Page 36 of Over the Limit

“Push. Push. Push.” Henry’s voice comes through my earpiece as I let up coming into the chicane.

“Understood.” The car vibrates around me, and the signature whine of its motor fills my ears. “The split?” I ask, referring to my time to this point on the track versus the current pole sitter.

“Point zero three.”

“Ten-four,” I say and readjust my grip on the wheel as I come into the straight. And prepare to fly.

The world outside of my cockpit becomes one big blur. Green from the grass. Yellow from the walls on one side of me. Red from the walls as I enter the last straight. And a blend of colors as I push through the grandstands’ straight, entering my second qualifying lap.

“Great first lap. Point zero four behind the leader.”

“Got it.”

“Time to fly, Lach,” Henry says.

“Currently flying,” I say, but the grin on my face has nothing to do with what Henry says and everything to do with the damn woman I can’t get out of my head.

The one I need to.

The one whose dream it was to fly.

Blair Carmichael.

“Point zero three,” Henry says at my first split, shocking my thoughts back to where they need to be.

To this.

To the track.

To my own damn dream.

To putting the next puzzle piece in place that will let me win a world championship one day.

I hold my own on the lap. Trying to trim the line of the track where I can. Pushing the car as hard as I can when possible.

“Great job. That’s a P4,” Henry says when I cross the start/finish line.

I’ll be in the second row for tomorrow’s race.

That’s the best place on the starting grid that I’ve had in the last five races. I pump my fist knowing it’s a solid day for the car and my team. The time and adjustments we made at Sterling were worth it.

And when I cut the engine and climb out of the car, the expressions on my crew’s face say they feel the same.

“Damn good driving out there,” Henry says as he helps me out of the car and clasps my hand.

“It’s a start,” I say, set my helmet down, and look to my crew around me. “Great work, everyone. You kicked arse for me, and I appreciate it. The car felt great. Ran great. I’ll try and build more on it tomorrow during the race.”

Fingers crossed my position stays where it is. There are only two cars left to finish qualifying today, but I’m sitting pretty solid so I’m not worried.

I chat a bit more with my race engineer and a few of the mechanics, but even with all the distractions, I know he’s here. I don’t have to look over my shoulder to know my dad is standing on the periphery, taking it all in, not interfering, but a significant presence in the garage, nonetheless.

Just like he always has been.

And I’m not wrong. He’s on the fringe of the garage, just outside of the chaos. Close enough so I know but far enough away so he doesn’t interfere.

“Dad,” I say and move toward him. Our hug is quick—just like it always is.

“You put in a good showing out there. A great starting position. I’m proud of you.”