“The car feels great, I mean incredible. Don’t change a thing.” Chance was beaming. He couldn’t help the euphoria. He had passed his rookie orientation with flying colors, and if he had been on a qualifying attempt, his time would have most likely stuck him in the middle of the field. Not bad for a replacement driver and a team on a shoe-string budget with a car that had been rebuilt in a day and a half.
Kiwi gave Chance a playful shove. “Right? You think I did all of this for nothin’? You better make me proud, boy.”
“No worries, brother.”
Derek was standing on the pit wall, waiting for Chance to pull his helmet off. He had an even wider smile on his face. Derek wasn’t liberal with his emotions, so a wide smile might as well have been tears of joy. Even on the best of days, Derek rarely let his happiness show. He was a man of many superstitions. Good news could easily be beaten down by bad news in his view.
Chance saw that look in Derek’s eye in the hospital. Maybe Derek didn’t blame himself, but he did feel the guilt for Billy’s crash. He looked at Chance differently, too. Derek felt responsible. Derek was like the strict father of the All-American team. DJ was that lovable, slightly racist grandfather that everyone couldn’t imagine living without.
It was a team of rag-tags, outcasts, and Desperados, and Chance wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
His mood could only be ruined by one thing, and that thing was just a few feet away, leaning against the gate. Isla had large, Jackie O shades on, and a grin on her face that made Chance’s skin crawl.
After sliding his gloves and helmet into his gear bag, Chance headed back to see what she wanted. Even if she was there as Jack’s little lap dog, Chance couldn’t turn down the opportunity to try and get under the champ’s skin.
“Afternoon, Isla. And how are we this fine day? What message have you to pass along from ol’ Jackie boy?”
She didn’t lose the smile. “Why do you assume I’m here with a message?”
Before Chance could respond, a few young fans stuck their hands through the fence, pieces of paper and markers at the ready.
“Hey, guys. Enjoying the show?”
“Sure are, Mr. Pierce. Thanks!” After he signed his autograph, the two boys ran back up into the grandstands.
“I assume you’re here with a message because Jack’s pit is way,” Chance drew the word out, looking down to the south end of the pits. “Way down there with the big budget boys. I just don’t see you moseying all the way down to the bad side of the tracks in those three hundred dollar heels.”
Chance looked down to Isla’s perfectly manicured feet in sandal heels adorned in gold plates. His eyes traveled back up, lingering longer than he had intended on her toned, tanned legs.
“They’re five hundred dollar heels.”
“And I bet they hurt just as much as a cheap pair. Jesus, Isla, what do you want? You’re haunting me like a bad case of the crabs. You dumped me the second my star started falling, and now you’re back to hanging around an awful lot.”
Her eyebrows rose just over the top rim of her glasses. He had hit a nerve with her. Chance didn’t want to get into a fight with Isla. They were soulmates when it came to all-out brawls, and nothing more. He was hoping to sting her enough to get her to leave him be. It was a big track, but she was making it a point to keep running into him.
“Just wanted to say congrats on getting through your rookie laps.”
He shook his head. “No, you didn’t”
“Fine.” Isla pulled off her sunglasses, fire in her exotic eyes. “You are such an asshole, Chance. Fine. Jack would have come down here himself, but he’s too busy with the press. See, they actually care about him, because he has a chance to win, unlike you. They aren’t going to bother with your shitty team. Did you hear anything about Billy on the news? No, and my guess is you won’t. You’re going to be just another underdog lost to the sands of time.”
“Nice talking to you, as always, Isla. I have to get going, but I really hope we meet again soon. How about winner’s circle in two weeks?”
With that, Chance stepped past her, heading to the garages. Every time things were going well, there she was, ready to piss rain on his sunshine.
As Chance passed beneath the grandstands towards the garage area, he saw the spot where yet another interesting interaction had taken place just an hour earlier. A large, older man was stationed there instead of the young woman who had no problem telling Chance off. She must have finished her shift for the day.
What was her name? Erica? No. What was it? She mentioned it to the supervisor. Rob was the asshole’s name. The asshole who was getting way too personal with the chick. The asshole who decided to take a swing at Chance for no reason. He could remember the asshole, but not the pretty girl with some genuine fire to her.
Poor girl. She had to work at the same place as him. She was probably haunted by him. Isla annoyed Chance, but she didn’t haunt him. It must be different for a woman, that fear and uncertainty.
Chance’s mind wasn’t on the fans. With his driver’s suit tucked at the waist, he blended in well enough to slip past most of them. Being a driver in the highest open-wheel series in America meant that 99% of the time, he had to be “on.” He had to have a permanent smile, and always be ready to talk to or sign something for a fan. Most of the time, he enjoyed fan interaction, but his mind was elsewhere.
Rubbing his already sore neck, Chance was aching for a nap. The trailer was empty, as the crew would spend the afternoon breaking down Annabelle for any issues that might have crept up since the rebuild.
Chance fell back onto the hard cushions of the couch, already half asleep. The last thought before he fell into a deep sleep was to look for that yellow-shirt the next day. Heather. That’s right, Heather.