needed a push.”
The hurt wasn’t gone, but in the light of day, Mack admitted there was a kernel of truth to Wes’s logic.
“And the money . . . I didn’t take anything from the track. I promise. Billie bought the RV and we’re gonna use money from the sale to live on. But half of it is yours, Mack. I ain’t forgot that.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. No crying. Not here, not now. She opened her watery eyes to look at Wes, and they didn’t need to say anything more. She knew and he knew that they’d always do right by each other. Even if they didn’t do it perfectly, they’d never stop taking care of each other.
Over Shaw’s head, Mack saw Leo trying to slip out of the garage, but she called him over before he could disappear.
She made a round of introductions and Leo shook hands with everyone, including Shaw, who wiggled out of Mack’s arms to tell Leo exactly which pieces of racing paraphernalia she wanted him to sign.
Leo gave Shaw his full attention, carefully listening without making promises he couldn’t keep.
Wes gently redirected Shaw when she began to ramble, and then introduced himself to Leo.
Mack bit her cheeks to keep from laughing as Leo bumbled through his earnest excitement at meeting her father.
It was a hero worship she’d witnessed dozens of times and Wes ate it up.
But it was Bump Day at Indianapolis, and the bubble was bound to burst.
A collective gasp came from the back of the garage where crew members gathered at a row of computers and televisions. Mack squinted but couldn’t read the text on the screen. Janet cursed.
“M. J. Martin beat your time. Roethlisberger got bumped from the race.”
The warmth she’d felt a minute ago instantly turned to a chill. “What does that mean?”
Jimmy appeared beside Janet, a deep crag between his brows. “It means Roethlisberger will scramble to get out there and bump you.”
No no no. Mack shook with the instant flash of panic that flooded her body. She’d done it, she’d made the field, and even though she knew this could happen she felt like someone had stolen a prized possession from her hands. How many times could she lose the Indy 500?
She closed her eyes and chewed her lip. “What do I do?”
Jimmy frowned. “Sit and wait.”
The impotency of the situation made her growl. At least yesterday she’d been the one to slam herself into a wall. She didn’t want her dreams made or crushed by sitting on her ass. She’d let her life amble by her for nearly a decade, and now she wanted to run toward it.
“That’s it? We sit here and let time determine my fate?” Mack noticed the crew pretending not to listen and she thought of the time and effort they put in last night and in the early hours of morning. “Our fate,” she corrected.
Janet stood with her hands braced on her head. “We always knew we could end up here.”
“Or . . .” Jimmy said, pursing his lips.
“Or what?”
Janet was already shaking her head as Jimmy said, “Time’s a ticking.” He glanced at his watch. “But you might have enough time to go out and put down quicker laps than Roethlisberger. If you get out first, put down faster laps, you can keep your spot in the show.”
Janet put her hands on her hips. “No. It’s too risky.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t a risk,” Jimmy said, as casual as if they were deciding between two different restaurants. “Going back out is no riskier than sitting here. They’re both a gamble.”
“Is that what you think we should do?” Mack asked. She tried to flex her right hand, inhaling sharply when the slightest movement sent searing pain from her pinkie to her elbow.
The older man raised his eyebrows impassively. “Dammed if you do, dammed if you don’t. Guess it depends if you’d rather wait and see what happens or try to go do something about it.”
Do something, her brain screamed. Her hand throbbed in protest.
“If she uses the priority lane, she loses the spot she has!” Janet barked.
Leo looked at the large clock on the wall. “If Mack goes back out, she has to use the slow lane and hope Roethlisberger doesn’t jack around out there. If we’re out in ten minutes . . . it could work.”
Jimmy clicked his teeth. It was nearly impossible to get the car towed out and her gear on in ten minutes. “Yep.”
Janet checked her watch as if the time calculation would magically change, then sighed heavily.
She studied Mack, and the undisguised hope and fear Mack saw on her face made her feel like Janet wanted her to make the field not just for the team, but because she wanted it for Mack herself.
“Your choice, Rookie. But slow lane only. Don’t throw away the shot you already have. ”
Wes taught Mack that when there was no clear answer, her gut would never steer her wrong, and as she stood in the garage with Jimmy and Janet and the crew all watching her, her instinct shouted that she didn’t want to let life happen to her anymore.
She wanted to take every chance, even if it meant risking failure.
Wes told her to live big, and there was nothing bigger than not wasting a second more of this second chance.
“Pull it onto pit lane. We’re going out.”
Mack had her helmet in one hand and was trying to zip her fire suit with her aching hand before she registered the sound of crying. Shaw stood at Billie’s side, weeping into her hands while Billie rubbed her back and whispered soothing words. Mack kneeled down in front of her daughter.
“What’s this, Shaw?”
“Sccccaaa . . . monster . . . nooo waaann go.”
Janet called from the other side of the garage, and Mack held up her index finger.
“She’s scared,” Billie said softly. “She’s afraid you’ll wreck again since the car is made up of so many different pieces. She called it the monster car.”
Mack squeezed her daughter tighter but her eyes strayed outside the garage where the crew towed her car toward pit lane. She had to leave now if she had a chance of getting in a run before time ran out, but Shaw’s pain pulled at her resolve.
“I promise you, Shaw, I will be okay and I will come back to you. Always. Always.”
A hand tapped her shoulder, and Leo lifted his brows in a request for permission.
“Hey, Shaw, have you ever really seen inside an IndyCar? There are hundreds of components to keep drivers safe. Your mama needs her car right now, but my car is in the next garage over, and I could use help making sure everything is ready to go. I need someone to try on my helmet, too. Would you want to do that?”
Shaw looked skeptically at Leo, and then to Mack, visibly torn between her fear and her interest in her favorite IndyCar driver.
Mack felt similarly torn between her desire to stay with Shaw and get onto the track.
Sometimes parenting meant trusting the inner resilience of your child, and the adults that filled your shoes for a moment.
“Maybe your, uh . . . your Billie would stay here in the garage with us, and you can check out my car, and we’ll listen to your mom’s run on the radio.
That way you don’t have to watch. Even though she’s going to be super safe and come right back here, sometimes it feels better to listen. Would you like that?”
Shaw nodded slowly, and Mack gently encouraged her toward Leo’s garage space. Billie winked. “Go. She’ll be fine, but you won’t be if you don’t get out there and give it everything you got. Show her that moms get to chase their dreams, too.”