moving, falling in behind the pace car. Brant’s foot throbbed more persistently and more painfully the harder he pushed down on the gas pedal. He gritted his teeth and gripped the wheel tighter.
“Brant, you’re already lagging a little. Watch number 14 behind you, he’s going to be tight on your ass for a few laps.”
“I know, Seth,” Brant growled. He hated when Seth filled in as his spotter—Seth was a worrier and a micro-manager and liked to overload him with details. Chloe was more relaxed, more in tune with the flow of the race.
Chloe won’t be spotting for you anymore. You can’t trust her, remember?
As they neared the end of the pace lap he started edging his speed up so that he was already accelerating smoothly when the pace car pulled off the track and the green flag dropped. He slammed his foot down and grunted.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine!”
Chloe heard Seth’s question and glanced away from the track. She knew Brant would be in a lot of pain. The lack of a cast and the strained look on his face had not been lost on her that morning.
Beside her Jake was saying something about sloppy corners so she turned back to the track in time to see Trey’s back end swinging on the bottom corner and Brant take a definite lead.
“Is he okay? You checked his car over, right?”
Jake covered the microphone. “I’m not supposed to look at the car, I’m just a spotter.”
“You have oil under your nails.”
“Okay, Trey knows I’d rather be fixing cars than spotting for him. He told me to look over the car in case Boyd was paying off Willy, the mechanic.”
“And!?”
“There’s nothing wrong with the car.” He uncovered the mike. “Sorry. Watch number 30, he’s trying to get by you on the outside. That corner looks better.”
“I’m driving, not trying to win an art contest,” Trey snapped.
“You’re driving like an amateur. Get your head in the game. You’re halfway done and you’re barely holding to 34’s bumper!”
“I got it! I got it!” He slammed through a corner, gaining precious inches on number 34, the lead car.
For a moment he faltered as he thought, What’ll it do to Chloe if I win? The sight of another bumper in his rear-view mirror shook him out of it. Stop it! You need to focus on driving!
He pressed harder on the already maxed out gas pedal, willing more speed out of the car, trying to out run his own doubts before they cost him the race.
Trey knew he was in a tenuous position. The rest of the cars were at his back trying to find an opening to sneak past him forcing him to weave on the straightaways. It cost him speed and he was affectively acting as Brant’s body guard, keeping all other challengers away.
He whipped through another corner and noted that Brant wavered, losing speed and allowing Trey to shave a few more inches off the gap between them. Trey gritted his teeth and floored it going into the straightaway, staying dead on Brant’s tail, no weaving or dodging.
Just as he thought he wasn’t going to gain enough ground before the corner Brant slowed suddenly forcing Trey to swerve violently.
Seth was screaming but Chloe could only watch, her hands over her mouth, as Trey veered towards the boards and Brant nearly stalled in the middle of the track. Jake was shouting out orders as she said silent prayers to whatever god watched over race car drivers, wishing for safety for both her lover and her brother.
Trey pulled away from the boards only to find himself heading straight for Brant who seemed to be having trouble with the upcoming corner.
Inside number 34 Brant couldn’t breathe. The pain had become too intense. He couldn’t put his foot back against the pedal.
“BRANT, TURN THE WHEEL!” Seth hollered in his ear. “HE’S GOING TO HIT YOU!”
Something inside Brant sparked to attention and he slammed the wheel to the right and slammed his foot on the gas pedal, screaming in pain.
Both number 34 and number 75 cleared the corner,
“Brant, you’re already lagging a little. Watch number 14 behind you, he’s going to be tight on your ass for a few laps.”
“I know, Seth,” Brant growled. He hated when Seth filled in as his spotter—Seth was a worrier and a micro-manager and liked to overload him with details. Chloe was more relaxed, more in tune with the flow of the race.
Chloe won’t be spotting for you anymore. You can’t trust her, remember?
As they neared the end of the pace lap he started edging his speed up so that he was already accelerating smoothly when the pace car pulled off the track and the green flag dropped. He slammed his foot down and grunted.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine!”
Chloe heard Seth’s question and glanced away from the track. She knew Brant would be in a lot of pain. The lack of a cast and the strained look on his face had not been lost on her that morning.
Beside her Jake was saying something about sloppy corners so she turned back to the track in time to see Trey’s back end swinging on the bottom corner and Brant take a definite lead.
“Is he okay? You checked his car over, right?”
Jake covered the microphone. “I’m not supposed to look at the car, I’m just a spotter.”
“You have oil under your nails.”
“Okay, Trey knows I’d rather be fixing cars than spotting for him. He told me to look over the car in case Boyd was paying off Willy, the mechanic.”
“And!?”
“There’s nothing wrong with the car.” He uncovered the mike. “Sorry. Watch number 30, he’s trying to get by you on the outside. That corner looks better.”
“I’m driving, not trying to win an art contest,” Trey snapped.
“You’re driving like an amateur. Get your head in the game. You’re halfway done and you’re barely holding to 34’s bumper!”
“I got it! I got it!” He slammed through a corner, gaining precious inches on number 34, the lead car.
For a moment he faltered as he thought, What’ll it do to Chloe if I win? The sight of another bumper in his rear-view mirror shook him out of it. Stop it! You need to focus on driving!
He pressed harder on the already maxed out gas pedal, willing more speed out of the car, trying to out run his own doubts before they cost him the race.
Trey knew he was in a tenuous position. The rest of the cars were at his back trying to find an opening to sneak past him forcing him to weave on the straightaways. It cost him speed and he was affectively acting as Brant’s body guard, keeping all other challengers away.
He whipped through another corner and noted that Brant wavered, losing speed and allowing Trey to shave a few more inches off the gap between them. Trey gritted his teeth and floored it going into the straightaway, staying dead on Brant’s tail, no weaving or dodging.
Just as he thought he wasn’t going to gain enough ground before the corner Brant slowed suddenly forcing Trey to swerve violently.
Seth was screaming but Chloe could only watch, her hands over her mouth, as Trey veered towards the boards and Brant nearly stalled in the middle of the track. Jake was shouting out orders as she said silent prayers to whatever god watched over race car drivers, wishing for safety for both her lover and her brother.
Trey pulled away from the boards only to find himself heading straight for Brant who seemed to be having trouble with the upcoming corner.
Inside number 34 Brant couldn’t breathe. The pain had become too intense. He couldn’t put his foot back against the pedal.
“BRANT, TURN THE WHEEL!” Seth hollered in his ear. “HE’S GOING TO HIT YOU!”
Something inside Brant sparked to attention and he slammed the wheel to the right and slammed his foot on the gas pedal, screaming in pain.
Both number 34 and number 75 cleared the corner,
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