The checkered flag waves and it’s Brad who gets the win, although I’m able to hold onto my third place position. I’m told that Regan finished back in twenty-second. That pang in my stomach returns as I hear that news.
Seriously, what is the deal?
I bring my car back down pit road and climb out. I’m able to see Regan get out of her own car, and she looks pissed.Clearly upset from her poor performance of the day. She’s stopped for some interviews, and I just can’t take my eyes off her. A hand on my shoulder pulls me away from staring at her, and I turn to face Steve.
“Great job today. Way to snag those points.”
“Yeah, it was a good day.” I have to force a smile, but I don’t know why. I should be happy. I’m closer to Regan in the points now, and there is a chance I can easily pass her, claim the championship, and snatch the Cup spot. But I can’t get rid of this feeling of wanting to make Regan feel better. That feeling of wanting to be the shoulder that she can cry on.
It doesn’t take long for that feeling to be snuffed out by Ian coming up to me. I don’t know what he wants, but it can’t be anything good.
“Dixon, how does still being behind Brady feel for you?” he asks, his eyes telling me that he’s here to fight fire with fire.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you the same question, Hicks?” I fold my arms across my chest and smirk. Last I checked, he was still fourth in points, and unless something drastic happens, he won’t be able to catch Regan or me.
He’s shorter than me by a few inches, but I can tell he works out a bit too much, probably to overcompensate for something smaller. I take in his styled brown hair, not sure how it stays that way after three hours inside a helmet.
“Better check the standings, Dixon. Won’t be that way for long.” He chuckles to himself. I grab my phone out of my pocket and open the SCORS app to see what the standings are.
My eyes widen as I see that Hicks has passed Greyson for third. I look up to see the slimy smile on Hicks’ face.
“Counting down to my spot in the Cup series next year.” He turns on his heels and walks over the pit wall. I can feel my anger starting to build. How did this happen? How did no one tell me how close he was?
“What the hell is this?” I ask Steve, shoving my phone inhis face. He’s packing up the toolbox when he takes my phone from my hand to look at it.
“I didn’t want you to worry about it. We are focused on Brady. Something drastic would have to happen in order for him to pass you, and to even dream of catching up to Brady.”
“You should have told me. He just blindsided me with it.” I snatch my phone back and shove it back into the pocket of my fire suit. It’s bad enough that I have to worry about Regan, and now I have to worry about Ian, too.
“Look, I would have told you if it were relevant. All we have to do is stay the course we planned out. We will get that Cup spot, Dean.”
I don’t reply and just stare at him. How can he be so calm about all this? I huff before he starts speaking again.
“Look, have I been wrong yet?” His eyes give me a gentle look instead of the intense one I usually get.
“No,” I breathe out.
“Exactly. I got this. You focus on the car and driving the fuck out of it.”
“Fine.”
I run into Chase and Taylor leaving their own haulers on my way back to the infield, and they stop me.
“A group of us are heading out to dinner tonight. Want to come along? You can ride with me,” Taylor asks.
“Sure. I’m in.” I see Regan exit her own hauler and some weird urge to talk to her takes over, to invite her out with everyone. “Let me know when y’all are ready to go.” Chase and Taylor head toward their RVs, and I run to catch up with Regan.
NINETEEN
REGAN
I climbout of my car, pissed and disappointed about the way this race went. Anything that we tried just didn’t work to help make our car any better, and I was stuck in the back of the field all day.
After an interview, I climb over the pit wall and head into the hauler to put my gear away and prepare for the post-race meeting. I know we lost a lot of ground in the points today. Dad comes into the hauler as I’m still putting away all my gear.
“How you feeling, kiddo? You fought hard, it was a tough day,” he says sympathetically.
“It sucked,” I say a little too loudly. “Dixon is creeping closer, and I checked, and now Hicks is third.” My tone is a whine of disbelief and desperation. This is going to be a tougher fight if I keep having races like this one.
