Page 165 of Redeemed (Dirty Air 4)

Every child, from little babies to teens with smug grins, wear variations of Iron Man clothing. Some wave their prosthetic arms in the air, holding up posters with my name. While everyone looks different, from their ethnicities to their ages, they all have one thing in common.

They’re all like me.

I blink at their costumes, which was definitely not part of the plan.

“Surprise?” Chloe looks at me in a way that seems like she wants to gauge my reaction.

The crowd screams as my family walks out onto the stage. Noah holds on to Marko who is decked out in his own Iron Man costume. Maya and my parents join him, smiling at me in their Bandini shirts. My mom brushes away a tear running down her cheek while my dad hugs her close to his side.

I look down at the woman I love. “You planned all this?”

“Well, you did ask me to help you set up today’s event.”

The crowd begins to chant Iron Man louder and louder. I walk up to the edge of the stage, completely mystified.

Chloe places something in my hands, and I look down at it. It’s a new custom race helmet. Iron Man’s arc reactor symbol is centered at the top, surrounded by the Spanish flag. I flip it around and check out the back. A custom sticker with Chloe’s dainty writing is located at the bottom of the helmet.

You might be the hero in my story, but you’re the legend in theirs.

This is one of the best gifts someone has given me.

With one hand, I grab Chloe and pull her into my body. I place a soft kiss against her lips. “Thank you.”

“Oh, please! You’re the one who started this charity. I only brought them all here.”

“There wouldn’t be a charity, let alone an event, without you to begin with. You and your crazy plan to trespass on private property.”

She laughs to herself. “Maybe there was a cat who needed saving.”

“Or maybe there was a man who needed saving.” I look out at the crowd of kids who all have prosthetics because of the foundation I started. All it took was one video of a kid crying as he looked at his stump to show me that I had a different purpose besides racing. Parents struggle to afford the prosthetics to begin with, but add children’s growth spurts into the mix, and they have whopping medical bills. With Chloe’s help, I created my foundation in the hopes of setting an example.

I’m not only racing for me anymore. I’m racing for them. For the people who need someone to look up to who can show them that they’re bigger than a disability. To show them that we are the new normal.

Their chants grow louder as I raise the helmet in the air and smile.

Time to race.

Engine vibrations tickle my spine. The smell of fresh rubber taints the air, blowing into the tiny gap I left open in my visor. My third-place spot on the grid is behind my Bandini teammate and Elías, the race leader.

I’m back. I make a sign of the cross and say a quick favor. With two gloved hands, I clutch onto my steering wheel. There’s a slight tremble in my hands.

Relax. You’ve practiced for months with Noah. You’ve got this.

Crew scatter away from the pavement. Five red lights turn on, one by one. My heart lurches in my chest as all five shut off simultaneously.

I tug on the throttle pad. My tires screech as my car speeds through the grid. The rush builds inside of me as I make it through the first straight unscathed. Somehow, I hold on to third place, right behind Elías and my teammate, Finn.

I smile behind my helmet as James comes onto the mic.

“Great start, Santiago. Keep a steady pace and show these bastards what a podium winner looks like.” He rattles off some statistics to watch.

I use the throttle pad and brakes interchangeably, making it through the first lap without a problem.

I love the way my heart races in my chest. Love the feel of the tires shuddering beneath me, shredding apart as I complete each lap. It’s addictive to pass by the roaring Grandstands.

I love it all. Every ragged breath escaping my lungs, every curve of the track, every time my teammate gives me a hard time about passing him.

Lap after lap, I hold my third place while fighting off other drivers behind me. None get past me, but it’s not good enough.