Page 2 of Crash Course Omega
His growl rumbles through the earphones, but I ignore it.
It’s our time.
It’s our year to win everything.
And we can’t do it without taking risks.
The Ox is pulling away. We slowed too much and we have two more corners before the next straight run of the track.
“How many seconds ahead are P2 and P1?”
“1.4 and 5.8 seconds, respectively,” he replies dryly. “But P5 is 3.6 behind you. Just focus on keeping that.”
“Shit. Tell Jaxx to put his foot down or get the fuck out of my way.”
We still have two laps to catch the Ox. We can do it, as long as Jaxx gets his act together.
There’s a move I've practiced nonstop in the virtual training simulator for weeks before the Championship started that is exactly for hairpins. I've almost got it down, but I haven’t been able to get the last angle right.
But I can do it. The hairpin is right there.
Three seconds away. Two. One.
Right as I’m about to slide into position to set up, Jaxx angles his car just enough to cruise in the middle of the track and cut me off.
“Asshole!” I shout.
Silence hums around me, not even the buzz of my engine as I chew down the gears can get through the white noise that shakes me when I am really pissed off.
“Sorry, Maddock, he's refusing to budge,” Jacob says.
It’s shit like this that makes Jaxx a good driver overall. Because he knows where he needs to be at exactly the right time. But it doesn’t make him a winner. Neither of us has stood in first position on the podium or won a Championship, or any Grand Prix’s.
This is our chance. If Jaxx just works with me instead of pulling his usual shit.
I hit the pedal, pushing us along as we trawl through the hairpin at fucking 80kmph. We need more speed. We needsomething.
I’m so tempted to just slam into the back of Jaxx and DNF us both. But even if we come in behind the Ox and Warren, we still get our points. But it isn’t the same as crossing the finish line with no one in front of me.
We get out of the hairpin just in time to see the Ox shoot away.
“What's P1?” I ask.
“Sorry, Maddock. He's over by six seconds.”
“For fucks sake!”
As we speed down the last line, I go for it.
I didn't come here to be a gentleman, especially not to someone like Jaxx.
We aren’t getting first, but I’m sure as hell not getting in fourth.
The crowd ripples as we pour into the final corner and onto the wide curve toward the checkered flag.
I dart out, slamming down the pedal to roar past my teammate.
We don’t bump, but neither of us is giving up. It’s too fucking close, and he knows I'd rather lose a podium place than lose a race.
