Page 38 of First in Line

“You took some big risks that paid off on laps 45 and 46,” the next journalist asks. “Can you tell us what happened there?”

“I tend to get bored during the third quarter of my races,” I explain, unable to hold back half a grin at the reminder of Evie’s notes. “I lost my advantage during that time, so I needed to regain it. But like you said, it paid off, right?”

The press officer makes me take a few more questions, then I’m escorted to the team hospitality room.

“Only you could be bored at two hundred and twenty miles per hour, Jackson,” Wesley declares as he walks in.

“Anything can be boring if you do it for long enough.”

“Are you telling me you want to quit?”

I shake my head with a smile. “What other job could I do? Bus driver?”

“With your style, I don’t think anyone would make it to their destination alive.”

I open the front of my race suit, slip it down my arms, and let it hang at my hips. The fireproof crewneck underneath is drenched in sweat, but it helps cool me off. At least I keep my hair short now, and I don’t have to endure the displeasure of having the sweat run down my neck and back.

“Do you want to talk about what happened out there or…?” Wesley asks.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re usually a lot more fun during those interviews. Are you alright?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t want people to start spreading rumors that my star driver is unhappy. Ferrari and Mercedes have been circling you like vultures for years.”

“I’m not interested in switching teams.”

“Are you sure? If it’s a money thing, I can up your pay by a few million.”

“What did I tell you the day we met?”

“That if I believed in you and took you into my Formula 3 team, I’d gain the lifetime loyalty of one of the best drivers in the world.”

“Is your lifetime or mine over, Wesley?”

“No.”

“Then we’re good. Keep making fast cars, and I’ll keep driving them.”

He leans back into his armchair, seemingly content with my answer. “I still remember that day perfectly, you know? The way you forced a meeting, all balls and youthful confidence, demanding I hire you… Or rather, your girlfriend was demanding it.” He’s quiet for a moment, as if taking a stroll down memory lane in his mind. “Didn’t you marry her at some point?”

“I did.”

“She was a force of nature, that one. She pleaded your case very well. Came with a whole binder of stats and charts.”

“And she was right, wasn’t she?”

“Clearly. Seven seasons, and you’ve already won me more Grand Prix trophies than some outfits have managed in decades.”

“That’s what you get for believing in the rallycross kid rather than another silver-spoon karting brat.”

“Hey, be nice. All the other racers came up through karting. And a couple of them even had humble beginnings, like you.”

“And I’m better than all of them.”

He sighs, looking down at his hands folded over his stomach. “I can’t even argue with that. Still, try playing nice. I hear they’re not fond of you.”