Page 34 of Wrecking Boundaries (SteelTrack Racing #2)

“Maddie texted. She’s coming to watch the race with me.” Sarah nearly bounces with excitement. “It’s my turn to be the host.”

It’s her first time staying with me, and she’s already suggesting the trailer is hers, and I love it. “Could you come to the race’s start with me first?”

The bouncing stops, and her enthusiasm disappears. “By your team?”

Where else? “Other drivers get to have their families nearby for race starts all the time; it would be nice to have you with me. We aren’t hiding anymore.”

“You’ll be there?”

I can resist trying to make out in public. It will be enough to hold hands. “The entire time. It’s finally a chance to meet my pit crew. They’re an incredible group of guys; you’ll like them. Bert is around, too.”

“I’ve met him before,” she says. Her voice straightens as she goes on. “It makes sense for me to be there. Let’s go,” she says and tightly grips my hand.

I release it and tilt her chin up. I’m not sure what I’m looking for. “Is something wrong? Well, something new.”

“General nerves,” she says.

Considering the last several days, that shouldn’t be a surprise. She deserves to have everything fixed now. Instead, it will need to wait .

“You’ll be next to me the entire time. I won’t leave you,” I say, hoping the reference to my earlier promise relaxes her a little. “Let’s go.”

∞∞∞

“You have nice crew members,” she says. “Who’s car is that?” she asks, indicating the 52 car.

“Our rookie, Joey Fisher. He never arrives until the absolute last minute.”

“You don’t sound like a fan.”

“I felt sorry for him, then annoyed by him, and back to feeling sorry for him. He’s looking for a job, but there aren’t many prospects. That’s hard to deal with, especially after working hard to get your shot. I sympathize.”

“Jake, hey. Good luck today.”

I turn towards the hand clapping on my shoulder. It’s Joey, suited up in green and red to match his sponsor’s logo. Dark circles under his eyes signal a restless night, which will worsen his on-track struggles.

Sarah tightens her grip on my hand, so I give a returning squeeze. She’s not ordinarily shy, but I rarely see her mingling with other teams, so maybe it isn’t a surprise.

Joey notices her and says, “Sarah, good to see you again. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

She steps away from both of us. “Since you desperately started trying for a space in the Cup series. It’s awful you’ll be losing that opportunity so soon. Oh, well. It’s deserved.” Sarah shifts her attention to me. “Maddie is waiting for me, so I’ll talk to you later.”

That was strange. Sarah mixed anxiety with false bravado and some of her trademark prickliness.

“You two have met before,” I say. Disquiet fills me. Sarah avoids drivers, and she knows this one.

“We dated a couple of years ago. I’m not proud of it, but I was desperate.”

“Getting into this series makes many of us do crazy things,” I say.

Shooting your face off, for example.

“ Her family had an open car, so I asked for help. She was my girlfriend, so that’s fair, right? If she could arrange a meeting or vouch for me, that could be enough to score a contract.”

I smile and see red. “She turned you down, huh?”

“She said it was a bad idea, that I couldn’t do it like I wasn’t good enough for her fucking family. I dumped her, but not before getting some of my own back, if you know what I mean. That wasn’t my finest hour, I’ll admit.” He shrugs his shoulders, dismissing the incident and dismissing her. “There wasn’t any reason for us to be together after that.”

Sarah shared the story without giving me a name, and this is why. My teammate was the guy who did it, and she wanted to protect me. I constantly spoke with him, and Sarah knew it the entire time.

“You’re the reason she would never come here.” I indicate our cars and pit boxes.

“What?”

“You’re confused, so let me explain. She’s my fiancée.” Joey’s face blanches. “And you’re about to have an incredibly awful day.”

****

I want to fucking kill him. Honestly, that still might happen .

First, I need to wreck any future chance he has in the Cup series.

“Fisher’s chief asked me to convey another message,” my pit chief, Mike Jones, says. “Last one because this isn’t a playground, and we aren’t passing notes.”

“Tell him to suck my dick,” is my only response.

“I will do that.” Mike doesn’t even react. “The message is relayed. How are your tires?”

“Fucking fantastic.”

“Jake, what’s going on?” Derek asks. “You seem upset.”

We’re halfway through the race, and Joey Fisher’s car isn’t on fire yet.

I’m not going to share; it’s not my secret. “He owes me,” I say instead. It’s not accurate and implies Sarah is an object, but it might put them off.

It doesn’t put them off. “How much?” Derek asks.

“More than he knows,” I say and switch topics. Our comm system isn’t private. Officials and fans can listen to every word, a fact easily forgotten during races, but one it’s best not to ignore now. “Who’s ahead?”

The advice given to him yesterday was sound and would serve him well in other circumstances. Luckily for me, he’s still following it, serving up a strategy that keeps him back in tenth place. Those vying for a top five aren’t making him a target, and the competition is easier for him to manage.

I won’t win the race, but there’s still time for a decent finish.

“The 22 on the inside around this curve and running even with the 41 down the long straight. ”

I don’t care. “That’s great. I wish them luck.” Both come with a modicum of talent, but I’m better. “Who’s in the green up ahead?”

“Fisher,” Derek says.

“Jake, what’s the plan?” Mike chimes in. “There are enough laps in this race to get you upfront, but wrecking yourself and a teammate isn’t the way to do it.”

“Advice received,” I say, getting busy ignoring them both.

Yesterday’s suggestion to Joey Fisher was sincerely offered. It gives him some wiggle room to perform while not competing against more experienced drivers.

Like me, NASCAR drivers like to bump and rub in their racing. There’s a bit of wrestling involved with stock cars. It works, and I love it, but you can accomplish the same with air and knowing how to maneuver. Boone Rivers would know how to counteract, while Joey Fisher does not.

I smile and move into his back right. Joey feels the pressure and moves down the straightaway. I keep it even, maintaining the distance between us, and move towards his middle.

“Turn two coming,” Derek says. “Go down for the pass.”

Not interested.

“Looking for my moment,” I say instead and get on Joey’s back left side.

He slows, keeping it to the middle while the 22 and 41 get in tight behind me.

Almost there.

I move, taking advantage of the long stretch to pass on the inner groove, but stay close rather than pushing on the throttle.

“Enjoy the air,” I silently tell him.

The 22 and 41 are behind him, one on each side, as they try for their opening. There’s nowhere for Joey to go.

I stay close, knowing my air is throwing him off. Joey is probably complaining to his pit crew about getting loose. I lay off the throttle, and he climbs towards me.

His car wavers and I know the back wheels are slipping.

I press on the throttle. In the rearview mirror, Joey spins out and touches the wall.

Our cars never even touched.

“What’s my position?”

Neither of them responds until Derek says, “You took tenth. Rivers is in first, and Julian Murphy is back in sixth. The 19, 5, and 38 come after.”

“Well then, boys, let’s get to work,” I say. “Eight laps to go. How far can we go?”

After accomplishing today’s goal, the rest of it doesn’t matter. The 5 and 38 drive slower cars and are quickly passed.

The laps count down, and I move towards the 19 when the white flag appears.

It doesn’t work, and I settle for eighth. Good enough.

“Who won?” I ask, already guessing the answer.

“Boone Rivers,” Mike says. “By a full second.”

“Wow, good for the asshole,” I say, and focus on the cool-down lap .

Pit row is next.

∞∞∞

The crew is already shutting down our pit box and returning my car to the hauler.

“Will you tell me your problem with the rookie?” Mike asks me. “If there’s going to be more trouble with him, it would help to incorporate that into our strategy.”

“He won’t be a problem,” I say. I scratch my scalp and wipe some of the sweat away. Sarah is probably waiting for me.

Teams often park their haulers near each other, so Joey Fisher doesn’t take long to appear. We are smack in the middle of one long row of big-rig trucks. Crews and staff are everywhere, busily shutting down so they can get on with their evening. It’s a perfect setting.

He barrels right toward me, and I smile.

“What was that?” he asks.

“It appears you need to work on your racing performance.”

Almost all of Joey’s crew is at his hauler, while only a few of mine are. That might be a problem.

“It was a long time ago,” he sputters. “It’s not fair. This is my career.”

“Was your career,” I correct.

He goes for a punch, and I let him. Joey’s poor aim results in his fist sliding across my chin and past my shoulder.

Yelling starts up around us, but that isn’t enough. Our slight altercation needs to become a complete brawl, with him as the cause.

“It’s racing, and that happens,” I roar. “Hit me again, and the same will happen next week.”

Joey goes for another hit, but his pit crew pulls him off. That’s unfortunate.

He wipes his chin and says, “We’re done. It’s over.”

His crew backs away.

“Not even close,” I say. “You have a target on your back, and I promise the number of drivers going after you will grow. This is only the start.”

He shivers as understanding sinks in. Sarah has Boone and Julian, who will do the same thing. The realization frightens him, and I let that fear grow.

“You asshole,” he says and lunges once more. “All this over a dumb bitch.”

It’s the reaction I wanted.

“What the fuck?” I hope the shock from my yell carries to onlookers.

That catches everyone’s attention, and the brawl I need is on. One of his crew members grabs one of mine, and they wrestle. Another one of mine is hit by Joey while pulling me to safety. He shifts to defending himself and also throws a punch.

Officials show, and it rapidly breaks up. The incident was thirty seconds, if not less, but it’s enough. There are plenty of witnesses and plenty of phone recordings.

Most importantly, I never even raised a fist, which fucking sucks because I would have enjoyed it .

I wipe my face, surprised to see a drop of blood on my left glove.

Bert will have questions for me, so I’ll need answers ready, but that can wait until later.

“Jake?” Sarah stands beside Julian Murphy; her arm hooked through one of his.

I frown before remembering what upset her earlier. I owe him a favor if Julian’s presence makes it easier for her to visit.

“What did he do to earn that set-up?” Julian asks. “You know he’ll have fines to pay over this and suspended crew members, too.”

The bitch comment will also cause problems with his sponsors. “I’m aware of all that,” I tell him. “He’s going to have a difficult several weeks.”

He didn’t finish the race either. That, combined with several mediocre finishes, means he’s virtually guaranteed to be shut out of the playoffs.

NASCAR officials are still busy talking to Joey. He indicates the three of us, and the two officials look over. Their attention immediately goes back to Joey.

Julian takes note of the exchange and says, “I don’t think you’ll be blamed.”

That was the idea.

“Is this why you wanted to stay away?” I ask Sarah, who nods.

“He’s your teammate,” she says, pulling her arm from Julian. “You had enough problems, and I didn’t want to see him. ”

“Now we have one less. After this, his time in Cup is done. He doesn’t bring sponsors or enough talent to make the risk worthwhile. You aren’t going to see him around much longer.”

Julian’s attention turns from Joey and the officials back to us as understanding hits.

“There’s a cut on your cheek,” Sarah says. “It’s bleeding.”

“It’s not a big deal.” Some blood is worth it.

“Keep this quiet?” I ask Julian.

“Never considered otherwise,” he says. “I’ll see you back at headquarters, assuming you’re coming back,” he says to Sarah and pats her head.

It’s oddly endearing.

“I am. I think. Maybe,” is all she says in response. Once we’re alone, she says, “I can’t believe you did all that. You wrecked him on purpose.”

I take her hand, leading us both back to the trailer. “Did you expect me to do otherwise?”

“I didn’t think you would do that.”

She figured I’d grow belligerent and throw punches, all while yelling about honor and chivalry. Why stop there when you can do so much worse?

“I’ll always take care of you, and now we’re done talking about him,” I say.