“In light of the video that Brady Racing released a few days ago, and meeting with other SCORS executives, Ian Hicks will be permitted to race this weekend and compete for the championship. However, he will not be eligible for the Cup Series spot should he win this weekend.”
Murmurs fill the room as everyone takes in what has just been said. After what he did, he’s still allowed to win the championship? What a bunch of bullshit! I can’t fucking believe it.
White hot rage floods my veins, taking a breath to keep my cool for the cameras, so I can’t be seen as the emotional woman; instead, my leg bounces under the table. Thank god for this tablecloth. Dean’s hand rests on top of my knee, heat from his palm seeps through my jeans and into my skin, almost instantly dulling the rage that still sits inside me. He gives a reassuring squeeze.
He’s here for me, grounding me, keeping me from saying something I’ll regret later. My leg finally comes to a halt, and Dean hasn’t taken his hand away.
After a moment, reporters start shouting questions left and right, and it’s hard to hear what’s being said.
“One at a time, please,” Ramon says sternly. “We will answer as many questions as possible.” The noise dials down as Ramon calls on a reporter in the front row. She’s wearing ablack pencil skirt, a pink blouse, and a black blazer with some mile high pink pumps to match.
“Amanda from New World Racing. Regan, Dean, how are you feeling about this news?” She has her notepad and pen in hand ready to record our answers. All eyes are back on us, waiting for our responses. Dean again gives my knee a squeeze and starts to respond.
“Well, we are hearing this for the first time just like y’all are,” he says, turning to Ramon with a slight glare of annoyance. “It isn’t the decision I would make.” Amanda nods, taking down Dean’s answer with fervor, then turns to me, waiting for my response. I don’t know what to say. I know what I want to say, but I need to say it more delicately than what I’m thinking. I don’t thinkthat is fucking stupid and he should be banned from the seriesis the way to go.
“Umm—like what Dean said.” I turn to him, and he gives me a nod to keep going. “It isn’t the decision I would have made, either. I think SCORS should take matters like this more seriously than they currently are.” Dean double squeezes my thigh, signaling he agrees with me.
Ramon calls on a different reporter and they stand to ask their question. He seems much younger than most of the reporters here, fresh out of college, it seems.
“Ryan from In The Tread. Are you and Dean together as a couple at this time? There have been rumors that you have been secretly dating all season.”
I freeze. There have been rumors all season? I take a breath and steady myself before I answer. “Dean and I are just friends and competitors.” As I say the words, they feel like sand on my tongue, gritty and gross. We agreed on this, but it doesn’t stop Dean from tensing and removing his hand from me. It’s like there is a cool draft from his lack of touch on my body. I want to reach across and place his hand back on my thigh, but I think that will give us away, so I let it be.
“Follow up question, Dean. Why would you come toRegan’s aid when you have been rivals since you started in SCORS two years ago?” Ryan asks, taking careful note of how we react to the question.
“I was stepping in to help someone, rival or not. I would hope anyone here would do the same. Just because we weren’t the best of friends throughout most of our time racing together doesn’t mean that someone deserves to be attacked.”
Damn, good answer. Good enough to shut Ryan up as he sits back down in his chair. Relief washes over me. I was nervous for a second that Dean might spill the beans.
“What kind of decision about Ian Hicks’ recent actions would you have made if you were able?” a voice from the back shouts.
The anger I felt earlier is back, and I don’t think I can keep what I really want to say inside this time. Dean looks at me and gives me a small shake of his head, letting me know I should keep my mouth shut. I can’t do it this time.
“I wouldn’t have let Ian Hicks run this last race. At minimum, a fine for his actions, and maximum, removal from SCORS entirely,” I say. Murmurs once again fill the rooms. “I was nearly assaulted by a fellow driver. We are fierce competitors out on that track, but that stops as soon as we step out of our cars. Sure, talking shit is one thing, but physical violence is not the way to go about things. Which I know coming from me is the pot calling the kettle black. But I’ve learned from my mistakes with the punishment that I was given from SCORS. Will Ian, if he’s still given a chance to compete for a title?”
I take a look over at Dean, who is wearing a smile of pride, standing up for what is right. It encourages me to keep going. “If Dean hadn’t stepped in when he did, we would be having a much different kind of conference right now. I don’t think this is a suitable punishment for what Ian did, and my concern is for other women wanting to come into this sport. If something were to happen to them, theywouldn’t have the support they need from this organization.”
That sends everyone off, all still firing questions. This isn’t supposed to be over yet, but I’m fucking done. I’ve said what I needed to say. I stand and march out of the room without looking back or listening to any more of the questions that are being thrown at me.
I’m halfway down the hall when my name is shouted from behind me, but I don’t stop. Letting my legs carry me further from the madness behind me.
“Regan, wait!” Dean shouts again. I stop, turning to see him running to catch up to me.
“What? I’m not going back in there. I’m not wrong about what I said.” Anger still simmers in my chest.
He shakes his head. “No, you’re not. I’m glad you said it. I had to make sure you were okay. I left soon after you. Ramon is doing more damage control.”
The tension in my body starts to release. I have the urge to wrap my arms around him, to feel the comfort of his embrace. Suddenly, he grabs my hand and opens the closest door. Dean shuts it and feels along the wall, flipping the light switch. It’s a small janitor closet, full of shelves that have cleaning supplies with a stack of brooms and mops in the corner.
All of my anger comes out in tears as all the emotions rush from my body. Dean takes my face in his hands, using his thumbs to swipe my tears away.
“Hey, I’m here for you, anything you need,” he says in a soothing voice.
“I know. I wish they were taking this more seriously. I’m just so angry,” I sob.
He pulls me into his chest.
“I know, baby. I wish they were, too. I wish I had more courage to say what you did in there. We’ll get through this together.”
