The sun beat down on the race track in the first truly hot day of the year. The cloudless blue sky was cut off by the grandstands all around. Chance couldn’t find his hat, so his hand was glued to his forehead, blocking out the bright light.
Chance let out a yawn that was far too big to cover up. Shaking it off, he pulled his gear bag up onto a toolbox. A few cars rolled down the pit lane, spurring him to throw his ear pieces in quickly.
Free practice had just started, made very clear by Pops tapping the imaginary watch on his wrist.
“Chill out,” Chance said to himself. They were maybe three minutes from getting the car fired up and on track. No big deal. To ease his frustration, Chance looked over at Heather.
Frank was showing her how to record tire pressures and temps. The sight made Chance smile. There was an eagerness in her eyes, despite the slight dark spots beneath them. She and Chance were running on three hours of rest. Still, it was worth every second of missed sleep. The night before had probably been one of the best of Chance’s life. His nomad lifestyle didn’t give him much opportunity to share himself with another, making it all the more special.
Heather had started out with a temporary job, but Chance could see that it was turning into an interest, and maybe even a passion. There was nothing greater than when you can see someone getting pulled in by motorsports.
By race day, she’d be adjusting tire pressures before and after pit stops as well as marking down temps after a set of tires came off the car. Maybe it would be something she’d want to pursue, who knew.
Pops stepped from the war wagon as Chance pulled his nome hood over his head. “Is your head in the game?”
“Of course.”
“No, don’t give me of course. I’m getting flashbacks to last season.” Pulling Chance aside, he lowered his voice. “For the sake of everyone here—and I do mean everyone—you can’t screw this up.”
Pops didn’t need to be lecturing Chance. He was a different man this season. He was more mature, and he had real goals in mind. Last season he might have been selfish, but that was gone. “I’m fine. Can I get in the car now, or do you have more weight you want to pile on my shoulders?” Chance didn’t bother to hide his frustration.
“No. Let’s just get some pit stop practice in, huh?”
“Fine.” Chance pulled his helmet down and clipped the radio jack into place.
Annabelle was up on the hydraulic jacks that lifted the car during pit stops, and when Chance stepped into the cockpit, the car rocked to one side.
“Oi, I’m under here.” Kiwi’s voice came from the back of the car, more annoyed than anything.
Without responding, Chance slid down into his seat, already trying to tune out all of his frustrations. Clearing them for the race would be crucial, and his issues were mounting. Annabelle was great, but his promise of prize money seemed to be dwindling. Whatever he did manage to take home might not be enough to really get settled into a new career.
Despite his best efforts, Chance was getting angry. He queued up the radio. “You give me shit about being a few minutes late, and we’re still sitting here. What the hell is going on?”
Pops said, “We’ve got an issue with the air jack. Calm down, we’re working on it.” He was just as testy as Chance.
“Great. So glad I climbed in the car. Where’s the umbrella? I’m already starting to sweat.”
“We’re looking for it.”
Chance turned his head as much as he could. “Doesn’t look like it.”
Pops spun around from his seat on the war wagon.
Before he could speak, DJ’s voice boomed over the radio. “I didn’t realize your periods had synced up. If I hear one more iota of bitching from either of you two ladies, I’m going to pick out the prettiest dresses I can find and parade you down the front straight in front of fifty thousand people. Try me, Chance. So help me god, try me.”
Chance took his thumb from the radio button. He knew DJ was serious, and he was smart enough not to push the old man.
The car rattled as they worked on fixing whatever was wrong at the back of the car. An umbrella did appear, and Chance muttered his thanks as the shade draped over him.
After a sudden burst of air pressure, the car dropped back onto its wide tires. Chance raised his hands up to the steering wheel.
He watched Pops hop from the concrete wall and take his place in front of the car. Spinning his finger in the air, he cued Kiwi to start the engine. Chance held down the ignition button, and the seven hundred and fifty horsepower motor roared to life.
He felt a headache brewing, but once his heart rate climbed, he’d forget all about it. On track, everything else went away. He only had the immediate in mind. Lap times, tire degradation, suspension settings. It was easy. He could tune out the radio and only focus on the minute rise and fall of the engine’s revs. At two hundred miles an hour, there was peace.
Pops stepped to one side and sent Chance out onto the pit lane. The tires squealed, the back end of the car lurching sideways. Chance cut the wheel in the opposite direction, controlling the rear until he hit the pit lane speed limiter.
There, the world became a blur everywhere but straight in front of him. He thought about Heather, but more importantly, Chance thought about what he would do after the race.
Unless the gods were smiling and he ran the race of his life, the odds were slim that he could get a real ride. He understood that great luck on his part and terrible luck on Billy’s had gotten him into the big show. Still, even a champion with a secure ride could find himself out the door. Chance didn’t want to count himself out of a full-time drive too soon.
Pushing all the bad shit and unanswered questions out of his mind, Chance tried to focus on the positive. The Indy 500 had been the dream for his entire life, and he was one week away. More than that, he had found a strong, beautiful woman who was beginning to show a passion for motorsports. She was a sharp and a welcomed departure from the gold diggers like Isla.
Chance knew he could be happy with Heather and a life spent watching instead of racing. He didn’t know how it would all work out, but that was a problem for the day after the race.
Chance was tired of being in the car. He loved driving, but pit stop practice wasn’t driving. Out for a lap, immediately in for a pit stop, then back out. Rinse and repeat. The crew was getting faster, so Chance tried to keep that positive note in mind.
Once he got out of the car and before he could say a word to Pops, DJ was pointing at the passenger seat of the golf cart. Not a good sign.
Chance threw his gear on top of the bag, gave Heather a warm smile as he passed, and dropped down next to the team boss.
DJ headed off, the cart laboring under the weight.
“You can’t keep seeing her. Not like you’ve been.”
Chance turned to his boss. “What? Are you serious? One rough night and you’re cutting me off?”
“One rough night? You think we’re all blind? Chance, I saw it from day one. Before day one, actually. I heard about the scuffle.”
Chance shook his head. “DJ, there’s no issue here. Heather and I are professional at work.”
“And outside of work?”
Chance paused. There was no denying what was going on, but he had to say something. “Outside of work…things are less than professional.”
“That’s the thing, kid. We race from April to October. Means we’ve got five months off, right? Wrong. We spend those five months building next year’s car and all the other shit that goes along with running a race team. Same situation here. Just because we go home at ten doesn’t mean we’re done. We go home or to the hotel.” DJ slapped a hard hand down on Chance’s thigh. “Or in the hauler. Anyway, we don’t drink if we’ve got an early morning. We eat a hearty dinner if it’s a busy morning. We sleep if…we always sleep, and that’s where the issue comes in.”
“One long night. That’s it.”
DJ nodded. “ Yeah, I’ve had my share of long nights, too, kid.”
“I bet.”
“But they were always after the race. You can’t be doing this shit and expecting to be up to speed. Your reaction times are slower, your hydration level has dropped, and your mind just isn’t as sharp. We don’t have the money for fitness analysts, but they’d tell you the same damn thing. Chance, I’m putting you on ice.”
“Do I even want to know what that means?”
“Lockdown, freeze out, cockblock. Whatever you wanna call it, that’s what it is. You can’t see her until the race is over.”
Chance tried to say something, but DJ cut him off. “No questions, argument final. There are eyes on you all the time, now. Be professional at work, or I’ll have your ass.”
In truth, DJ was all talk. Between Chance’s money in the team and the short time before the race, there would be no finding another driver. DJ couldn’t fire him, but he could make life very hard for Chance, even after the 500 was over.
DJ was a crotchety old man, but he was a legend, and his word meant something. Chance didn’t want to be on his bad side, even if he gave up racing. The old man had been more of a father than anyone else in the world, and he gave Chance a…well, chance, when no one else would.
“I don’t like it, but you’re the big time winner here, not me. DJ, she’s special to me. I want you to know that.”
They had reached the hauler, and DJ pulled himself upright. “I met Gwen at this track in ’63. Did you know that?”
With a wide smile, Chance shook his head. “I didn’t.”
“I didn’t ask her out on a date until I had reached victory lane. Let that be a lesson to you.”
DJ left Chance sitting there, probably hoping to make a dramatic exit. Chance was angry, but he had to admit that the biggest moment of his life was less than a week away, and distractions would only endanger his performance.
Another golf cart drove past. It was painted red, with flame decals behind the tires. It belonged to Team Kenzie. They were the biggest team out there, not only supporting Jack Savage, but three other drivers. The team was looking for their nineteenth win. Chance envied them, but he also pitied them.
Those larger teams were a business, having long ago lost the spirit of racing. The true spirit of racing was in competition, sportsmanship, and pushing machinery to the edge and beyond. Long before Chance was behind the wheel, sponsors and TV ratings had taken over the top-tiers of motorsport, but there were still beautiful moments.
Chance relished the opportunity to race with the best in the world at the greatest track in the world. He loved losing himself in the laps, not knowing his position until his engineer radioed him after the checkered flag dropped. He loved the smell of burned fuel in the air around him on track.
At Kenzie, even the drivers had to worry about pleasing the sponsors. They had to post on social media almost constantly, and racing was probably the last thing on their minds.