At six in the morning sharp, Heather stood outside the All-American hauler slot, her eyes darting left and right. Every time someone would walk near her, she would quickly move to one side, not wanting to disturb anything. Despite working at the track for weeks, the place was so expansive that so much still felt new to her.
What the hell am I doing? Just a few minutes earlier, she had informed Murphy that she was quitting. He wasn’t happy, but he also wasn’t surprised. Rob had made life more than difficult for her, and Murphy had done all he could, which wasn’t much. He gave her a handshake and a friendly old man smile to send her on her way.
Heather was ready to start working for DJ, a man Chance had blown up to Paul Bunyan-like proportions. She wrung her hands, trying to will herself to step into Chance’s world.
From the hauler, a large, older man lowered himself down the two steps. He groaned with each one, finally finding the ground. He looked up at Heather, who had frozen in place. He smiled at her, his cheeks red from the effort.
“You’re our newest team member, right?”
Heather just nodded.
DJ let out a laugh that gave Heather the impression that he could make a great mall Santa. He looked cheerful, in spite of any pain he might be suffering through.
DJ waddled toward her, a cigar stump hanging from one corner of his mouth. “Ain’t no reason to be shy. We’re good people here. Chance is proof of that. He’s looking’ out for you, you know.”
“I know.” Heather looked away briefly, unsure of how to take that statement.
“Good.” DJ stopped right at the end of the black and white checkered flooring that marked All-American’s space. “Now, let me do a little looking out for you. Don’t distract my driver. I need him at one hundred percent for the race, and let’s face it, you have it in you to be a distraction.”
Heather didn’t know what was worse, what DJ was saying, or the fact that his cheery expression didn’t change as he said it.
She shook her head. “I’m not interested in distracting him.”
“Those eyes say otherwise.” Heather’s heart stopped. “You’ll find your credentials and some clothes inside. Hopefully a little more fashionable than that yellow button-up. Come on down to the pit lane when you’re ready. We’ll put you to work.”
Heather was still trying to comprehend what DJ had said about her relationship with Chance. Heather truly didn’t want to distract Chance. She wanted only the best for him. They were adult enough to work together and maintain a relationship…right?
“Thank you.”
DJ nodded. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He lowered himself into a golf cart, which sank down a few inches. The little electric motor whined as he drove off.
Heather found a pair of black pants and a yellow and black tight top folded on a table in the truck. She changed, and did, indeed, feel slightly more fashionable than in her previous uniform. She didn’t swim in the outfit, and even though the colors were similar, there was something about the swooping yellow design that felt strong.
After dangling the lanyard with her credentials over her head, Heather looked at the card.
Heather Vaughn - All-American Pro
Just a few weeks earlier, Heather had never been to a race track in her life, now she was on a team that would compete in the Indy 500.
“Ok.” She spoke out loud to herself. “Let the adventure begin.”
She felt strange walking past the yellow-shirt who now had her post. Holding out her lanyard, the middle-aged man nodded at her without a second look. Heather walked out to the narrow pedestrian walkway behind the pits.
Heather saw everything with new eyes. The various crews that she saw were now her—Chance’s—competition. She wanted to beat them. She could envision Chance’s car zooming past theirs on the way to the finish line.
Despite that competitive spirit, Heather smiled at everyone she saw. In her time at the speedway, she saw something between the different teams. Everyone was out for a win, but they were also a big family. As long as everyone went home safe, it was a win.
Almost entirely men filled the pit lane. Each team had their colors, their sponsors, their cars, and their drivers. Each team had their odds on winning. Each team thought they had the advantage, but the one thing those teams didn’t have was leaning against the metal fence fifty feet in front of Heather—Chance talking to some woman….
Not just any woman, though. This woman was stunning. The pastel print sun dress was short enough to show off most of her olive-tanned legs. She had a clutch in one hand that oozed money. Her hair was long, wavy in a perfectly pristine way.
Heather stopped. Strangers moved past her, brushing hard past her shoulders, but she barely noticed. She didn’t want to think the worst, but jealousy was rearing its ugly head.
The woman smiled, showing off a perfect set of bright white teeth. Heather couldn’t help but imagine what she was saying to Chance. The woman reached a dainty hand over, and Chance recoiled.
Heather breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She had been so focused on the woman that she hadn’t noticed Chance’s stiff body language. His arms were crossed over his chest, he was leaning away from her, and his face was anything but infatuated with her. His brow was creased, and even from a distance, Heather could see how tight his jawline was.
She shook her head, laughing at herself. Chance wasn’t a playboy. When they went out for dinner, Viv had practically thrown herself at him, and Chance had handled it with class and grace. Heather saw this younger, beautiful woman doing the same thing, and he was having none of it.
Felling way more relaxed, Heather headed towards the pair. Despite feeling more comfortable with what she saw, Heather eyed the interaction closely.
Still too far away to hear what they were saying over the crowds Heather saw Chance throw his hands up and shake his head. The woman just laughed. She seemed to be enjoying Chance’s frustration. Heather’s distaste for the woman was growing by the second.
He turned away from her. Heather wanted to slap the woman. She didn’t consider herself a violent person, but whatever the stranger was saying to Chance was enough to make adrenaline coarse through Heather’s body.
Walking away, the woman caught eyes with Heather. Her smile grew wider, reminding Heather of a Disney villain.
“Speak of the devil,” she said with a European accent that Heather couldn’t nail down. As they passed, the woman made no move to step aside, her shoulder nearly knocking Heather over.
Chance’s face still held the angry expression when he saw Heather. It softened when his eyes looked her up and down. She loved the smile that came to him. “Well, look at you.”
“Friend of yours?” Heather looked back over her shoulder, but the exotic woman had vanished into the throngs of people.
Chance rolled his eyes. “Worse. Isla is my ex, and a terrible one, at that. Now she’s dating Jack Savage.” The name didn’t mean a thing to Heather. “He’s the current champion, and a perpetual asshole.”
“Ahh. She seemed…nice.”
Chance laughed. “No, she’s not. She’s a gold digger. I’m sorry that you had to see us talking. I can assure you that nothing—“
Heather cut Chance off with a kiss. Damn the consequences. “You don’t have to explain a thing.”
“Oi.” A man seemed to pop out of nowhere between them, like a chaperone. “I’ve got a job for you, Missy.”
Chance looked more than peeved. “Heather, this is Kiwi. He may have poor timing, but he’s one of the best mechanics you’ll ever meet.”
The man had grey in his sideburns, and his accent and size made her think of Hobbits. “We actually sort of met. I’m Heather.”
“Yeah, yeah. No time for pleasantries. Come with me.”
She followed Kiwi into the All-American pit box, stepping over hoses, pipes, buckets, and tool boxes. When Kiwi stopped, Heather found herself surrounded by stacks of thick, wide tires. There were easily ten stacks of four tires, each one almost as tall as she was.
He held up a drill with a big poof ball on the end. “Ever done this?”
Heather felt utterly and completely out of her element. “Done what?”
“That’s a no. Alright. What you’re gonna do is squirt a little of this polish on each one, then hit it with the whizzer wheel.”
Kiwi demonstrated, dotting the shiny metal wheel with white globs of polish, then using the battery-powered drill to work it in. Heather watched, wondering what decisions had led her to her current job. Josie would never believe it.
“Got it?”
Heather nodded. “I think I can manage. One question. Is this just busy work?”
A deadly serious look came to Kiwi. “Hell no. These tires rotate hundreds of times per second. Any gunk or rubber stuck to the wheel causes imbalances, drag, and harmonic disturbances.”
Heather couldn’t help herself. “Mhm, I know all of those words.”
He chuckles. “They slow the car down an almost imperceptible amount, but when you multiply it times four, times rotations, and times two hundred laps, it could be the difference between winning and losing.”
“Do all of these tiny things really make that much of a difference?”
Kiwi nodded. “A team I worked for years back wouldn’t even let the driver carry a picture of his wife and kids in the car with him. Too much weight.”
Far down the pit lane, a car fired up. Heather jumped. “You’re yanking my chain, right?”
He shrugged. “Maybe I am. Alright, dear. Time to get to work.” Kiwi left Heather to the stacks of tires and her polishing. More engines began to fire up, and she saw Chance pulling a hood over his head, then his helmet. He saw her, and Chance blew Heather a kiss. Blood rushed to her cheeks. She turned away in a hurry, knowing he’d see her blushing. No need to give him that satisfaction.
When Heather turned around, he was sliding down into the cramped cockpit of the race car. Annabelle, she remembered. Billy had named the car Annabelle. She watched him get into the car, which seemed even smaller now that she was up close to it, just a few feet away over the small concrete wall. On track, a car shot past down the front straight, and Heather marveled at the speed. Chance was absolutely nuts for getting behind the wheel of the tiny, deadly rocket ship.
Kiwi knelt down at the back of the car, and it fired. Heather threw her hands over her ears. She knew the cars were loud, but until that moment, she had been nowhere near one when they were running. Even from the grandstands, the sound was tolerable as the cars raced by on the speedway. Ten feet away from one was something completely different.
Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and Heather came face to face with a hulking man with a smile on his face. He held up a pair of headphones, hefty ones, too.
As soon as Heather put them over her ears, she heard radio traffic, and barely anything else. They really did cover up the sound of the running race car right in front of her.
“Computer systems are good, temps normal.”
She looked around for the voice, spotting someone talking in front of a laptop on a raised platform on the other side of the low concrete wall from the car.
“Thanks, everyone.” Chance’s voice came over the headphones with just a touch of static. “This is what it means to be a team. You all busted ass to get Annabelle running, and here we are. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
Emotion filled Heather’s throat. Chance truly did love his sport, and to witness him achieve his dream was incredible. Still, she didn’t count herself a bystander. She’d be reaching her own dream in the fall, and no one could tell her that she wasn’t living life.
Turning her attention back to the work, Heather dotted the next tire with the polish and began to work it in with the drill. It was hard work, but there was something satisfying about shining up wheel after wheel. How a car could go through so many sets of tires in a race was beyond Heather, but she wasn’t assuming anything. Her toes were dipped into a brand new world.
“Alright, Chance, let’s go put some laps on.” The voice crackled in her headphones. “I want to work on tire management. Sound good?”
“Copy.”
The car tore away from the pit box, gone by the time Heather turned around to watch. She tried to focus on the wheels, but she was listening to the radio chatter. Everything Chance was saying to the other man was front and center. Heather rose up and stared down the front straight as Chance and Annabelle shot past.
“Feeling good. She’s feeling great. I can really throw her into every turn, and I get no pushback.”
Jaw clenched, Heather wanted to cheer out loud. She was a part of Chance’s dream, and that was beyond anything she’d ever imagined. Maybe there was something to racing. It was getting under her skin, and she was getting hooked. Heather knew all of two drivers in the 500. Her Chance, and Jack Savage, with the exotic bitch of a girlfriend.
Heather found it hard to believe that Isla and Chance had ever dated. Never considering herself a jealous person, Heather couldn’t help but imagine the two of them together. Chance seemed like a fairly simple guy, and Isla? She looked like the kind of woman you’d unfollow on Instagram because you quickly grew tired of her shit.
Heather managed to polish all the wheels surrounding her. The stacks of tires lorded over her, heavy and daunting. Everyone on the team, most of whom Heather didn’t know, were busy with something or other. Only the large man was leaning against the fence near the grandstands watching everything around him.
She walked over to him, taking the headphones off. The cacophony surrounding her came back. Many of the crew members that Heather had seen didn’t wear any ear protection at all.
Trying not to sound sheepish, Heather asked, “Could you help me move some of these tires? I can’t lift them.”
“Of course, of course.” He pushed away from the fence, a big grin on his face. “I’m Frank.”
As he weaved through the tires, Frank pointed to the top of one stack. “See the big numbers in grease pen? Gotta keep the sets of tires together. Very important. Got it?”
Heather nodded. She had been given the simplest task, but things were getting more complicated by the second. Add in all the radio chatter that was barely comprehensible, and Heather felt like the water was rising around her.
“Delta times looking good.”
“Let’s work on drafting.”
“Tire management is key, Chance.”
She heard it all, but to Heather, the words might as well have been gibberish. Still, the team was friendly to her, and she felt like her small job was still important. She was doing her part to help Chance do his best.
The one message that did make sense to her was: “Alright, let’s bring it in. Time for lunch.”
The morning had flown. The smaller mechanic, Kiwi, was pulling the tin foil from a party tray. Steam poured out into the air from the hot sandwiches. Heather’s stomach grumbled, pulling her from the intense focus she had waded into. She had gone through nearly half of the tires, losing count around thirty. Her hands ached, and they were covered in tiny splotches of the polish that had flown from the rotating head of the drill.
The pieced together car came to an abrupt stop in the pit lane, white smoke rising from each of the tires. The blaring engine died, and Heather dared to take her headphones off.
Heather smiled as Chance pulled himself up from the car. There was just something about it that was just plain hot. Actually, everything about Chance was hot. He was confident, sexy, and Heather was quickly coming to find racing to be very attractive. Dangerous, fast, and filled with adrenaline, racing was everything that Heather was drawn to. In her professional life, she worked hard to reject those desires. Industrial and occupational psychology was about as dull as anything, and Heather liked it that way.
After Chance had talked with people under the little awning, he gave her a smile. Heather liked that even though he was at work, and a high-stakes job at that, he still made it a point to make her feel special.
She waited by her stacks and stacks of tires until he came over. Heather didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes. With how little room there was in their pit box, that might literally happen.
“Hungry?” He asked totally nonchalant, as if he hadn’t just gotten out of a race car going two hundred miles an hour. Heather just smiled and nodded to him.