One For The Road - Chapter 19: Chapter 19

The All-Star Race was a much shorter and less crowded race than I was used to, which only made passing cars before I ran out of time more difficult. There were fewer cars in my way, but they were all really good cars. That sucked.
By the end of the first and longest stage, I wasn't in last place anymore, and when I accidentally commented out loud that Elizabeth could suck it, Brad, my temporary crew chief, told me to focus on driving. Once again, he had no idea how I worked. My mouth, hands, feet, and mind all functioned independently, especially my mind and mouth.
Since it was the end of the stage, we were under caution, and that gave us time to make pit stops and calm down for just a moment. Even though Charlotte wasn't as brake-heavy as a short track like Martinsville, my feet burned and chafed.
Well, I sure as hell didn't miss those damn blisters.
"The ten car is running a higher line than everyone else, and he's the fastest car on the track by two tenths of a second," Marty Whateverhisnamewas, my temporary spotter, said.
"Fuck that dude," I muttered. I also didn't miss Tyler Bailey. I hadn't even dared to stray up the race track, but if my car could handle it, it would have been stupid not to give it a try.
Unfortunately, my car was kind of a piece of shit.
In order to get it fixed up to my liking, I described how the car felt everywhere on the track: okay on entry, tight during the turn, and loose as hell on exit. It was out of my hands, and hopefully Brad would figure out a quick fix.
I also wasn't very familiar with the pit crew, since my old one officially belonged to Elizabeth Tonkin, but there was a common language between the driver and crew, so we'd probably be on the same page. As soon as I stopped in my pit box, they'd do their thing, and once they dropped the jack, it was off to the races for me. It sounded easy in theory, but who knew how they'd deviate from what I was used to?
"Remember Moore, you're number fifty-nine now," Brad reminded me.
"Right. Right. Fifty-nine," I mumbled to myself.
The first-place car led us down pit road, and my hands flinched when I saw the number ninety-five sign. It wasn't my number anymore. I continued on and pulled into the right box, and I waited for the pit crew to add fuel, change all four tires, and make the necessary adjustments. As soon as the car dropped back to the ground, I sped out of my box.
Was that fast? It seemed faster than usual. There certainly seemed to be fewer cars in front of me now.
I looked out the rearview mirror, and they sure as hell knew that they just killed the pit stop and took no prisoners. They high-fived each other, and I let out a laugh.
"Oh my god, that was—how fast was that? Who are you people? Aliens?" I stammered.
"That was probably a fluke, but dammit, we'll take it," Brad said. "Just over twelve seconds."
I came into the pits in sixteenth place. I came out tenth.
"As soon as I make it back here full time, I need this pit crew. Somebody get it in writing that these misfits are mine now." I laughed again. "I'm fucking serious. Holy shit."
Maybe I could pull this off. I knew damn well I couldn't win alone, and with that kind of support, it was crystal clear that I wasn't alone at all.
As we drove around the track at what seemed like a turtle's pace, I realized what I had said: as soon as I make it back here full time. Of course, I was at the race to win a million bucks for Drake and Annie (but not Josiah, due to the fact that he managed to piss me all the way off every single time he opened his mouth), but this was my chance to open my options right back up.
Was I really ready to come back?
Yes.
No.
Fuck.
Either way, there wasn't any time to think. I had a race to win, not just for me, but for Team Sacrilege, my makeshift fifty-nine team, and the fans.
The green flag waved through the air, and I hit the gas with a lead foot and a prayer that I'd make it through the restart without a crash. There were fewer cars to pass now, and in my heart, it felt like getting the checkered flag wasn't nearly as improbable as it was just moments earlier. I was still an underdog, but I had a little bit more hope. With my eyes on the track and the voices on the radio, I had all I needed to navigate myself up to the front.
There were three more stages left in the race. The next two were both twenty laps, and the last was only ten. That was more than enough time to pry the lead from Tyler's hands, and if I had to wreck him to do it, I'd do it with a smile. He had already established a precedent for our racing relationship, which was about as clean as a mud puddle. I'd gladly match it.
Laps flew by like a good time, and the first thing I had to be concerned about was not making any mental mistakes (which was surprisingly common for me). The second was to pass as many cars as I could.
I stole ninth place, eighth, and seventh, and with Griffin running sixth, I had a little extra motivation to take that spot. He wasn't the type to just let anyone pass, though, even if it was the smartest move for everyone involved. It was part of the reason he won more races than me, but it also lost him a few when he got wrecked.
Griffin's car was painted differently than usual, and I wanted to get a better look at it through my rearview mirror. I was several car lengths behind him, but it felt like there was a mile in between us. I had to catch him quickly without fucking up my chances of winning.
But no matter how hard I hit the gas and how smoothly I turned, it was like I had hit a wall in terms of speed. He was always just a little faster than me around the turns and down the straightaways, and before I knew it, I was back on the radio bitching.
"How the fuck is he so much faster than me? What am I doing wrong?"
"Well, he's running the same line as the ten car, and it looks like it's the fastest way around the track. Unless the car can't hang there, you should probably at least give it a shot," the spotter replied.
"Don't get frustrated. There's still a lot of race left, and you can't make a stupid decision now," the crew chief added.
I let out a breath. "Oh, don't worry. I'm not frustrated. I just really love losing to that asshole all the damn time. Does it get any better than being the worst?"
"Surprisingly, it does," Brad said, and for the first time in that race, I felt like we were on the same page.
If I couldn't have Paul and Chris back, maybe Brad and Marty would be serviceable replacements moving forward.
The next lap, I wandered a little closer to the wall of the race track in the turns, and it felt like I had a little more speed to fly down the straightaway.
"Better?" I asked.
"Hell yeah. Just stay up there until you catch him, and you're smart enough to find a way around him then," Marty said.
Although time wasn't really on my side, I chased after Griffin lap after lap, and he sure as hell stuck to his word. He wasn't going to let me have anything; I'd have to take it from him, but every lap I didn't pass him, I had one less lap to get to first place.
Unfortunately for him, I still had a shit ton of people to prove wrong.
With only a few laps to go until the end of the third stage, I caught up to the back of his car, and like Marty (I was still slightly unsure that was his real name, but I couldn't just ask him) said, I was smart enough to find a way around him. It was Racing 101 that by getting beside him and taking the air off of his rear quarter panel would slow him down, and from there, I could easily take the spot.
I drove my nose underneath his car and got as close as I could without hitting him. That gave me enough of a boost to power ahead of him, and by the time we got back around to the start-finish line, he was right behind me.
"Tell Griffin that his car's cute, especially from this angle," I said and laughed to myself.
While Paul and Chris would have certainly delivered that message to Griffin, I was about one-hundred percent sure Brad and Marty wouldn't. I knew what Griffin would reply anyway. Fuck you, Kate.
"Is the ten car still out front?" I asked.
"Nope. He's in third now, and his lap times aren't what they were earlier in the race. He must have hit the wall or something," Marty replied.
I smiled. "Nice."
One of the many reasons Roger didn't care for me (including, but not limited to, my vagina, my confidence, and my lack of a stick up the ass) was that I raced with a list of personal vendettas and the occasional friendly rivalry in the back of my mind. I needed to beat Tyler. I needed to beat Griffin, although that didn't happen too frequently. And now on my list, I needed to beat Elizabeth.
It would feel damn good to pass Tyler Bailey on my way to a million bucks.
There were only twelve laps to go until the end of the race and only two to go until the end of the third stage. Any laps we ran while under caution didn't count toward that total, so I would have ten laps to pass five cars. As long as no one got out to a big lead right after the green flag, I was in a good spot to cause a little chaos.
The third stage came to a close, and I was ready for a ten-lap sprint to the checkered flag. I always wanted to keep one of the flags from the NASCAR Cup Series, since I had quite a few from my championship run in the Xfinity Series. But I needed a big girl win to finally shut everyone up about me, and if this was my last chance, it didn't matter how I got it done. There was no honor anymore.
I caught up to the fourth-place car, and since we would restart in the outside lane, we had the advantage of more space to make moves when the race went back to green. Sixth place didn't seem like a great place to restart on the surface, but it was almost perfect. I could go almost anywhere I wanted.
Just don't fuck it up, Katie. Don't get anywhere near Tyler. Not again. I didn't need to remind myself of what happened at Talladega. This would be different. It had to be.
I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel as we drove down the straightaway. "Can we get back to full speed? I have places I need to be."
"Hang in there. Save the impatience for the race track," Brad said.
I wasn't exactly expecting someone to respond. Paul used to ignore me most of the time.
A few moments later, everyone was set up for the restart, and we were just about ready to begin the final stage of the race.
I took in a breath. "I am speed. Don't respond to that. I'm just channeling my inner Lightning McQueen."
Brad laughed. "Just focus on the damn track, Moore."
Yep. I wanted him as my next crew chief. He would learn my language, and I would learn his.
As we approached the start-finish line, I hung a little behind to give myself some space to jump up to the top of the track. I could have pushed the car in front of me, but I wasn't going for just a good finish. I needed the win.
The cars around me all sped up to chase after the leader, and I turned up the track and hoped I would be the only one who tried that. Another car drove under me, and I could only assume that other people stole my idea and fanned out all around the track.
I couldn't bother to pay attention to them, though. There were two cars directly in front of me that I needed to pass, including the leader, and several cars that ran below me on the track.
Just like Talladega, along the wall was the longest way around the track, but the higher momentum made it the fastest. It killed the speed of anyone who hit it, but what the hell did I have to lose?
I put my car just inches from the wall, and the car in front of me took the lane just below me. My arms shook all the way around the turn, but I couldn't let that hurt my chances of winning. As we approached the next turn, I was closer to the cars in front of me than I was before.
That was my move. That was my only move.
The next time around the track, I had all the momentum on my side. As soon as I got close enough to the blue and white car in front of me, I dove underneath to change the aerodynamics. He slowed down, and I made the pass over the next lap.
In the back of my mind, those damn clocks Josiah kept in the living room ticked and tocked, and every second that passed, I followed in the tracks of the leader. He had moved up closer to the wall to block any sort of momentum I had, but there was still time and room for me.
The laps dwindled down, and each time around the speedway, I got closer, and closer, and closer.
"Just keep doing what you're doing. At this rate, you'll catch the leader," Marty said, but there was a huge difference between catching and passing.
Second place wasn't good enough, and I wasn't sure how much longer my car could hold on. It was fussy all throughout the race, and it would certainly detect any sort of urgency I had and get loose or some shit.
I wasn't exactly sure how far the car in front of me was from me, but when someone said, "the white flag is out," over the radio, it didn't really matter anymore. If I got close enough to his bumper, he was gonna end up in the wall. Wrecking someone wouldn't win me many fans, but I would dry my tears with hundred-dollar bills.