I pause longer than I should, staring at my phone when I’m supposed to meet my parents before my race. The only thing that gets me moving is a knock on my door from my parents when I take too long to meet them.
“Job well done,”Drake Horner says in my ear as I climb out of the car.
I’ve just won the Miami Grand Prix. Another twenty-five points on the board in my quest to hold that championship title.
“I need my phone,” I say to Annalise who’s come out to congratulate me along with the rest of my team. I only have minutes before I need to head back to the post-race conference area, hydrate, and do some interviews. But I want to check my messages.
There’s a message waiting for me.
Alyssia:Congratulations on a great race.
This one message has my already present grin stretching wider.
Alyssia:Today I am grateful for:
1. The new pregnancy pillow you bought for me (Thank you by the way)
2. Clear skin
3. Morning walks
4. My job
5. Beautiful weather
I frown as a sudden soreness in my chest occurs. I hate that I’ve missed a morning walk with Alyssia. I despise not being able to go for a stroll around the neighborhood where she lives and stop in a shop to sit down to have breakfast with her.
“Travis?” Horner calls. “Nice work today, though you went out harder than we planned.”
“Flat out or nothing,” I respond, tucking my phone away.
He groans before saying, “Flat out, one hundred percent of the time is impossible and trying will drain you. Strategy is what’s important.” He taps his temple for emphasis.
Horner knows more than anything I need to make up for what was stolen from me last season.
“Anything else?” I deadpan.
He shakes his head before handing me a folded piece of paper. “My secretary took a message for you.”
He pats my arm and then reminds me that I have ten minutes before I need hydrate and get ready for the podium ceremony.
“Coming,” I tell him at the same time I unfold the sheet of paper.
On it is a message with a phone number asking me to call. My first instinct is to throw the paper away, but something stops me.
“Travis, five minutes,” one of the members of my team calls out.
I wave him off as I pull out my phone.
“I see you got my message.” The mechanical voice that answers makes my stomach drop.
“Who is this?”
“That’s not important.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as my mind goes back to the note I received at the end of my first race this season.
“Then tell me what you want so I can tell you to fuck off before I hang up the phone.”
