Chance knew that DJ didn’t owe him anything. Despite that, he was going to ask a favor. A favor he didn’t deserve, and a favor he didn’t think he’d get. Still, his life was about risk. Maybe Chance was more than just a name. Maybe it was prophetic in some way. His life was about chance, and doing nothing considerably lowered the chance of success.
Stepping from the garage, Chance was met by yet another unfriendly face. Jack Savage stood in Chance’s way, a cocky little grin on his Aussie face. It took all of Chance’s strength not to shove past the champion. There was enough on Chance’s plate, though. He didn’t need to report to the principal’s office before the race even began.
“Can I help you, Savage?”
The Aussie, a minuscule five foot four with all the makings of a Napoleon, shrugged. “Heard you’re gonna try and glue this hunk of junk back together. Admirable. A waste, but admirable, nonetheless. Looks like you’ve got your crew stretched to the limit, too. If you need an extra hand, I’ve got a crew member that is soon to be out of a job.”
Chance’s heart stopped. The man that had swiped the master cylinder. How many people were going to get hurt because of him? How many would go down along with Chance.
The Aussie’s accent seemed to grow more menacing as he spoke. “As soon as I find out which one of them helped you, they are shit-canned. I know everyone loves to help your pathetic little team, but I hope you’re prepared to stay in last place. If you see me in the mirror, you’d better move the hell aside.”
Jack shook his head, staring at Chance like he was an annoying insect. He turned, chuckling to himself.
“Hey Jack, enjoy Isla before she gets bored and moves on to the next big thing.”
“The hell are you on about?”
“Ever wonder how Isla celebrates her man when he finishes second?”
Chance saw the other man freeze in place. He waited for Jack to say something. He was ready. He had some pent up stress that he was just begging to unleash on that snotty little shit.
Jack, fists clenched, walked back into the swarm of people, a crowd growing around him as soon as people started to recognize who he was. No one recognized Chance, and he was fine with it. Shrugging off yet another poisonous interaction with Jack Savage, Chance headed back toward the haulers.
DJ had his legs up over the front of the golf cart, his worn cowboy boots almost glowing in the sunshine. His trucker cap was pulled down over his face, the large man’s chest rising and falling in a slow and steady rhythm.
Great, I have to wake him to ask. The odds just went down.
With a sigh, Chance kicked the golf cart, snapping DJ from his nap.
“The hell?” DJ’s hat fell down onto his chest as he dragged himself from the hunched position. “What’s wrong?”
In spite of his age and weight, DJ was wide awake in a flash. His life had depended on catching a few minutes of shut eye whenever and wherever possible.
“You’re not gonna like this.”
“Tell me we can get that car fired up tomorrow morning. Chance, you tell me.” He was pointing his fingers right at Chance’s heart, ready to tear it out if the answer was anything less than satisfactory.
Putting his hands up to surrender, Chance said, “The car is fine. She’ll be ready.”
“Then I don’t give a fuck. We’ve got one thing to worry about between now and Memorial Day.”
“I need a favor,” Chance said with a sigh.
“Do I look like the Godfather?”
Chance looked DJ up and down. He couldn’t resist. “Towards the end, yeah, a little bit.”
DJ pulled himself upright from the golf cart, but it took a little bit more effort than the older man would have liked. “Watch it, punk. Just watch it.”
“Now, that I’ve got you in a good mood,” Chance put an arm around DJ. “I need you to hire someone as my physical trainer.”
DJ froze before breaking into a hearty laugh. He grabbed onto Chance as he bent over. “Oh, fuck. I needed that. You didn’t have to wake me up for it, but boy, did I need a good laugh.”
“I’m serious, DJ.”
“Kid, what in the hell do you need a trainer for? The race is in a week and a half. I seriously doubt you’ve got time to get in any better shape. Unless…unless there’s something else going on, here.”
Chance sighed. “Yeah, maybe there’s something else going on, here.”
“Mhm, and what’s her name? Tell me you ain’t back with that Spanish she-devil.” DJ heaved himself up into the hauler and pulled open the fridge.
Chance rolled his eyes. “No, not Isla. She’s a yellow-shirt, and she’s got a bit of a problematic ex, who is also a yellow-shirt. If you can put her on the payroll now, I’ll gladly pay you back out of my winnings.”
DJ chuckled as he closed the fridge, handing Chance one of the two waters he had snagged. “Ever heard a song called ‘Sixteen Tons?’ No? Look it up. Chance, you know we’re scrappin’ by as is.”
“I know, I know. It would be one paycheck between now and the race, and you’d be making a big difference in someone’s life.”
DJ closed his eyes, taking a long breath. Chance waited. He wanted this for Heather. She didn’t deserve to live and work looking over her shoulder. Even if nothing happened between them again, Chance wanted Heather to feel safe.
“Make a big difference in someone’s life,” DJ mumbled. “You know what would make a big difference in my life? If people stopped trying to get me to do favors for them. DJ do this, DJ do that. How about DJ runs his race team?”
The words may have been harsh, but Chance knew there was a big softie deep inside. DJ would do anything for someone he considered family. The question was whether DJ considered Chance family or not.
“A week and a half?”
“Yes, sir.”
DJ was thinking hard. Chance didn’t know if it was a good or bad sign.
“Two conditions.” He put a hand up before Chance could open his mouth. “Condition one. She better not interfere with things. She better not interfere with your things, if you catch my drift. Condition two. She’s not gonna make a dime more than she would as a yellow-shirt.”
“You’ve got a deal.” Chance was beaming.
“Condition three.”
Chance lowered his brow. “You said two conditions.”
“That’s the thing about being the boss. I can do whatever the hell I please.” DJ paused. “Condition three. She’s gonna work. This ain’t some charity thing where she can sit in the hauler. We need a good gopher.”
“You’ve got it.” Chance shook DJ’s hand before he could add anything else to his demands. He still had to sell the idea to Heather.
DJ turned back to the golf cart. “Alright, ‘Let’s Make A Deal’ is over. Get your ass back to the garage and get Annabelle running, or all of this is for nothing.”
“Thank you, DJ.”
“Go, god damnit, go.” He shooed Chance away.
Kiwi elbowed Chance. “What’s her name? Eh?”
“Don’t you have a transmission to reassemble?”
The mechanic looked over at the scattering of parts and shrugged. “I could put it all back together with my eyes closed. Now, onto the far more interesting subject matter. Who’s the girl?”
Chance considered keeping up the stall tactics, but Kiwi was persistent and right about the car. Kiwi was a savant with anything mechanical. He could lie, but that could easily blow up in Chance’s face.
With a sigh, Chance spilled the beans. “Her name is Heather. She’s a yellow-shirt.”
“And you’re a white knight. Is this a good idea?”
Kiwi wasn’t usually so serious, but everyone understood what was on the line. “I don’t, as a matter of fact. She needed a helping hand, and so do we. That sounds mutually beneficial to me. It’s not gonna effect my race, if that’s what you’re implying.”
Kiwi set down the socket wrench. “This is my only gig of the season. I’m talking with a NASCAR team, but they pay shit, and I don’t want to work 70 hours a week straight through to November. Forgive me for having some skin in the game, here. If we pull off a top fifteen, I can get picked up by one of the other teams around here. I’ll do everything I can for you, but don’t go throwing All-American under the bus because of some one month fling.”
“One month fling?” Chance’s chest puffed out.
Kiwi rolled his eyes. “Come on. Are you gonna settle down? You gonna call it quits and get a job as an insurance adjuster? No, Chance, no. Blood doesn’t run through your veins. That’s high octane racing fuel. Don’t get confused. Don’t think lust burns hotter than that.”
Everything was against them. Time, money, even the other teams. Chance didn't think they would get Annabel put back together in a week, let alone overnight. Somehow, the boys had done it. It was just after midnight before the last clips locked the body panels back into place.
Annabelle might as well have been Frankenstein’s monster. None of the panels matched, and some of them were simply bare carbon fiber where the Fisher’s sponsorship used to rest. She didn't look pretty, but Chance had driven uglier cars to Victory Lane.
The noise ordinance kicked in at ten, so the team would have to wait until the next morning to try and start her up. There was no doubt in Chance’s mind that she would start, sounding just as sweet as she had on qualification day. Chance was exhausted, but with his car back together, his thoughts traveled to Heather.
The phone rang twice before she picked up, and she sounded groggy. “Hello? Chance?”
“Damnit. You were sleeping. I know I'm late, so if you don't want to get together, I understand.”
He heard Heather take a long breath. “Is the car fixed?”
He thought she was so sweet. Even with everything going on in her life, she really did care. That alone made the tireless day worth it.
Chance said, “I think so. We can’t try to start her up until tomorrow morning, but the computer isn’t seeing any errors. Technology is a wonderful thing.”
“That’s great.” He could still hear the sleep in her voice, but she was coming around.
He didn’t think Heather would be up for a night on the town. In fact, he didn't think she would be up for anything. Still, Chance wanted to offer her the job in person.
"I know it's late, and that's on me, but can we still get together? I want to ask you something."
"Chance…"
He heard the hesitation. Heather probably had to be up before dawn for work. So did he, but adrenaline would prevent him from sleeping, anyway.
He made things easier for her. “We don't have to do anything. Let me come over for just a few. I promise."
“Maybe that's not such a good idea." Heather was a tough sell
“Just listen to my offer. If you hear me out and immediately say no, that will be it. That will be the end of it, For better or worse."
"Fine." Heather was fully awake now, probably more out of annoyance than anything. Just come over quickly."
Chance did just that. Borrowing yet another car from a friend, he headed for Heather's apartment.
When she opened the door, Chance was amazed at how beautiful she still looked. Heather had one hell of a pull on him. She wore a over-sized t-shirt and shorts, her hair was back in a messy ponytail, and he thought she was gorgeous.
“What’s with the stupid grin?” She asked, leaning against the door.
“Nothing.” Chance shook his head. “Sorry, I know it’s late.”
Heather nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“I thought things would be better, I really did.”
Heather asked, “What are you talking about?”
“I just wanted things to be better for you. I thought Rob would back off, but that didn’t happen. When you said he was threatening you, Heather, I fucking lost it. Who does that? I don’t want him to come between us.”
“It’s not just him. Chance, what’s your idea?”
“Come to work for my team.” He watched as Heather cocked her head to one side. “Seriously. I talked with DJ, and he approved. If you work for the team, Rob has no power anymore. If he even comes near you, DJ will talk to the track officials, and Rob will be out on his ass. You don’t have to worry about your job.”
“Work for you?”
“For DJ. We’d be co-workers, I guess.”
Heather’s confused expression remained. “Come on in. Let me see if I’ve got this straight.”
She turned and walked into the apartment, Chance close behind. He closed the door as she dropped down onto the couch. “You’re offering me a job with the race team? Doing what?”
“DJ used the term gopher. You know, go for this, go for that.”
“I know what it means.”
“The pay would be the same. Your hours would probably be a little better. It would also mean that you and I would be closer.”
“Until the race,” she finished.
“Yeah.”
Heather looked weary. Not tired, just worn down. “You don’t really get what I’m saying, do you Chance?”
“I guess not,” he said slowly.
Heather grabbed the woven blanket from the back of the couch, pulling it around her shoulders. “The race is over in a week and a half, and after that, you’re gone. Chance, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
He had spent the drive over pondering that very thought. Kiwi had made him realize that there was nothing after the 500. Even if he did well, there wouldn’t be a permanent ride offered to him. The season’s driver line-up was solid. Even Billy was only driving for one race. The closing of the Lentz Brothers had put him out of a steady job, too.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“What?”
He sat down beside her, his eyes on the floor. “There’s nothing for me after this race. Even if I win, which just ain’t gonna happen, there’s nowhere for me to go. I spent everything to get to Indianapolis, and any earnings I make are basically already spent. My dream was to race the 500, and after that? Well, I don’t know, to be honest.”
“I thought you’d move on…”
He shrugged. “Maybe I would have, but I don’t know, anymore.”
“Yeah?”
Chance turned to Heather, looking into her bright eyes. “Yeah. I’m tired of living my life one race at a time. I don’t know, maybe I’m just getting old.”
Heather smiled, and it was like a ray of sunshine. “That’s not getting old, that’s growing up.”
“Maybe it is. I’ve been on my own for so long, it’s just hard to see that kind of stuff.” Chance tried to convey the confusion in his mind. Everything he was telling Heather was brand new, scary, and unfinished.
Heather turned to Chance and took his hand. A weight fell from his shoulders. “I really thought you would leave. It didn’t break my heart, but I just can’t keep getting into relationships that are destined for failure.”
Chance nodded. “More of the growing up?”
“Exactly.”
He raised a hand up to caress Heather’s cheek. “I don’t want this to be destined for failure. This is an endurance race, not a quarter mile drag.”
She laughed, but nuzzled against his hand. “I’m sure that was supposed to be sweet, but I don’t know what the hell that means.”
“Just kiss me.”
Chance pulled her in, Heather’s lips meeting his in a soft collision. His heart sped, urging him onward. Her petite fingers found their way into Chance’s hair, sending electric pulses rocketing through his body.
He hadn’t come over with any sexual intent, but there was something about Heather that turned his crank. She was the fuel running through his veins.
She practically dragged him back to the bedroom, tearing off his clothes as they moved. Chance loved her energy. He always loved when he had to keep up with someone. It drove him harder.
When the two finally collapsed in an exhausted heap, Chance’s mind was beautifully empty. He panted for breath, pulling Heather closer to his chest. She was cooing against his body, her eyes closed. Her fingers lazily played with Chance’s chest hair. Contentedness washed over him.
The car wasn’t on his mind. The race wasn’t on his mind. In fact, racing itself wasn’t on his mind. Chance didn’t know the last time something stronger than racing controlled him.
He fell asleep thinking about what new direction his life was heading.