On the Edge by Pamela Britton Page B

two, the back end breaking free. He had to work to keep the truck from spinning, but years of driving on dirt tracks stood him in good stead. At the last moment he found some traction, the back end hooking up and shooting him forward.

    Close.

    “How’s it feel?” John asked.

    “Loose.”

    “We’ll fix it during the first scheduled break.”

    “Okay,” Adam said, the pads of his fingers tingling thanks to his death grip on the wheel. His gaze shot toward his mirror. Sam was right on his rear spoiler and behind him he could see the front end of another car, one that had ducked down low. Tate was trying to pass Jordan. Well, good. Maybe that would keep them occupied while he worked to keep Sam off his ass.

    They flew toward turn three and Adam’s stomach knotted. He’d have to try to hold on to it. Backing off and letting Sam go by just wasn’t an option.

    Nothing ventured, nothing gained, he thought, shooting into the corner like a ball tied to the end of a string. His body slammed into the seat cushions. Gravity pushed against him, his head tipping to the left. The back end began to break free. Adam felt his breath catch as he inched closer and closer to the marbles. But instead of fighting the truck this time, he simply let it drift. And instead of the back end losing its grip, it sank down, seeming to squat as the traction bars kicked in, allowing the back tires to find some grip.

    Sam fell back. Not a lot, but enough that Adam breathed a little easier.

    “Nice line,” John said, Adam catching a quick glimpse of everyone on pit road before entering turn one again.

    “Thanks,” Adam said.

    “And nice lap time.”

    Adam almost asked what it’d been, but he didn’t want to know. As long as he didn’t wreck the truck and as long as he held off Sam, that’s all that mattered.

    But Sam gave him a run for his money. The kid was always there, pushing and pushing, looking for a mistake that he could capitalize on to pass Adam. The other two drivers, Tate and Jordan, were involved in their own battle, causing them to fall farther and farther back. Adam didn’t have time to worry about them. He had his hands full. The kid ducked down low at one point so Adam had to force his truck to stay down on the apron, something that caused his back end to pitch sideways. That almost lost him the lead. Almost, but not quite.

    “All right,” John said after the first twenty laps. “Let’s see how well you guys pit.”

    Adam’s chest tightened, his heart squeezing so hard he could barely breathe.

    Here was another test. And it was the one he most dreaded. Yeah, he had experience bringing a car down pit road, but never with as professional a crew as this. It’d be different.

    Or maybe not, he thought as he spied the sign-board bobbing up and down, the blue-and-gold 61 glowing in the sun. He hurled toward that colorful board as if he planned to bust through it.

    “That’s it,” John said. “3,500 RPMs. Just bring her in nice and easy.”

    But it wasn’t as easy as all that. His timing needed to be perfect. Fast enough that he didn’t lose valuable seconds by being overcautious. Slow enough that he didn’t violate the mandatory speed limit. And while this wasn’t an official race and he wouldn’t be monitored by NASCAR, he would bet someone else was keeping a watchful eye.

    “Five, four, three,” John counted off. Adam kept an eye on the dancing sign, slamming down the brake pedal at the last minute and sliding to a stop with his nose against the plastic board.

    Perfect.

    Or at least he thought so. Hard to tell how close he was to the line without getting out of the truck. But it was already being hiked up on the right and Adam told himself to focus. He needed to be ready when John gave the signal to go. He kept an eye on the crew, especially John. The crew chief watched from near the front of the pit stall, upper body leaning forward, face as tense as if this were an actual race. Down went the