Page 59 of The Player Penalty
I’ve dealt with loneliness before, and I’ll do it again when the time comes, even if it’s more difficult this time around.
Dad hesitates. Any talk of romance or relationships with his young daughter always makes him uncomfortable. Heck, he taught me about sex and puberty by dropping a book in my lap one day and following it up with a pained, “Let me know if you have any questions.” I had many questions, and many still wait for answers.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, feeling a sudden trickle of fear.
“Nothing, Lily. He’s older than you, and Julian has been with a lot of women.”
“I know.”
“Women have been in his trailer since the start of this season.”
I swallow. It’s one thing to intuitively understand and another to have it bluntly stated. Still, we have an arrangement, and I trust him. He’s earned it. “I’ll be careful, Dad. I promise.”
Everyone atRMSthinks of my dad as a grizzled old man, barking orders and making threats. To me, he’s merely Dad. He encouraged me to resume therapy and yelled at school administrators. It’s impossible to be angry with someone who only wants your happiness, even if it can be a tad suffocating.
“You deserve someone worthy of you. Someone loyal. That’s not him.”
22-Julian
Talladega Superspeedway
“How do you feel?” I ask.
“Professionalism is overrated.” A camera inside Matteo’s truck isn’t necessary to tell me he’s itching to take his hands off the wheel to talk. The man uses his hands to speak more than anyone I’ve met. “Half of them out here need a lesson in manners.”
That’s the joy of the truck series. It requires a different style of driving than Cup while also encouraging aggression for aggression’s sake. Some younger drivers will attempt to barrel through their competitors rather than use aero and skill.
“You’ll find the 82 after turn three. He’s two laps down but throwing blocks on others. Be ready for it.”
“Why?”
I shrug. “Why is the sky blue?”
It’s a long day, and my feet throb. Standing on top of the grandstand, surrounded by three dozen spotters all yelling into a headset, doesn’t help either. An early bedtime, on the other hand...
“Trucks pitting. The 28 coming off the lead, and the 42 taking over.”
“How far back am I?” Matteo asks.
“Buddy, you are right dead in the middle,” I say.
Matteo’s chief butts in. “How are the tires?”
“Grip is decent.”
We’ll work on that over the next several races, along with air, tires, fuel, and power. Driver skill is necessary, but he needs to understand all the rest to perform on the track.
“28 off pit road. You can expect him to climb back up. Move on the inside.”
The race is almost done, and then back to the trailer.
∞∞∞
Getting around at a superspeedway requires a golf cart or the stamina to run a marathon. Once the race ends, it takes me time to escape the grandstand and head towards pit road.
Matteo tricked me into going out with his excited screeches about Talladega being one long party. He’s not wrong, but my weekend includes an entire weekend of races, and my heart isn’t in it. Not this time. Not lately.
Busy pit crews ignore me, most wanting to clean up the boxes and put away their respective trucks. Matteo is probably changing out of his fire suit. Either that or he forgot about me, which is fine.
