I shift my gaze back to Cindy. She is going through every possibility that I have thought of, of what happens next. The thought of figuring it out with Dean at my side scares me just as much as it excites me. But do I really love him? Is this love? I thought I loved my ex, and look how that turned out. I don’t think I can handle that kind of hurt again.
If I get into Cup, will people think he didn’t race me fairly or let me have it because of our relationship? All the what ifs keep running rampant in my mind and leave me even more at a loss. Maybe just ignoring the haters and trolls is the way to go. I’ve been doing it for years with my dad being who he is, so then why is this so hard to let go of? My phone lights up on Cindy’s coffee table.
Leslie
Check Insta
Me
Why?
Leslie
Just do it
I open the app, and the first thing that pops up is from the Brady Racing page. It’s the security video of Ian cornering mebehind Leslie’s RV, Dean coming in, the punch, Ian walking away in one direction, and then Dean leading me in the other.
I’ve seen this video multiple times, but seeing it live for everyone to see is something else entirely. Cindy is watching over my shoulder as the video plays again. When Dean punches Ian, Cindy winces. “Damn, what a punch,” she says with a little bit of pride in her voice. “How did they get the footage?”
“I’m not sure, my dad has connections in a lot of places. Which seems to include the security department.”
“So, this proves that what Ian posted isn’t true, and that Dean technically didn’t do anything wrong.”
I nod, too stunned to say anything. Dad never told me what his plan was once he showed me this video. I never thought he’d post it.
At the track, everyone is buzzing about the video posted to the Brady Racing Instagram page. It’s been a barrage of questions from everyone, if I knew about it and what my comments are. I’ve been giving the same responses ofyes, I knew about the videoandno, I didn’t know it would be posted.
The worst part is I’ve been called to do a pre-race press conference by Ramon Vera himself, the president of the series. Given the circumstances, I’m not surprised, I just hate doing these. And with little to no time to prepare for it makes it worse.
In the middle of the infield is the press building where all the important conferences and interviews happen. I make my way inside and find the room where this is all being held.
To my surprise, Dean is sitting on a bench outside the room. I’m shocked that he’s here. I just assumed we would be having separate interviews.
He’s leaning forward with his elbows on his knees,looking at the floor. He must sense my presence because he looks up and smiles. My nerves instantly melt away as soon as his forest green eyes meet mine. We haven’t really talked since our date last week, both of us working toward this last race.
“Hey,” he says, standing. Fuck, he’s tall. How did I forget how damn tall he is? “I didn’t know this conference was for both of us.”
“I didn’t, either,” I reply with a shrug.
“How did your dad find that video?” he asks.
“He has connections with the security department, it seems, but I didn’t know he planned to post it.”
Silence falls between us. We still haven’t put any labels on what we even are. I know how he feels about me, and I think I feel the same. Do we label it here and now for an audience? This doesn’t seem like the right time to say something like that.
“What do we tell them about us? Someone is bound to ask,” he asks, as if reading my mind.
I hesitate, thinking. I can’t tell a whole room full of press that I have feelings for Dean. I can barely admit it to myself, let alone to him and a room full of strangers. “We tell them that we are friends and competitors.”
His face falls at that, but recovers fairly quickly. I can tell he’s trying to hide his disappointment. I’m just not ready.
“Okay.” He clears his throat. “Friends it is.”
The doors to the conference room open, and a PR staff member in a SCORS polo, a lanyard, and with a phone in her hand gestures for us to follow her. Her brown braid sways along her back as we follow her inside. The room is filled with reporters and photographers. There is a buzz that fills the space as all the voices of the people around us start to quiet down as we are led to a table in the front of the room. It is draped with a black tablecloth, with two folding chairs and two microphones.
There is a podium to the left of the table where Ramon Vera stands behind it. He nods at each of us, but lingers a bit at me. I have a history of not saying the correct thing at interviews like this, so I take the look for the warning it is. Ramon Vera isn’t one to come out to the tracks; he usually sticks to the fancy events like the gala a few months ago.
The girl with the lanyard and braid instructs us to sit. The cameras are constantly flashing and the chatter among the reporters starts to quiet down as Ramon starts to speak. He is commanding this room, not just with his booming voice, but his suit says that he is in charge, and he knows it.
