With two laps to go, I fight like hell to stay on Farina’s ass.
While I manage to hold the second position, even I can’t fight the laws of thermodynamics.
Farina’s black and green car crosses the finish line a second ahead of my fire engine red one. The black and white checkered flag welcomes him home not only the winner, but as the champion.
My chest compresses, hands tighten to the point of pain around the steering wheel, and my mind goes blank beneath the heaviness of my failure.
One different call—the decision to pit when I had the chance could’ve, would’ve made the difference in today’s outcome.
Though that was a bullshit call by the FIA officials, this failure is on my head and mine alone.
The cheering crowd passes by in a blur. In my ear, my team principal says some nonsense about this still being a great season overall. I don’t hear the rest.
All I see flashing before my eyes, in my ears, and in every other part of my body is the word FAILURE.
At this point, muscle memory takes over because I don’t recall pulling into the Amato Racing team garage, or lifting myself out of my car to the claps on the shoulder from the various members that make up my team.
Holding my head up is a chore.
I should go over and congratulate Farina. This is his last season, and any racer worth their helmet wants to go out a champion.
I don’t congratulate him.
Sportsmanship is a quality my father drilled into me from the very first time I sat behind the wheel of a go-kart.“Nobody likes a sore loser,”he’d said all of those years ago.
He’s right.
Yet, the ache of failure in my chest prevents me from conjuring the congratulatory words in my mind, let alone forming them on my lips.
Nor am I given time to lick my wounds in privacy. A well-known sports journalist sticks a microphone in my face.
“Travis, is there anything you’d like to say to Luciano Farina?”
The wide grin on her face grates against the raw edges of my nerves.She’s doing her job, I remind myself.
Words such as fuck off and get out of my face come to mind. The anchor is spared when Drake steps in and gives some reply about how well this season went.
This must not be enough for her because she has the audacity to ask about the call that was made regarding the safety car. That’s when I finally walk away.
The next few hours go by in a haze. My brain clears long enough to watch Farina throw his arms out in victory as he stands on the top podium and the championship medal is placed around his neck.
Once the ceremony is over, I cut out.
Even as I exit the track, noise from the cheers and celebrations chase me down, hauntingly reminding me of how I fell short yet again.
CHAPTER 5
Alyssia
“We’ll have a delivery service come by tomorrow afternoon to pick up your company laptop,” my now-former boss explains. Her voice is eerily chipper for a woman who’s just laid me off.
The boulder that sits in my throat prevents me from doing anything besides nodding into the screen of said laptop.
“Great. Well, I’m sorry things worked out this way. Please feel free to use me as a reference in your job search.”
I believe I thank her but can’t be too sure. Minutes later, I’m standing alone in my tiny, two-bedroom, New York City apartment, pacing. The one thing I’m grateful for right now is that my roommate isn’t home.
As if my head isn’t swirling enough, an accusing silence welcomes me when I push my bedroom door open.
