74. Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Four
Kat
Iknew Milo would be angry at me for not saying goodbye. So would Andy, for that matter. Henry wouldn’t be mad I wasn’t saying goodbye, because he’d be livid that I was LEAVING. I knew that.
But I couldn’t handle any of them. I could barely handle myself at the moment. And they’d all be trying to convince me not to go, just like Tim. Trying to convince me to fight, just like Tim.
And none of them would understand.
Because look at what I had WON.
The greatest chance to save all those jobs, tens of thousands of jobs, including many people I held close to my heart.
All the people who NEEDED my software. All the LIVES it could help, save, make better.
The contract with Blackstone, intact.
Henry and Milo and any of their lower tier drivers, protected.
All of that was WORTH one measly job. One person’s stake in a company.
Worse things had happened.
Worse things HAD happened.
So, I settled into the grandstands, propping my black sneakers up on the bench in front of me. Too big green team shirt, belying the real team I was rooting for.
Belying the real driver I was rooting for.
Because despite not wanting him to get in that car today, not wanting him to hurt himself further, not liking that no one else—including him—cared. Despite all that, I was still rooting for him.
Always.
I’d been rooting for him since I was six years old. That would never change.
So, there I sat, waiting for the lights to go out. Watching him sit there on the second row in his royal purple car, teal helmet peeking through the protective halo. I started chewing on my thumbnail just as the cars took off.
I hadn’t done that in a decade.
But of course, because he was who he was, he was already up to second coming out of the first corner. Only Andrew was ahead of him, but Theo was just behind him. Passing him once was a feat, and passing him again would be hard to do if it came down to it.
Milo had jumped to sixth from his miserable eleventh through the start and the first corner. He was in a fighting mood, it seemed. That boded well.
All through the race, I listened to Henry and Tim go back and forth on the radio. I could HEAR the pain in Henry’s voice. I doubted anyone else could except for Tim, but it was there. He never talked around the corners. Not that he did often normally, but not a single time today.
Through the pit stops, nothing changed in the order.
Henry held off on the attempted undercut from Theo.
Even with older tires, Henry stayed ahead.
Because of course he did. Because he was a master at tire management even at the warmer tracks.
Because he approached every part and parcel of racing with the extreme level of care, precision, and determination that he did with everything else.
The man was stubborn.
And persistent.
In EVERYTHING.
The order of the top ten seemed to be set, nobody close enough to cause any excitement for the last few laps. I was grateful, because Henry could just focus on finishing the race. Second would be EXCELLENT for a start to the season. For the injuries he was driving with.
They were lapping the back of the field, now. The cars that were slow enough that the faster cars in the front had caught them.
The car that had caused Henry’s crash in qualifying just yesterday was shown the blue flags to allow Henry to pass.
He didn’t.
They were waved a second time.
He didn’t.
One more time, and he’d get a five second penalty added to his time. Not that it really mattered, since only the top ten drivers got points toward the championship. He was currently in fourteenth without a single hope to catch thirteenth.
And yet, he waited the longest he possibly could before moving over. In the most difficult corner to pass on the entire track.
Of fucking course.
What the fuck was up with this driver?
I stood quickly, my breathing ratcheting up to eleven when that fucking driver cut back much too soon. He’d ‘officially’ allowed Henry by. By the direct description in the rules.
But by every practical application, he hadn’t. And he’d cut back, while Henry was still alongside him.
Henry’s insane instincts had him jerking the wheel to the left, skidding over the curb and into the grass, sliding sideways, then completing a full three-sixty before hitting the gas again.
And blasting by that fucking driver, leaving him behind.
Henry’s tires were fucked.
Probably his ribs, too.
Consciousness had to be an issue at the moment, as well.
But he finished the last two laps without the asshole catching up, and he didn’t need to deal with thirteenth or Theo either. Even though the asshole let Theo by no problem.
This was a problem.
This instantly brought my mind back to Vegas. Where there has been no sign of a mistake anywhere.
And when I’d looked through the biometrics, it was obvious—he hadn’t seen it coming. No reaction until he hit the wall.
That had been a problem, too. Tam said word on the street was that it SHOULDN’T have happened.
This shouldn’t have happened, either.
But as he crossed the line in second, I turned to go.
Because no matter what I had seen, what I had pieced together, what I had concluded, I’d been fired.
Let go.
Given the ‘ole heave ho.
So, I couldn’t do anything about it. Nothing at all.
I’d shoot Basti and Tim an email when I got to the airport.
Because I couldn’t NOT do anything.
Not with him.