She wanted him to win the championship becausehewanted it. The crowd roared as Taz overtook his rival, and the commentators and crowd went into hyperdrive. The competitor regained the lead, and his supporters screamed with excitement. The two cars stayed bumper to bumper for the next few laps with Taz fighting for third place. There were a few laps to go, ten, fifteen, and Millie knew this race would go down as one of Taz’s greatest.
He’d fought hard, given everything he had to it. She wished he felt the same way about her.
Around one of the longer corners, Taz saw the smallest gap to overtake the driver and gunned his car. His rival closed the gap abruptly, and Taz was between his car and the barrier, his car scraping along the concrete bollard. Taz hung on, trying to keep control of his bullet-fast car, but his rear slid sideways. He spun out, his back clipping his rival’s bumper as they headed into the straight. Both cars spun twice, Taz spun again, and the commentators announced the suspension of the race. As both competitors came to a stop, the announcers started discussing who was at fault. Had Taz misjudged the gap he’d tried to squeeze through, and had it been too small? Or had the other driver been too overzealous in trying to squeeze Taz out?
What did it matter? Both men were out of the race, both drivers failed to secure much-needed points. Both would be hot-as-hell furious. Millie, panicking, ran out of the press room and sprinted to the area where his race engineers sat on the pit wall, a structure located against the fence between the pit lane and the main straight. They were in direct communication with Taz, and they would know if he was okay.
Please don’t let Taz do anything stupid. Please don’t let Taz lose his temper.
Millie, and the world, watched as Taz opened his door and climbed out the window of his car. What was he going to do?
Taz kept his eyes open as the car spun around, the crowds a blur and the track flipping in and out of his vision.
This,again. Once was unlucky, twice was becoming a habit.
As the car slowed down and he could tell he wasn’t going to hit anything hard like a concrete bollard, his heart rate dropped and his grip on the wheel loosened. Another day at the office.
When the world stopped spinning, Taz rested his head on his hands on the wheel and thought he was getting a little sick of being a superfast spinning top. This could’ve ended badly; he could’ve woken up in the hospital. Or dead. And this time there would’ve been no Millie in his hospital room. No Millie at all.
He looked around, thinking for the first time that it was just a race, just a place in a championship that no one would care about in a few years. He wouldn’t have kids or grandkids to boast about him being an ace driver, all he would have was an empire no one but him cared about.
Empires and money didn’t keep you warm at night, couldn’t make you laugh, weren’t there when you were sick and sad or needed someone to celebrate with.
Empires crumbled. And people who tied themselves to empires did too.
He’d cheated death twice in a car lately, and for what? To prove to himself that he was better than Alex. It was such BS: Hewasbetter than Alex. He was as good a driver as him, and a better businessman than his dad as he’d grown the De Rossi name into a brand worth billions.
But more than that, he hadn’t built it all on a lie. He wasn’t one person in public and another in private. He didn’t do Class A drugs, and he didn’t share them with too-young girls. He respected women. He was a demanding boss, but not overly so. Okay, maybe he was, but his employees were the best paid in the business and received huge perks.
People clamoured to join his team because he had a reputation for excellence. Yes, his reputation had needed work, and Millie had restored some of its lustre. He intended to keep it that way. Oh, he’d never be Alex-in-public perfect, but he didn’t need to be.
Two crashes later, and he was done trying to prove that he was better than his brother.
It was time to say goodbye to him, to loosen the hold he and their father had on his thoughts and life. And yeah, it was time to create his legacy and to live his own life. Hopefully with Millie. If she’d forgive him for being a selfish, stubborn, self-absorbed ass.
But first, he needed to exit this car, which was hotter than the seventh circle of hell. Taz pushed his seat back, giving him a few more inches between his torso and the wheel, and pulled a lever to release the steering wheel. After dropping it onto the grass through his open window, he disconnected his harness and hauled his tense body out of the car.
His race engineer’s voice cut through the buzz in his head. ‘Taz, are you okay?’
He wasn’t hurt, but every muscle in his body, thanks to the Gs he’d experienced, ached. ‘Bit shaken, but okay.’
He heard Len’s sigh of relief. ‘Was it your fault or his?’ he asked.
Taz considered his question, as he watched Jean-Pierre exit his car and remove his helmet. ‘Does it matter? The result is the same.’
Taz looked around. The race had stopped, and the crowd was quiet; it seemed like everyone was holding their breath. He caught Jean-Pierre’s wariness and realised the crowd was waiting for his response, to see how he’d deal with this latest track setback.
And because he was Taz De Rossi, he chose a response no one expected. Tucking his helmet under his arm, he walked over to Jean-Pierre and held out his hand. Surprise and shock jumped into his eyes but the man, thank God, clasped his hand.
They didn’t speak, neither choosing to claim responsibility, but neither casting blame either. They met as equals, silently agreeing to instil some decency and sportsmanship into the sport and the moment.
The crowd roared its approval, and Taz took the moment to speak into his headset. ‘Len, can you get a message to Millie?’ he asked, his heart in his throat.
‘She’s standing right next to me.’
‘Give her a headset,’ Taz ordered. When he heard Millie’s breathy, slightly panicky demand to know if he was hurt, he knew exactly what he should do.
‘Mils, I need you at the press conference.’
