Page 88 of Well Played

A watery laugh makes me splutter against his shirt. I let myself lean against him for a moment before shoring myself up to walk out of the door and toward my waiting ride.

I’ve spentthe last week traveling with my team and bouncing back and forth between the factory and the company headquarters. In some ways, it’s been a blessing to be so busy because then I can’t stop and think about how Robbie’s not texting me each morning or we’re not video chatting with each other every night.

It’s also made me realize that if I want a future in this sport, some things are going to have to change. Number one being my relationship with the factory. That they’d questioned my integrity rubbed me the wrong way, and I wanted to have a face-to-face meeting with them.

The other thing that had to change was my relationship with social media. Over the years, I’ve let my social media persona take over my personality and I’m having a hard time drawing a line between the two. All I know is I don’t want to have such a large impact and presence on the sport if my only contribution is to look pretty and drive well.

It’s time to own up to who I truly am.

7

Fall

Robbie

Charly walkedout of my house a little over a month ago, and my life hasn’t been the same since. I haven’t lost hope that one day I’ll figure out a way to get her back, but for right now I’m just going through the motions of living.

The temptation to watch her on social media is irresistible. Those brief videos and pictures keep me sane enough so I don’t wander into her pit at races like a lost puppy.

Or call her when I know she doesn’t want me to.

I’ll give her space, but she’s an addiction I can’t let go of.

She seems okay from what she posts, but I know that’s only surface level. Plus, there’s been a shift in what she’s been posting lately. She’s slowly shifting her content away from everything that’s pretty and perfect and posting more of her real thoughts and feelings.

There are fewer puff pieces and more videos with her talking about women in racing. These last few weeks she’s been postingabout engineering every Wednesday. I love hearing her talk to her fans about mechanics and how the manufacturing and development processes work.

With every fiber in my being, I want to tell her how proud I am of her, but I can’t. Not yet.

For now, I focus on Eddie, the car, and the team. We’re doing everything we can to win this championship.

Right now we’re in the lead. Although that’s because of the three weeks Charly missed after the accident. Even with the break, she’s catching up fast.

The Texas sun beats down at me, and I can feel beads of sweat trickling down my back. The guys don’t look like they’re in much better shape, so I make a point of handing out bottles of water while we’re working.

We’re at RPM Speedway, just outside of Dallas. It’s the furthest south we travel during the year. Eddie’s got a couple of races lined up during the week and I’m grateful they’re not for points, so Charly won’t be there.

I have a hunch Eddie planned that on purpose because the ‘opportunities’ only appeared last month. They weren’t on our original schedule. Dad even got on board with the ruse, arguing that they’ll be good outreach for fans.

While the guys finish prep work, I head toward the track office, wanting to check in and see if there have been any updates for the schedule tonight.

When I open the door, Charly is getting ready to step out.

Our eyes meet and my mouth opens to say something, but I can’t force any words out. She looks tired, and just as surprised to see me as I am to see her.

“Hi.” she says, eyes flitting away. It feels like a reversal of how we first met, only this time we’re both incredibly awkward instead of just me.

“Hey.”

“I was just leaving.” She motions past me and on instinct I step aside, giving her a clear path out of the door.

Charly moves out but stops, half turning so she’s looking over her shoulder. Her eyes meet mine, unspoken want filling her gaze, but she shakes her head and walks away before either of us can give in to temptation and say anything more.

I’m left feeling gutted and desperate for any modicum of attention that she’s willing to give me. It takes the track officials three tries to get my attention and even then I struggle to remember what I came over her for.

Arkansas isas hot as Texas, and I’m just as painfully awkward when I run into Charly again. This time picking up food for the guys from the concession stand. It gives me an excellent excuse to make small talk with her while we wait for our food, but I’ve reverted into my pre Charly, awkward, self conscious state.

She chatters away to a handful of fans, giving me an even better excuse to stand back and listen. It makes me feel like a voyeur, but I’ll take what I can get.

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