Jimmy’s resigned voice filled her ears. “Come on in. Remember the pit limiter.”
Ducking into pit lane, she pressed the button that automatically slowed her to the sixty-miles-per-hour speed required by pit lane rules. A blue plastic placard attached to a long metal pole identified her pit box, and she pulled in, overshooting her marks by a foot. She raised her hands in apology to the crew, and Jimmy signaled for Mack to kill the engine. The sudden stillness echoed louder than the low rumble of the big engine, and Mack’s ears continued to ring despite the protective earplugs she wore.
Jimmy frowned down at her. “There’s no way you’re feeling understeer after all the changes we made.”
Mack scowled up at Jimmy even as her face flamed inside her helmet. She knew she’d acted like an unforgivable jerk the first day, but goddammit, she understood the mechanics of racing. “I know what push feels like. I’m telling you, this thing wants to drive right into the wall. My arms are crossed just to make the turn.”
Jimmy put his hands on his hips, his weathered face stern as he leaned over the cockpit. “That’s enough for today.”
“What? There’s another hour of practice left!”
“Get out of the car.”
Too exhausted to put up an argument, Mack unclipped the steering wheel and disconnected the communication and hydration cords, her arms wobbling with fatigue. She plopped on the lip of the aeroscreen, taking a moment to catch her breath. Between the g-forces in the turns, the sheer speed on the straightaways, and the strength required to steer the car, a driver’s heart rate often hit one hundred eighty beats per minute for hours on end, similar to marathon running. Mack was gassed.
Yesterday, she’d been livid. Today, she was scared. What if she couldn’t find the pace in time for qualifications?
Jimmy seemed to have the same worry. He said little, simply tapped her helmet and sighed. “Get rest tonight and we’ll do it all again tomorrow.”
Climbing out of the car, she sat on the pit wall to remove her helmet and gloves. She was still catching her breath when Leo smoked in the pits, stopping exactly on his marks and killing the engine. Mack watched as he wriggled out of the car. His speeds had been great all day, and his engineer looked particularly pleased. As she should; Leo was flying on track.
Across the pit box, Leo flipped his visor screen up and caught her staring.Shit.She couldn’t exactly run away from him with both of their crews watching. Leo sat down on the pit wall next to her and took his time unsnapping his helmet.
“Great practice,” she shouted over the noise of the cars still out running laps.
Leo pulled off his helmet and balaclava, and Mack pretended not to watch as he scrubbed a hand through his sweaty hair. Her fingers could still feel the weight of those thick curls.
“Lucie got us set up right,” he said, removing his earpieces. She’d only known him for a week and a half, but it seemed natural for Leo to give the credit to his team instead of acknowledging his own skill. His face was creased from the tight fireproof hood they all wore under their helmets, and he looked wrung out, but the signs of his hard work made him more attractive to Mack. “You still having a hard time finding speed?”
“Yeah,” she admitted. She heard the defeat in her own voice.
Leo squinted at her as he opened the Velcro tab on his fire suit to let cool air on his skin. It was hot on track, close to ninety degrees with the sun reflecting off the asphalt. “It’s a tense few weeks. Worse when you’re a rookie.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, as softly as she could on pit lane. “The way I talked to you yesterday ... That’s not who I am, I swear.”
Leo stopped folding his gloves and looked at her. “I know.”
She wanted to say so much more, but she couldn’t. Not here. They sat side by side, watching the few remaining cars whir by.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Mack wasn’t sure whatithe meant—their night together, her attitude yesterday, or what was happening in the car—but she chose the safe option. “It’s like I have understeer and oversteer. Coming into the turn, it feels like the car wants to go straight. Exiting the turn, I can feel the back begging to snap around. The tools don’t seem to help,” she said, referring to the minute adjustments a driver could make from inside the car.
Leo considered that, then blew out a breath. The longer she watched him, the more she could see the fatigue in his face. “Do you want to go over the tools again, talk about how you might use them ateach point in the turn? I need to grab a shower first but we can talk in the garage after.”
“Don’t you want to go home and watch SportsCenter and eat carefully balanced macronutrients?”
Leo laughed and Mack felt shamefully proud as she watched some of the tired leave his face.
“We’re teammates, right? Let’s clean up, get some food, and go over the tools.”
She walked with Leo toward the garage, grateful for the help and knowing she didn’t deserve his generosity but accepting it anyway. But in her mind, she kept hearing the way he’d saidwe’re teammateslike it was a consolation prize.
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