Page 17

Danger

I’m trying as best I can to listen to Mike, but no part of me wants to hear what he has to say. I haven’t thought about San Dimas since the day I left there.

“You ok today?” Luther asks, eyeing me carefully.

“I’m fine. Just ready to tear this track up.” And that’s the truth. I just want to get behind the wheel of my car and lose myself to all things racing.

I don’t have to worry about Monterey, or this nosy ass reporter. I can just let all the stress of my life fade away in my rearview.

After a few more discussions, we make our way outside. The track is a rounded-rectangle with four distinct turns of identical dimensions. I breathe in a breath of fresh air. There’s always something special about racing in the Indianapolis 500.

Something powerful that the other tracks just don’t have.

The speedway is packed to the brim with raving spectators. I scan the crowd, knowing full well I couldn’t spot the reporter from earlier if I tried.

Monterey sits with the other team owners, and I smile and wave. A few cameras flash as I blow her a kiss. She makes the spectacle of catching it out of midair and holding it close.

And it makes me fucking smile. For one second I feel that freedom I only feel when I’m racing.

“Don’t look now,” Dave, one of the pit crew says to me.

But, it’s too late, I’m looking. And what I see is Thad walking straight toward me. “Ready to lose?”

“Oh wow, Thad you really got me there. I’m shaking.” I roll my eyes.

“Asshole,” he breathes out.

I nod. “Leave me alone.” I’m not in the mood for his bullshit right now. Thoughts of Monterey and this reporter swirl through my head, and I just want to race and get back to my hotel room. With Monterey sleeping in my bed.

“What’s wrong, Danger? Your feelings get hurt?”

I stare down Thad, puffing out my chest a bit. “Just trying to focus on kicking your ass on the track.”

He laughs. “Yeah, that’ll never happen.”

We’ve attracted the attention of the press, and Dave pulls me away.

Crank hands me my headset before I get ready for the rolling start. I step aside, before getting in my car and getting to the pole position.

I suck in two deep breaths, removing every single last thought from my mind before getting into the Indy car.

My helmet gets put on as my steering wheel is installed after I’ve sat down in the seat. My mind becomes focused, and the thoughts of my life previous to racing fades away.

Monterey fades.

The reporter fades.

And more importantly everything that ever happened in San Dimas fades away, deeper into my subconsciousness where hopefully it’ll stay buried.

I have to remember what this money means to me. What winning will mean to those that matter.

I start my engine, and the rolling start begins. Fifteen laps before I can ease into my speed for the first fifty laps.

When I’m behind the wheel, nothing can hurt me here. I’m in control. I’m in charge, and that’s what I like.

It’s what some would call a happy place, but not me. I would never say any corny shit like that. But, it’s true, racing is what I was born to do.

Racing is in my genes. Like I’ve got pure Ethanol fuel running through my veins. And nothing can touch me out here.

The race begins, and I pull away to get myself into a good position. I can’t see any other cars behind me, mainly I just focus on what I’m doing, and the cars around me.

Thad is not around me. Not that I can see.

And right now I’m in the lead.

I’m steady for the first hour of the race, not making any bold moves, knowing I need to keep everything in check before I make big moves later. I know Thad’s not gonna be happy staying behind me for too much longer.

Each time I pull into Pit Row, I swear my nerves get more and more agitated. My fingers grip the wheel even tighter as I maneuver around the track.

Who the fuck was that guy? And how did he know about San Dimas? I’ve been extremely careful about keeping my past hidden from the media.

I push the thoughts away as I spot Thad move up closer. He’s about to pass me, and I need to make sure I keep my position. I can’t let him win this race.

Mike chats in my ear about keeping an eye on my back end, but my mind’s not with the race. I’m just not in it today.

Now, I’ve always said I could race under any conditions. Under any circumstances. Rain or shine. And that it doesn’t matter what’s going on in my life, because driving is the one and only thing that keeps me from dwelling on my past.

But the demons sit here in the car with me today.

“What’s going on with you, Danger?”

I don’t answer. I don’t say anything. I just want this race over with so I can hide my sorrows with booze and women. That’s my usual MO. Get shitfaced drunk and bang a few groupies.

But, with Monterey now, I won’t be able to do that. Truth is, I don’t want to do that.

Fucking shit. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I let all my thoughts go as Thad passes me. I punch the accelerator and try to hold my ground.

“Next curve, take the lead back.”

Easy for Mike to say. Fuck, I can’t focus.

Thad pulls in position, and I can’t find a hole. I can’t find anything, and lose my number two position as Stillwell moves past me.

Fuck.

Keep it together.

The final lap will be coming up before I know it, and I’m too far behind to even think about winning this race.

And there it is before I can even make a plan to get my position back, the last lap flag waves, and I push forward.

“Danger, can you hear me?” Mike says into my ear.

And honestly, I haven’t been listening to him at all. I try to take matters into my own hands, pulling into a tight hole, trying my best to push past Stillwell.

But, I skirt the edge, coming dangerously close to the wall, and I slam on the brakes and jerk the wheel back.

And now I’ve lost control. I turn the wheel into the crash, but a car from behind flips over my car as I skate off the track.

I close my eyes, picturing Monterey’s face and for one split second everything’s silenced around me. It’s as if I’m floating through the air, and when I open my eyes my whole life comes crashing back into existence.

All the sounds.

All the noise.

All the mayhem.

It’s all here, forcing me to take responsibility for my life.

“Danger, can you hear me? You’re ok. We’ve got you,” a faraway voice calls out.

My body is pulled from my vehicle, and I feel no pain, but I can’t snap back into the present.

“Danger, breathe.”

My helmet is ripped from my head and men hovering above me come into focus.

“I’m ok,” I say, finally getting a grip back on my surroundings. “I’m ok.”

I’ve been racing for years, and this is my first official gameday accident. And I’m pissed, but I can’t quite pinpoint how this day went wrong.

Everything snaps back to reality in an instant.

The fucking reporter, that’s how.