“But now you are, too,” Leo said, grinning. His nose was still red but he otherwise looked like he’d never inhaled a full cup of potent horseradish. She was certain her own face was blotchy. “Welcome to the Indy 500, Rookie.”
“Extra horseradish this year for extra luck,” Craig said, the pride of his work evident in his toothy smile. A round of applause echoed across the bar.
The entire restaurant was staring at them and clapping. Some of the patrons blatantly took photos with their phones.
Jericho lifted a beefy arm and pointed his finger at Mack. “A new rookie!”
Clapping and a few whistles echoed around the pressed-tin ceiling before calming into excited chatter across the storied restaurant. Craig swiped the bar with a towel, bowed gracefully, and disappeared down the length of the bar. Mack could feel the heat in her face—both from the cocktail sauce and the attention—but she didn’t hate it. Far from it. She felt giddy, almost like she had a good beer buzz, to be included with the knuckleheads sitting next to her and the atmosphere of excitement bubbling through the entire city. It was impossible not to love everything about Indianapolis in May.
Her joy was tempered by a tiny prick of bittersweet knowledge that next year some other rookie would take her place while she spent the weekend back home.
“Let me guess,” Mack said, “loser buys dinner?” Her numb mouth watered at the prospect of a juicy rib eye, if not her wallet. Hopefully she still had enough taste buds left to enjoy a seventy-dollar steak, and enough credit on her card to cover dinner for four.
“Pescatarian.” Boomer shrugged as he hit a button on his smartwatch. “And it’s officially my wind-down window. G’night, y’all. I hope you sleep well and drive like shit tomorrow!” Without waiting for a response, he threw some cash on the bar, clapped them each on the back, and walked out of the restaurant without a backward glance.
Jericho looked like someone had kicked his puppy. “A weeknight steak isn’t part of my trainer’s carefully managed, expensively crafted meal plan.” He pulled Mack into a surprise embrace. “Cheers, Rookie. Go brush the fire out of your mouth and get some sleep. You’re gonna do the damn thing tomorrow.” He and Leo clasped hands and slapped each other’s backs before Jericho sauntered off, waving to the entire dining room as he left.
“He didn’t pay.”
“Craig doesn’t let us pay, but we leave a tip for the staff. Jericho always cheats. Part of the tradition.”
“So I don’t owe you dinner?” Mack asked Leo, trying to hide her disappointment as she tossed some bills on the bar. This would be heronly Indy 500 experience and she wanted it all—the racing, the traditions, the rookie hazing—including a steak dinner.
Leo shrugged sheepishly and added some bills to the stack of cash. “I’d never make you buy me dinner, Rookie.” He gestured toward the door, and they both stood. He cleared his throat in the way people do when they’re about to admit something embarrassing. “Rich food is not on the pre-race menu for me.”
Mack held in a laugh, more amused by Leo’s sudden shyness than his tetchy tummy. She glanced around the restaurant as they walked to the door, wanting to imprint the night on her mind. The leather chairs, the hazy lights, the smell of seared beef and butter. When she told Shaw’s children about her one shot at the Indy 500, she would also tell the story of the night she’d burned her face off at Indiana’s most legendary restaurant.
They emerged into the dark evening, the air chilly without the late-spring sun, and Mack pulled her arms around herself as she and Leo stood on the sidewalk. A wave of lonely self-pity pushed at her chest; she didn’t want to go back to her quiet room at Laurie’s. After the wild ups and downs of the day—the awkwardness of the Hartley lunch, finding the pace on track, the sickening coziness of Wes and Billie’s RV, the fight with Laurie, and the anticipation of what would come tomorrow—she found herself craving something steady. Sturdy. Something like Leo.
The realization startled her. In the past, she’d coped with stress and anxiety with riotous avoidance, seeking release in booze or men or minor property crimes. But time and experience had tempered her, and while she still had the impulse to run rampant across the city looking for release, she wanted something softer to quiet her mind.
The minute she went to bed, the qualification tunnel would start. She would have one shot not to screw up her one chance. And if she failed, if she went home without qualifying ... Mack knew, deep down she’d never get over missing this unexpected chance, this opportunity that was hers to lose. She’d grieve the Indy 500 forever if she didn’t qualify. She’d go back to Haubstadt a shell of a person, and what if hermind went back to the dark place it had gone after Shaw was born? What if this time Mack couldn’t push it away?
“You okay?” Leo asked, snapping her out of her thought spiral. His expression was a mix of kindness and curiosity, and Mack couldn’t help being anything but honest.
“Nervous. Excited. A little scared of screwing up. The night before ... it’s hard for me to settle down.”
Leo watched her a few moments more, squinting as if he was trying to find the words under her words. She let herself return his gaze. He was handsome in an easy way, none of his features outstanding but all coming together in a unique way, the darkness of his eyes balancing the softness of his mouth and the length of his body offset by lithe muscles. But it wasn’t only his physicality that Mack studied. Leo Raisman, for all she’d experienced, was a genuinely good human, and his goodness emanated from him like a warm candle. She couldn’t look away from the possibility of him.
Which was why she needed to say goodbye. It was late, they needed rest, and Mack knew she shouldn’t delay him just because she felt restless. If she asked to go back to his place, she suspected he’d take her there regardless of the consequences to his sleep or routine, and Mack didn’t want to be a person who used other people.
She prepared herself to say good night, but Leo asked, “Wanna go watch a bus race?”
From:[email protected]
To:[email protected]; [email protected]
Subject:RE: Unique Indy 500 Sponsorship Opportunity! [May 16, 12:42 p.m.]
Thank you for contacting Green Beauty about sponsorship for your racing event. We limit our sponsorships to influencers with over 50k followers. Please feel free to reach back out if you develop a solid social media following!
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V
Valentina Petrovskovanivitch
Green Beauty Inc.
