Page 50 of Cross the Line
‘Can’t complain,’ I answer, trying to play it cool. I’m definitely failing.
‘How’s your mum?’
That’s another thing about Zaid – he remembers the smallest details. He had a conversation with my motheronceand still asks about her.
‘She’s good. Still can’t get her to stop working, even though she doesn’t need to any more.’
Zaid flashes me a warm, knowing smile. ‘Mine’s the same. She’d rather die than let someone else run our family’s shop.’
We chat as the truck starts to make its way around the circuit for the fans to see, but I’m bumped out of the way by a cameraman when the interviewers come over to ask Zaid about his chances at an eighth championship title.
There’s an open spot next to Reid, so I step into it instead. ‘Thanks again for the flight to Dallas,’ I greet him. ‘How was your time back home?’
‘It was a nice break.’ He rests his elbow on my shoulder as he waves to the crowd. ‘Even if my grandmother spent the week nagging that I don’t come home enough.’
I laugh and wave as well, taking in the crowd’s excitement. ‘Tell Dottie I miss her apple pie.’
‘Will do.’ He snorts. ‘Speaking of Texas and apple pie, you got plans for the Fourth of July?’
‘Not past whatever Argonaut’s doing.’ I’m not going home for it, considering it’s in two days and the next Grand Prix at Silverstone is just a few days after that. ‘I’m heading straight to London in the morning in order to prepare myself for that shit show. You?’
‘So you’re going to be at the dinner?’ he asks. ‘I’m still deciding whether I’m brave enough to show my face there, but I definitely don’t want to do it alone.’
‘Oh, you mean the tacky party Argonaut’s throwing?’ I want to roll my eyes just thinking about it. It’s going to be an England-bashing party . . . in the middle of London. ‘Yeah, they’ll have my ass if I’m not there. Please come suffer with me.’
Reid shakes his head, still watching the crowd. ‘No, I mean the dinner with Buck beforehand. It’s a small thing, right? He said it’ll be just key players, but I don’t know if I want to be stuck with that guy for longer than I have to be.’
My stomach sinks, and I frown, studying his profile. ‘What are you talking about?’
Reid stops waving and looks over at me, brow furrowing. The cameras are catching all of this, but at least they can’t hear what we’re saying. ‘You don’t know about it?’
‘No. I don’t.’
I’m not surprised that Buck is hosting something extra, but Iamshocked that this is the first I’m hearing about it – and that he invited a rival driver.
My stomach is down in my knees at this point. It’s obvious that Buck wants me out, but I doubt Reid would replace me. I can’t imagine him leaving D’Ambrosi. He’s happy at the Scuderia, and he’s been fighting for third place on the podium all year. He wouldn’t give that up to drive for a midfield team that hasn’t had a win in ages.
But if Buck offered him enough money to make the switch worth his while, then I’m fucked. Because Reid is the all-American driver that all-American Argonaut has always wanted.
I have to fight to keep a smile on my face, to keep the cameras from picking up on the turmoil coursing through me. I don’t want Reid to catch on either. ‘You got an invite because of the technical agreement, right?’ I jokingly suggest. ‘I’m sure D’Ambrosi thinks that since you make our engines, you belong at all of our parties too.’
‘Right,’ Reid says, but it does nothing to comfort me. ‘I’m sure that’s it.’
——
My gut churns as I pull into my grid spot, but the nausea is mixed with a burning anger now.
The engine rumbles as I flex my fingers around the steering wheel. I kept my head down and avoided everyone but my engineers after climbing off the drivers’ parade truck, not wanting to lose the building fire in my chest. It’s burning bright now.
My heart slows as the red lights come on one by one, and it jolts as they all go out. I’m clean off the line and immediately pass two cars. By the time we hit the first corner, I’m in ninth. I keep the advantage on the inside, falling in behind a McMorris and sticking tight to its rear wing. The gap expands a little as the laps go on, but I’ll be able to pass soon enough if I push a little more.
Branny is a mosquito buzzing in my ear. I tune out everything except the important stuff, giving clipped responses when necessary. We usually keep a good rapport going, but not today. Not after discovering the plot to kick me aside happening right under my nose.
By lap twenty-three I’m in front of the McMorris and the car is solid under me. My tyres are holding out well, the balance is as good as it will ever get, and I’m eking out every bit of power available.
I’m driving to prove something. Whether it’s to Argonaut or another team, I’m determined to exhibit what I’m capable of, why I belong here. There’s a reason I was rookie of the year when I debuted. There’s a reason sponsors flocked to me right out of the gate. There’s a reason I beat out hundreds of other drivers on my way to F1. I’m here because I fought for it. And I’m going to keep fighting.
I push on, determined to close the distance to the car in front of me. I’m about to ask Branny what the gap time is when he crackles over the radio instead.
