Page 50 of Off the Grid

“It’s still appreciated.”

“We have all week reserved so we’ll get you familiar with everything. We’ll go over all the readouts in a bit, once the crew finishes up their tasks.”

“Thanks, Hank.”

I pull up to the pit marker and cut the engine. Crew members mill around the car, but I just sit a minute. I don’t unpin the steering wheel. I don’t undo my harness. Instead, I sit with my helmet on, my hands on the wheel, and the visor strip dark enough to hide my eyes as I close them and let this sink in.

Every frustrating DNF. Every karting event where I fought my second-rate kart and the expectation and damnation that came with my last name and still crossed the line before everyone else. The wearing doubts. The endless dedication. The podium victories.

I’m finally fucking here. Part of the ultimate dream.

Don’t get used to it. Isn’t that what Ari reminded me? Isn’t that what I fucking know firsthand? To not get used to it because it’s harder when you know what it’s like and it’s yanked away than to imagine what it’s like but never get a taste of it.

But it’s not going to get yanked.

It’s not.

This feels too good. Too right. And yes, I have nerves rattling through me and no doubt will puke before the first race, but I’m finally living the dream.

Let Maxim get better. Fine. Great. Let him return to his seat here, to his place here, but only after everyone gets a chance to see what I can do.

There are rumors that two drivers might retire at season’s end. I want one of those spots. I’m going to fight like hell to get it.

Hands reach in to help unbuckle me. I hold on to my thoughts with a determination as fierce as the one that got me to this point and unfold myself from the car.

Helmet and balaclava off and hand scrubbing through my hair, I wait for the team principal, Omar, to approach. “How’d it feel?”

“Fast and loose and I say that in the best possible way.” I have a feeling I’m going to be getting this question nonstop until I hit some unspoken lap time that makes them all feel more secure in their decision to offer me the call-up. “It flies on the straights. I need to get used to the grab of the brakes. I was a little timid in the corners but that’s just because I want to get more confident in knowing where it is spatially before I cut closer to the wall.”

“That’s good feedback. All normal for someone stepping into it.” He adjusts his hat on his head as we walk deeper into the garage.

“Another few days and I’ll be good to go. You’ll see more time shaved off my lap times.”

Omar nods and pats me on the back. “That’s what I like to hear. Now let’s get inside and look at the metrics. You’ll see the data will allow us to make the tiniest of adjustments that will make differences.”

“I’m eager to learn more.”

“You say that now. Just wait till you’re falling asleep and all the data keeps running through your head, keeping you up.”

“I won’t complain,” I say as we cross the alleyway from the garage to the paddock. Normally this is where our logistics crew sets up our hospitality suites, but it’s not a race weekend so our whole building is no doubt being transported to the next race on the circuit.

“They’ve let us set up an office back here,” Hank says as he pushes open a door where numerous computers sit on desks with headphones at each table. “Let’s start reviewing before Anya whisks you away.”

“Anya?” There are so many people and names being thrown at me so fast my head is spinning with trying to keep everyone straight.

“Your PR minder. You haven’t met her yet? She’ll be your right-hand. Recording all your interviews. Overseeing your schedule. Minding where you need to be.”

So my new Fontina, but with a much bigger scope.

“I glanced at your schedule. You’re quite the busy man. Physio after Anya. A team meeting to review boxing. Sim time to practice the next circuit. You up for it?”

“Been waiting for this chance my whole life.”

“Now go get that thing off,” he says, referring to my dark blue race suit from my old team. “We only like red around here.”

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN