Page 9 of Off the Grid

As I stalk into the paddock, slam the door behind me to my space, and pace the small area, trying to abate the misplaced energy that’s eating me alive.

I’m so close. So fucking close I can taste it. To the win. To making the jump to F1 and hanging on this time. To making some fucking money that I can keep instead of having to pour it back into this sport I love and hate. Love because, how can I fucking not? Hate because, I can have all the talent in the goddamn world, but it’s hard to be seen when you have subpar shit—cars, engines, support.

So many of my friends, the ones I grew up karting against are there, living the dream at the pinnacle of our sport. And I’ve yet to join them permanently.

I had one chance. One chance that came and went and has forever put an asterisk next to my name.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut, ignoring the twenty texts lighting up my phone in the corner of the room.

From my agent.

From my mum.

From my friends.

It’s okay. You did great regardless.

Great race.

Too bad about the engine.

You’ll get them next time.

I don’t have to read them to know what they’ll say. To know they’re positive and supportive and everything in between.

It’s the last thing I want when I’m busy beating myself up over what just happened. Over the shit I’m more than certain I’m about to get in the coming minutes.

There’s a knock on the door. Then it cracks open and Fontina peeks her head in. “Presser time.”

“How bad is it?” I ask.

“Which part? The part where you rubbed tires with Bickman and he went into the wall?”

“We were wheel to wheel. It’s not my fault he has issues with spatial awareness. Hell, I followed protocol. I had the edge. I had the right of way.”

She lifts her eyebrows and just murmurs, “Hmm.”

Great. Just what I want to hear.

“He wasn’t hurt, right? That hasn’t changed?” I ask and she shakes her head. “Good. It’s racing. That’s all it is. You know damn well he would have done the exact same to me if the tables were turned.”

She rolls her eyes, but her eyes are somber. “Talking points for the presser. It was a great team effort. The ongoing issue with the engine has now been diagnosed and will be fixed. Reiterate that you have never intentionally hit anyone and that you’ll be reviewing the tapes to learn from today and improve.”

“Wait a minute,” I say and put a team hat on as her last bit registers. “Is that what’s being said? That I purposely put him in the wall?”

Fucking hell.

She shrugs. “You don’t exactly hide the fact that there is no love lost between the two of you.”

“I’d never take that on the track.”

“I know that. You know that. The public thinks what it will.”

“Fucking great,” I mutter.

“Rainbows and unicorns, Riggs. That’s all you have to think, and you’ll smile.”

“More like heels and lingerie.” I snort.