CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Emma
Around a curve, Ryan Blaney tapped my back-right side, sending me careening forward, but I managed to correct and keep it off the wall. He sailed past me as white smoke started to plume in my vision. I adjusted the face shield on my helmet, trying to detect the source of the smoke, just as Blaney’s car missed the curve, skidded around full speed, right into the wall, bouncing back sideways in front of me.
“He’s blown a tire,” Brody said.
“Clear, inside, go, go, now,” my spotter advised me.
“On it,” I said, finding the opening.
“You got it.” My spotter got me through it, giving the directions I needed until I was safe. I pushed ahead toward pit road as the yellow caution flags came out again.
When I sailed into my pit stall, Daddy gave me a wave from behind the wall as my crew handled my change. I grabbed my water and downed half of the thing in two large gulps, flipped my shield down, and revved the engine. No, I wasn’t first, or second… but I wasn’t fortieth either. I was a respectable sixteenth, way better than the bookies thought I’d do.
Take that, bookies. I tightened my gloves around the wheel. Time to bring this baby home.
When Jonesy tapped on the back of the car, I sailed out, following behind the caution car. The second the green flag came out, I was on it. “Let’s bring this home,” Brody said to me. “You’re looking real good. Just keep at it.”
“I intend to, bro,” I said, stomping on the gas and getting into the fray again.
Twenty more laps to go. I greased another car, getting myself into fourteenth. It was easier now, like it had been in the beginning, when I’d been go-karting in the dirt with Brody. I was in the groove where it felt natural, powerful. Exhilarated.
By the white flag, I’d sailed past Joey Logano, and I was in twelfth place, fighting for purchase with Austin Dillon’s red number 3. Somehow, I slammed ahead of him in the straightaway, even though he was trying to push me to the wall. “Inside, inside, inside,” my spotter said calmly into my ear.
When the checkered flag came out, I pulled both fists off the steering wheel and pumped them hard. I hadn’t just finished, as was expected of me. I’d gotten eleventh place. It was solid and definitely enough to qualify me for the Daytona 500. Holy shit. Maybe I’d be able to trample Ryan and Kasey in the real deal and get enough money to get Brody’s fancy driving arm.
But by the time I sailed back into pit road and found my stall, the excitement had withered.
I should’ve done better. I should’ve won the whole damn thing.
I pulled back the net, ripped off my helmet, and stepped out of the car. The first person I saw was Brody. He was smiling, but the smile didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Not bad for a rookie,” he grumbled, adjusting his ball cap on his head.
“This rookie just qualified for the Daytona 500.” I laughed, giving him a smack upside the head so that his hat fluttered to the ground.
He glared at me, a glint of brotherly rivalry in his eyes.
I stepped closer, wrapping my arms around him, wanting us to be okay. “Maybe you can beat me next time… after I get you your driving arm.”
He said something I couldn’t hear because I was swallowed up by the waiting arms of my parents and pit crew. They embraced me and jostled me around, and I smiled as they patted me on the back and congratulated me. “Woo-wee!” my father shrieked, grabbing me. “My girl sure knows how to race!”
Reporters invaded our circle after that, and I knew I was expected to hang around for post-race interviews. But as I scanned the faces surrounding me, I was really looking for only one person.
Locke.
I knew he’d be happy, even if I wasn’t so happy myself. I knew I’d done him and UnCaged proud. I just should’ve done better.
When he broke through the crowd, my heart, which had already been beating double-time, did its own Daytona 500 inside my chest wall. He looked… in a word, elated, his smile bigger than I’d ever seen it.
All I wanted to do was jump into his arms.
Instead, he put out his hand, very businesslike. “Congratulations, Miss James.”
I reached over and shook. Geez, how could he be such an amazing lover and give the lamest, most unenthusiastic handshake? “Thank you,” I said stiffly.
Time stood still for a moment, as confetti poured down around us. And suddenly, my world fell apart. “Why does it say on the board that Emma James has been disqualified?” Laura said to me.
I looked up at the board. Sure enough, it did. I looked at Daddy, and Brody, and they were both listening into their headsets and frowning.
I stormed over to them. It had to be a mistake. “What the hell?”
Brody shook his head, and my father let out one of his infrequent curses. Tom’s dark face, covered in sweat, was sadder than I’d ever seen it. “The pit crew went over the wall a couple seconds too fast,” Jonesy explained to me, wrapping an arm around me. “It happens.”
I stared at him. Yeah, it happens, but not with us. Not with Brody. Brody knew better.
“What the fuck, Brody?” I said as a terrible thought occurred to me.
He’d done that on purpose.
He gave me an innocent look and backed away, but I hadn’t raced my heart out just to get my ass disqualified. I reached for him, rage distorting my face, wanting to wrap my hands around his neck. “Did you do it on purpose?” When he just shrugged, rage slapped me in the face. “I’m going to rip off your head and shit down your neck!”
“Okay, okay, calm now,” Locke said, coming forward and taking me from behind before I could get to my brother. Meanwhile, Brody just stared at me in a stony way that exuded guilt.
I tried to wrench away from Locke but couldn’t. “He did it on purpose!” I shouted. “I need a new pit chief!”
“No, he didn’t,” Locke said, trying to calm me down, and it was then I realized that I had my share of reporters around me, and they were all snapping like crazy.
I swallowed. Then I threw down my helmet and dropped my head.
“You did good, Emma,” Locke whispered to me. “We’ll get it next time.”
I nodded woodenly.
The winner, Jimmie Johnson, was doing his victory lap around the oval, the screech of tires on the asphalt echoing through my head along with all the other noises from the day, threatening to cause a splitting headache. I looked up expectantly at Locke, who gave me a very soft, very sterile kiss on the cheek.
“Save that fire for the next race,” he whispered. “See you tonight?”
I nodded, happy to defy Brody for the first time. And here, Brody thought me being with Locke was ruining my chances at a win. Now, I didn’t give a shit what Brody said. From now on, I’d do everything on my terms. “Damn straight.”
And then Locke disappeared, swallowed up by the crowd of friends and admirers and reporters. The celebration went on around us, but I skulked through the crowd, feeling like a loser. I knew it had nothing to do with the way I’d raced. It was all my pit crew. But it didn’t matter. It meant I was still no one. I might as well have come in dead last.
The team mulled in its sorrow for only a little while after that. My dad hugged me and told me to get a good night’s rest, that things would be better in the morning. But I wanted Locke there. I wanted to cry to him and yell out my frustrations at him, and let him make things better.
As I went back to the apartment, I realized I had another item for my bucket list.
I wanted Locke and me not to be a secret. I wanted him to grab me in front of all these people and kiss me passionately, stay by my side and tell me that the sun would come up tomorrow, and for being with him to be okay.
As impossible as people told me winning a Cup race would be, at least there was a chance. All I had to do was push myself harder. With another few races, I felt confident I could get there one day.
But Locke and I being accepted as a couple? I didn’t see how I could make it happen. Not with the way Brody had looked at me. What had he said? You just fuck your way to the top. And he was my brother. Something told me popular opinion would be even more scathing.
Locke and me? That felt like a race I could never win.