Page 32 of You, Me, and Lucky Number 13

But underneath that professional veneer, there’s something simmering between us. It’s raw, electric, a shared hunger that goes deeper than just wanting to win. It’s a connection that cuts through the noise, the pressure, and all the lies we’ve been spinning.

“You ready?” Her voice comes through the headset, steady as a mountain in a storm. She’s my lifeline in this circus of engines and egos.

I grip the wheel like it’s the last cold beer on a hot day. “Born ready, sweetheart. Let’s show ‘em how it’s done,” I growl, locking eyes with Lola one last time before slamming my visor down.

The flag drops, and all hell breaks loose.

Engines scream like they’re being tortured, tires howl in protest, and the world turns into a Technicolor blur as we barrel into the first turn. My blood’s singing, a combination of terror and pure fucking joy that turns my brain into a supercomputer and my hands into precision instruments.

“Tight, Cole,” Lola’s voice cuts through the chaos, cool as ice in a snowstorm. “Tane’s trying to box you in. He’s going for an early lead, but he’s just playing mind games. Don’t let him get in your head.”

I can practically see Tane’s smug grin as he blazes past, his car a blue-and-chrome middle finger in my peripheral. The asshole knows how to push my buttons better than a toddler in an elevator.

But this time, I’ve got Lola as my secret weapon.

“Inside line on four,” she barks. “He’s leaving a gap. Take it.”

At this point, I trust her more than I trust my own mother. I ease off, letting the Viper drift wide like a drunk trying to walk a straight line, then wrench the wheel. The car responds like it’s reading my mind.

We rocket forward, the engine howling its battle cry as we slide past Tane. The gap’s closing fast, the pressure building with every inch of track we eat up.

Lap after lap, Lola’s voice guides me through the chaos. Her instructions are precise and strategic, using every advantage we have against Tane’s inflated confidence.

“He’s pushing too hard,” she says calmly, even as the crowd roars louder. “His tires will wear out soon. Stay consistent, Cole. We’ll catch him in the long run.”

I can sense Tane’s desperation growing. He’s a skilled driver, but he’s reckless under pressure. And right now, the pressure’s building at a rapid rate.

The cockpit’s a sauna of sweat, gasoline, and raw competition. My heart’s pounding, and my hands ache from gripping the wheel, but my mind is razor-sharp.

I’m in the zone now. Time blurs, instinct takes over, and all that matters is the next turn, the next gear change, the next stretch of track.

Tane might be leading now, but this race is far from over. With Lola’s voice in my ear and fire in my veins, I’m ready for whatever comes next.

Let’s see what you’ve got, Tane.

“Pit stop in three laps.” Lola’s voice cuts through the noise, steady and focused. “Fuel only. Be ready.”

I screech into the pit lane three laps later, as instructed. The crew moves fast and precise, like we’ve practiced a thousand times. Before I know it, we’re done and I’m stomping on the gas again.

The Viper leaps back onto the track. The crowd’s going wild, and the announcer’s voice booms: “Lawson’s back! He’s right behind Tane! This is going to be a close one, folks!”

The last laps are a blur of speed and adrenaline. Tane and I are locked in a fierce head-to-head battle. We’re not just fighting for a trophy. This is about proving I’ve still got what it takes for that number one spot.

Tane’s pushing too hard. His tires are wearing out fast, just like Lola predicted.

“He’s making mistakes,” Lola says. I can hear the nerves in her voice. “Stay focused. Don’t let him get to you.”

The pressure continues to build as we fight it out for the top spot. This isn’t just about winning. It’s about showing everyone—and myself—that I’m still a contender. And maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll show Lola that I’m worth another shot.

It’s going to be one hell of a finish.

The last turn’s coming up hot—a nasty little bitch that’ll chew you up and spit you out if you’re not careful. Tane’s getting sloppy; his car slides around like a drunkard on an ice rink.

This is it. Do or die time.

“Now, Cole! Fucking floor it!” Lola screams in my ear, her composure long gone, and I slam the pedal down so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t go through the floor.

The Viper roars like a pissed-off T-Rex, and I crank the wheel, threading the needle between Tane’s flailing ass and the unforgiving wall. I blow past him and across the finish line before my brain can even process what just happened.

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