“You look like hell.” The rotund team owner chuckled as Chance pulled his dirty All-American team shirt on.
Chance just shook his head. No matter the ribbing, the smile on his face wasn’t going anywhere. They had one hell of week before them, but nothing could diminish his spirits. Waking up with Heather dreaming away on his chest rivaled any victory he’d ever taken behind the wheel of a car.
To get back behind the wheel, though, Chance had to work alongside the rest of the crew. Though the damage wasn’t bad, the whole drivetrain had to be broken down to look for any minute imperfections. Modern race cars were designed to break apart to dissipate energy. The more damage the car took, the less that the driver endured. That meant energy tearing through the whole car, even if the impact was only at the front.
Even DJ had on a stained, tattered old shirt. He was tearing down a somewhat damaged front wing that was set-up for road courses, where downforce was pivotal. He was pulling the individual winglets off to be replaced by the low-downforce oval set-up.
Chance could see that even though things were looking dire, DJ was happier with a tool in his hand than sitting in front of a computer. Fifty years ago, he raced at this very track with a car built in a barn. A far cry from the multi-million dollar teams that dominated the championships these days.
As they worked, the fast nine had their qualifying shoot out. The TV on the wall showed each driver out for his four laps to glory.
Frank caught Chance staring as one of the perennial favorites posted a time in the mid-two-twenty-fives. “Shoulda been us out there today.”
The words squeezed at Chance’s heart, but he knew Frank didn’t mean anything by it. They failed as a team, and they succeeded as a team. “We’ll show them all, Frank. We’ll show them all.”
A voice outside the garage turned Chance’s attention away from the TV. “Heard you boys were on the hunt for a master cylinder.”
“You heard right.” Chance wiped his hands on a rag and headed over to greet the crew member. An older man that probably came out every year for the race, the man had a goatee and more than his fair share of wrinkles. He was with Team Kenzie, and Chance had seen him a few times over the weekend, but he didn’t know the man’s name.
Extending a hand, Chance smiled. “What’s it gonna cost us?”
The man looked around before shaking Chance’s hand. “Don’t cost you nothing. If Jack finds out, though, it’ll cost me my job.”
The man handed Chance the critical component for the braking system.
Furrowing his brow, Chance said, “Woah, we’re not looking to get into any sort of corporate espionage. We’ll be glad to pay for it.”
“Nah.” The man smiled, some of the years on his cracked and aged face vanishing. “DJ gave me my start, and I owe him just about everything I’ve got in life. He’s one of the few people here that is driven by pure racing. Not money not sponsorships, not championships. Hell, not even winning. He just loves racing, and there’s no way in hell I’ll see only thirty-two cars start this race. That, and Jack Savage is a whiny little twat.”
The man turned to leave, and Chance called out. “Thanks. Really, you’re saving our asses.” He laid the part next to Kiwi, who was once again piecing out the gearbox.
“I just suppose you want me to get this ready, too, don’t you?” Kiwi shot Chance a look.
“You got anything better to do? Hot date that we don’t know about?”
DJ spoke through the cigar in his mouth. “Look who’s talking. I saw you pulling in this morning. Who was the young lady?”
Chance didn’t feel like talking about Heather. He was at work, and his job was stressful enough without his personal life getting dragged into things. “Making a few extra bucks with Uber. Gotta earn a living, right DJ?”
The old man stared Chance down, maybe looking for a crack in the flimsy story. Chance did his best to keep a straight face. Finally, the staring contest broke, and DJ said, “Gotta earn a living.”
Chance and Heather sat on a weatherbeaten picnic bench behind one of the many food service buildings where caterers prepared meals. It was an employees only area, and one of the few refuges from the hoards of people at the track.
“I don’t know how you are getting through this day without like a gallon of coffee.” Heather drained the last of her third cup of the black stuff.
With a shrug, Chance said, “I think the negatives outweigh the positives. The dehydration is bad, especially on race day. I guess I never got a taste for it.”
“Makes me sound like an addict.”
“There are far worse things to be hooked on. I’m not terribly concerned.” Chance leaned against Heather, feeling that electric pull that he knew was already growing strong. Their night had been fun, flirty, and filled with the best sex of his life. After the stress he’d endured since arriving at the racetrack without a drive, a night of good, old-fashioned fun was just what the doctor ordered.
“Can I see the car?”
Heather’s question came out of nowhere, and it put Chance in an awkward spot. He wanted to show her. He wanted to introduce her to his team, but the timing was bad. They were working their asses off to get the car back together after the crash. The crash that Chance knew was his own fault. He had been distracted and eager to show off. No one knew that but him, but the second that DJ saw him with Heather, the wise old owl would know.
With all the tact available to him, Chance shrugged. “There’s not much to see at the moment. We’re having to break it down to next to nothing, and since we lost our sponsor, the car doesn’t even have a paint job. Give it a few days. Sound good?”
“Yeah, alright.”
Chance tried to search for something in Heather’s voice, but he couldn’t figure her out. Things between them were already tricky enough between their schedules and their jobs. Were they co-workers? Technically not, but they both worked in the same place. Chance knew that it wouldn’t be good if anyone figured out what was going on. His team wouldn’t be happy, the race officials certainly wouldn’t, either.
Heather stood up. “Ok, I’m back to guard duty. What time do you think you’ll be done tonight? That is, if you wanted to get together. If not, I understand…”
She pulled at his heartstrings so easily. Chance stood and pulled her close, damning the consequences. “Of course I want to see you. My guess? We’ll probably call it a night around ten. If everything goes according to plan, Annabelle should be ready to start up tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll never understand the naming thing.” She smiled and shook her head.
“Drivers need to be close to the cars. What better way to be close than to name them?”
“But Annabelle?”
He laughed. “Billy named her. Maybe it’s some unrequited love from middle school. Alright, back to work with you. I’ll call as soon as I’m free.” Chance pulled Heather against him, loving that feeling of her rising up on her toes to kiss him. He tasted the coffee on her lips and wondered if he was hooked on her the way she was hooked on the bean.