“But you could crash again. That’s what Daddy said, that you were gonna wreck and get yourself killed because you don’t know what you’re doing.”
For the second time that day, Mack couldn’t draw air into her lungs. Angry, she clenched her hands, hissing at a sharp stab of pain at thebase of her right hand. The doctor had wanted to x-ray but Mack had refused. The medical team wouldn’t let her go back on track if it was broken.
“Racing has accidents but these cars are very, very safe. I only wrecked because a tire blew, not because I don’t know what I’m doing. I promise you this, Shaw Westly Williams, I will always come back to you. It’s been you and me from the beginning. I will never, ever leave you.”
Mack knew it was a white lie—all parents eventually leave their children, if they are lucky enough to die first—but what parent didn’t say the same? Parents who went on business trips, or vacations with friends, or out to the store to buy milk assured their kids they would come home, too. Accidents and loss were part of life, and parenting sometimes meant telling your child things that you couldn’t know for sure but hoped like hell were true.
“Are you going to get back in that car?” Shaw asked quietly.
Mack couldn’t look at Wes. She didn’t want him to know that her chance at Indy may already be over. She didn’t want Shaw to know that she wanted back in the car more than she wanted to go home and play it safe.
“I don’t know, honey. I have to go find out.”
@Racingnews
May 16
Rookie @mackwilliamsraces crashes on the exit of turn 2 at Indianapolis Motor Speedway on Saturday, May 16th.
Comments:
@f1f1f1f1that’s a gnarly hit. Hope she’s ok. The speeds in indycar are mega.
@donniedaytonathese girls come to the track and have no idea what they’re doing
@alexa1999 @donniedaytonak you go out there and do it since u r such an expert
@leftymcleftersonhere come the feminazis
@cafecitowhy do they let these girls on the track. Unsafe!
@lakelifelover4my cousin works at the track care center and said she broke her hand but refused treatment
@donniedaytonaProbably didn’t want a bandage on her manicure
@alexa1999 @donniedaytona1954 called, it wants its misogyny back
Chapter 29
8 days until the Indianapolis 500
When she left the infield care center, the world around Mack accelerated as fast as the spin that put her into the wall. A baker’s dozen of reporters were still waiting for an interview, and she gave a concise account: She was pushing the car to the limit, she heard a noise, she hit the wall. The irony of getting her first, and possibly last, prime network interview slid into her belly, heavy and sour.
After she gave her statements, every single correspondent—from the veteran network reporter to the blogger using voice record on their phone—apologized to Mack and promised to delete any footage of Shaw. It was kind but unusual, and Mack turned and saw Billie at her shoulder, glaring at the reporters with a sternfuck around and find outlook. She pointed two long metallic-blue fingernails at her eyes, then turned and pointed the fingers specifically to the reporters with cameras. One journalist even showed Billie how he’d deleted the footage from his phone, and Mack gave Billie another mental thank-you.
Slowly, she made her way to Gasoline Alley. She’d asked her family to wait at the RV until she had clear news from Janet; the conversation to come wasn’t something she wanted anyone else to witness. Her chest ached, her hand and wrist throbbed, and her entire body felt like she’d been through the rock tumbler she’d given Shaw for her seventh birthday, but she couldn’t focus on her physical discomfort now.
From the doorway, Mack got her first view of the splintered parts of her car spread across the JJR garage floor. Mack knew it was a hard hit—she felt it ringing in her body even now—but the extent of the damage was shocking. Fiberglass and metal littered the floor, and what was left of the machine was hardly recognizable as a car. The left-side wheels were both missing, the nose cone completely sheared off, the sidepod crushed, and the rear wing dangled by a metallic thread. If the bodywork was this damaged, Mack imagined the corresponding components underneath suffered catastrophic damage. She’d felt the impact but seeing the carnage in person was sobering.
Crew members methodically laid out pieces of bodywork on several tarps, separating salvageable parts from garbage. They’d worked endless hours to prepare a qualification-worthy car for her, and if there was a worse scenario, Mack couldn’t imagine it. She’d not only missed her chance to qualify today, she’d smashed the team’s hopes for tomorrow.
As she approached the fractured car, two crew members noticed her and stopped their work. Then another turned and stared, and another, and another, until everyone in the garage was watching her. She didn’t know if they wanted penance or a platform, so she spoke first. “You guys worked so hard to put together a hell of a machine and I’m truly sorry for ruining it.”
She wanted to say more, but words would not put the car back together.
“Mack. You’re okay?” Leo was in his coveralls, earpieces dangling from the zipper, helmet in hand. In the next garage over, she could see his team rolling his car to pit lane.
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready to go out?”
