Chapter 7
SEVEN
REGAN
Usually on race day, I’m excited and full of adrenaline. Today, nerves course through me like a current of electricity. These superspeedways get into my head, and I slowly start to spiral thinking of the worst possible outcome. As long as I stay out of trouble, I can make it through to the finish.
I glance over to Dixon, who’s standing next to yet another grid girl.
This one I recognize—not because he’s brought her before, but because she is a big time bikini model, Mia Beckett.
She’s tall with dark hair that seems to float around her like she’s underwater, and I can’t keep from staring at Dixon’s arm around her waist.
I feel an ache in my chest at the sight. He’s been doing this for two years, so why is this bothering me now? As if he can feel me staring at him, he turns and gives me a wink.
A fucking wink.
The nerve of this asshole. I roll my eyes and line up with the crew for opening ceremonies.
After I get strapped in, I take some deep breaths to slow my racing heartbeat.
As soon as the engine fires up, the familiar purr soothes me.
I close my eyes for a brief moment to let the sounds and the vibrations of the car calm me down.
I roll onto the track and line up for the start.
The green flag waves, and we’re all off down into the first two turns to start this race. There’s already so much shuffling and rubbing between the cars, and we haven’t even finished the first lap yet.
Everyone seems to want this win. Who doesn’t want to win at Daytona? This is a recipe to cause big wrecks, ones that can take out half the field if someone makes a mistake.
We get to the halfway point, and I’ve luckily stayed out of trouble thus far. I missed a car blowing a tire right in front of me and a spinning car toward the rear of the field. Hopefully, nothing else will happen.
Famous last words.
Finally, I’m in the top five, and I’m content to ride this position out until the end. I don’t think we have a car to win, but a top five finish isn’t bad, considering where we started from and the close calls we have had with others wrecking around me.
Per expectations, Dixon has been running in the top position all day.
Dad comes over the radio to check in. “Good job getting into the top five. How’s the car handling?”
“It’s better, but still tight going into the corners,” I say, trying to give as much information as possible to help.
“Hold as long as possible to make it to the next pit window. Keep your fingers crossed for a caution so we can make a longer stop if needed.”
A few laps later, my spotter comes over the radio. Two cars are spinning behind me, pulling another caution. Thank god for that. I don’t think I could’ve held on for much longer.
I bring my car down pit road, and we take a little bit longer to ensure we make the best adjustments we can. I watch as my crew comes around my car changing tires, adding fuel, and making adjustments, all in a matter of seconds. My team looks like the fucking ballet, it’s so well choreographed.
The jack drops, and I’m back off. I know I probably lost some spots taking a bit longer, but I’m hoping it’ll pay off with better handling. We come out in the eighth position, and of course, Dixon is back in the lead. There’s still plenty of time in this race to finish well.
Another restart, and we take off down the track. The adjustments we made seem to be working, and in a few laps, I’m back in the fifth position.
“You have one coming up behind you,” my spotter says in my ear.
“Who is it?”
“Hicks. You still have time to hold your position, and you’re starting to run faster than Dixon.”
I suck in a breath and try not to focus too much on Hicks behind me, and more so on reeling in Dixon. That’s my main focus.
“Caution, caution. The Big One behind you,” Dad calls. The yellow lights illuminate around the track, and the field slows down. The Big One, meaning half the field, probably just wrecked and can’t continue in the race.
There are only about fifteen laps left, and no one in the top ten comes down pit road during this caution. All of us want to keep the track position we have, wanting the win.
“Ten laps to go this time,” Dad calls. “You got this. Stay focused and don’t let anyone rattle you.”
“We got this,” I say confidently. I don’t fully believe it, but I’m speaking it into the world. Well, the radio, in this case. I’m still in fifth, and I think I can move up a few spots if I play this restart right and get a good jump.
Coming to the green flag again, and off we go, everyone through the field running two by two.
Dixon overdrives the car, causing Taylor, who is in second, to get by him.
I’m able to get by Zach Dawson and Drew Clarks, and I’m closing in on Dixon, who’s still in second.
I watch as Dixon taps on Taylor’s bumper, causing him to move up the track and out of the racing groove, sending him back into the field.
Now, it’s just me and Dixon fighting for this win.
“White flag in the air, white flag,” Dad says.
I’m able to maneuver next to Dixon. We are side by side coming into the final corners. I’m still a bit ahead of him, and I feel a tap on my side that sends me spinning into the grass.
Son of a bitch!
I can’t believe he fucking wrecked me. My mind is running a million miles a minute as my car finally comes to a complete stop.
“Regan? You okay?” Dad shouts over the radio. As many times as he’s seen me wreck, and knowing how safe these cars are now, his concerned parent’s voice always comes out when it happens.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. What the fuck was that?”
I refire the car and bring it down pit road. That wasn’t the ending I was hoping for.
“Can’t tell if Dixon touched you or not. We’ll need to watch the replay,” Dad says as I get ready to climb out of the car.
I am fuming.
I don’t need to watch the replay, that jackass dumped me to win. I don’t know why I feel so surprised, since it’s not the first time he’s done it.
I take off my helmet and HANS device, throwing them back into the cockpit of my car. A golf cart with racing officials is waiting to take me to the infield care center.
It’s a rule that any driver who’s been in an accident needs to be checked out and cleared by the doctors.
Evan Knight is waiting outside the doors as I’m released, waiting for an interview.
Great. Just fucking great.
I put on my best camera-ready face to do the interview.
“I’m glad you’ve been released from the care center, Regan. What are your thoughts about what happened out there?” he asks, pushing his microphone at me.
“Dixon is reckless, and he doesn’t care what happens to anyone else to get a win. Wait until next week. He’ll get what’s coming to him.”
I storm off before Evan can ask any more questions. I’m still so angry about how the ending of this race went. I’m walking back to my hauler to meet with the team when I hear the cheers from victory lane—that shithead.
I don’t notice where my feet are taking me and I end up closer to the celebrations, watching as Dixon is covered in confetti and taking pictures for his sponsors.
Smiling wide, showing off his stupid, perfectly white teeth, watching as he shoves his shaggy brown hair out of his face to put a hat on, highlighting his strong jawline that I haven’t noticed until now.
I shake my head, realizing where my thoughts are going. That’s not happening. I do not find Dixon attractive; for god’s sake, he had a fresh grid girl with him today. Who he will ‘celebrate’ with later tonight.
All I can do is watch him and seethe in my anger.