Page 62 of Cross the Line
It takes me a second to register her words. I’m too distracted by the mere sight of her and the way my heart thumps erratically in my chest.
Even the horrible Argonaut uniform can’t hide how stunning she is, but my sunshine girl never notices the stares that follow her – and plenty do. I’ve seen several of the mechanics watch her breeze by, although a pointed glare from me usually encourages them to get back to work.
Everyone knows she’s off-limits, which probably means there are rumours about why. As long as they aren’t the reputation-destroying kind, I can live with them. I just hope she can too.
At her question, I spare a glance over at the engineers, who are watching the weather radar on their screens. I’m no meteorologist, but it seems like the front is moving on from the circuit. ‘Doesn’t look like it.’
Right on cue, Sturgill strides across the garage and starts barking orders as he returns to his station. A second later, a message from race control flashes on one of the engineer’s screens. He reads it out loud, proclaiming the delay will end in fifteen minutes.
It’s time for me to get to it.
Before I can tell Willow as much, her hand is on my shoulder, squeezing softly. ‘Be careful out there, all right?’
There’s worry in her eyes, but it’s nearly overshadowed by a sheen of hopefulness, of reverence. She understands and respects the risk I’m taking, and she’s concerned for my safety, yet her expression is full of pure faith in my abilities. She believes I’ll go out there and come back to her in one piece, because I’m excellent at what I do.
‘I’m always careful,’ I tease, but I quickly sober and put a hand over hers to drive my words home. ‘I promise I will be. Besides, you’re my good-luck charm.’
She shakes her head and kisses her teeth, pulling her hand back, though not before pinching the side of mine in retribution for the comment. ‘Haven’t brought you very much luck so far, but okay,’ she says, sighing in resignation. ‘Go get ’em, tiger.’
——
This is going to be chaos.
After one formation lap and five seconds of sitting in my grid box, that’s obvious. There’s no way there won’t be carnage. Two cars spun out on the way to the grid. One of them crashed, ending that driver’s race before it could begin. The other recovered, though a move like that would rock the confidence of even the most self-assured driver. He won’t be willing to take risks and will probably be at the back of the pack by the end of lap one.
Me? I have seven cars to fight my way past and zero plans to hold back. If there’s a single bright spot that comes from being with a team that barely develops their car from year to year, it’s that I know its limits. I know what I can and can’t get away with on a track this slick. And if there’s one thing this hunk of carbon fibre does well, it’s race in the rain.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, watching the red lights above me come on one by one before going dark all together.
I hit the gas, surging out of my box, and keep right down the straight as the cars ahead weave in and out. An Omega Siluro slows in front of me, forcing me left into the gap that miraculously appears when I need it.
That’s when disaster strikes.
Not for me, though, because today clearly is my day.
The massacre I predicted is playing out, but it’s worse than I thought. In a split second, a Mascort takes out a McMorris, then a Specter Energy car collects a D’Ambrosi on its way to the run-off area. I manage to manoeuvre around and through, avoiding and swerving, and then . . .
No. What the fuck? What the actualfuck?
I’m in second.
It’s only Zaid ahead of me, the spray from the back of his car distant enough that it’s not impeding my visibility. Of the top six, it looks like he was the lone driver to escape the mayhem. I can’t see much in my mirrors as I round the next turn, but I can certainly see the scuffle for position and the debris that continues to fly. Shit, when I make it back around the circuit, I’ll have to dodge all of it to avoid ruining my tyres.
‘Could be a safety car soon,’ Branny warns over the radio. Then, less than five seconds later, he declares, ‘Safety car deployed. Watch your speed. And you’re in P2. Very nice job getting through that.’
Never one for overenthusiastic praise, that man, but I’ll take what I can get.
‘Can you give me an update on the cars behind?’ I need to know who I’m going to have to fight in order to keep this position. Because now that I’m up here, I’m not giving it back.
He reads off the next five cars, but Reid, Otto, Thomas, Lorenzo and Axel aren’t on the list. Fucking hell. Allof the top runners, save Zaid, were taken out. There’s a possibility some of them might recover and rejoin, but this is my chance. If I just hold on, I have a shot at the podium. The safety car will make that tough, though. The reduced speed will bunch up the pack and give the racers behind me the opportunity to regroup and catch up. And if there’s a red flag—
‘And that’s a red flag,’ Branny says. ‘Box now. Line up in the pit lane.’
My stomach sinks a little. If it’s a standing restart, I could fall into the midfield again and lose my chance at a podium. ‘Copy.’
I do as I’m told, following Zaid into the pit lane and lining up behind him, watching as the teams’ mechanics rush out with tyre blankets.
‘I’m going to get out of the car if that’s all right.’
