Page 40 of Not So Fast
“Well, that’s it for Xander Bishop’s race today,” the announcer said. “And we’ve got a safety car coming out, which will make things quite interesting when we restart the race. For the moment, the marshals need to get that car out of the way.”
“I’m going to go,” Mia’s mom said. She leaned over and kissed her cheek. “See you later.” In a flash, she was gone. Mia was relieved. And worried sick about Xander.
One of Mia’s guests, wearing a blackNot So FastT-shirt, rushed to her side. With short, white-blond hair and bright green eyes, she was already memorable. “I can’t believe that happened to Xander. I hope he’s okay.”
Mia looked up to see him climbing out of the car. She was filled with the most bizarre mix of feelings—relief that he was okay, but so much worry. “Yeah. Me, too.”
“Can I get a photo with you?” the woman asked.
This was the last thing Mia wanted to do. “Uh. Sure. Absolutely.”
“I’m Heather, by the way. I was hoping I could talk to you about something if you have a minute.”
The timing was horrible. All Mia wanted to do was talk to Xander. But she needed to focus on what was right in front of her. After all, Xander was halfway around the world. She couldn’t do anything to help him.
“Sure. What, exactly?”
“I want to start aNot So Fastfan club.”
* * *
Well, fuck.
If that wasn’t a complete kick in the teeth, Xander didn’t know what was. Why did this sport have to be like this? One moment, a glimmer of positivity was in sight. The next, absolute disaster.
He climbed out of the car, feeling mostly okay, except for the absolute rage of frustration that coursed through his body. He wanted to punch something. Or at the very least, toss back a stiff drink. For now, he had to walk back to the garage whileeveryone else on track continued their race. There would be a winner and drivers who earned points today, but it wouldn’t be him.
When he got back to the garage, he stopped to talk to the Mega Racing team principal, Jaime Newton.
“I think that was bad luck, but we’ll look at the data,” he said. “Hopefully, the car isn’t too bad off.”
Xander knew the undercurrent of the comment—it was most likely that Xander had made a mistake on track, and even an accident that wasn’ttoo badcould still end up costing the team hundreds of thousands, not to mention countless hours in repairs back at the factory.
What an absolute shit show.
He met with the medical team, which cleared him after the concussion protocol, then he went back to his driver’s room to decompress. He nearly lunged for his phone the moment he glimpsed it, but to his great disappointment, there was no text from Mia. He was positive she’d been watching the race—her watch party was the entire reason she’d declined to come to Monaco. Unless she was merely being nice about it and didn’t want to come. He didn’t think that was what was going on, but doubts crept in so easily after a bad day on track.
Hey. Terrible race, obviously. I’m relatively unscathed though. Would love to chat when you have the chance.
He sent the text, then stared at the screen for quite some time, willing her to respond. “Mia. Darling. Come on…”
A knock came at his door. “Xander. It’s Isabel. Race is over, so I need to take you over to media.”
Xander groaned and got up from his seat, opening thedoor just a crack. “Maybe I just pay the fine for a no-show. I crashed. Tell them I haven’t been cleared by medical yet.”
“Medical already announced you were cleared. You have to go. No one is going to blame you for that shunt.”
“The naysayers will. And so might Jaime. And the sponsors. And every mechanic who has to rebuild the car.”
Isabel carefully looked down the hall in both directions. “Come on, now. Put on your big-boy pants. Let’s get this over with.”
Xander grabbed his team baseball hat, tucked his phone into the pocket of his suit and dutifully joined Isabel as they went to the media pen. She followed along as his minder, recording every question and answer so no newspaper or magazine could ever misquote him without being called on it. Honestly, Xander struggled to stay in the moment as he answered question after question about whether his season would improve or even continue. It felt like his career was collapsing. His dream was evaporating into nothing. And the person he most wanted to talk to about it—Mia—was nowhere to be found.
“Do you think there’s any chance the team will replace you this year?”
How the fuck was he supposed to answer that? He didn’t know what he didn’t know. But if he had to place a bet on it, the chance was certainly there.
“The team and I are working incredibly hard to turn things around. Today was just a bit of bad luck.”
