Page 19 of Until The Lights Go Out

“What is wrong with you?” I rushed out, unable to soften the words to anything else. Theo Bauer was getting on my damn nerves.

“What do you mean?”

“One-word answers? Really?”

“I don’t know what else to say!”

“Theo, this is your entire life. Just walk me through a day, any preseason day. How you train, what you drink or eat, or literally anything.” I was begging at this point, but I wasn’t above it because this was a job I couldn’t believe anyone had given me, and I would not let Theo ruin that.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath. “Fine, okay go again.”

I hit play again and we reset.

“How’s the preseason been going so far? Walk us through your routine.”

“The gym, a simulator session and—depending on what part of the season we are in—testing and practice, then rinse and repeat.”

I nodded. It wasn’t great, but it was something.

“How many hours do you put into the sim before any particular race?”

“Between five and eight hours unless we’re stuck on something,” he said, and I nodded as if to say ‘Keep going!’ He cleared his throat and continued, “One time I spent nearly fourteen hours on the simulator before a race after we had a total fuck up on the free practice.”

“Maybe don’t curse?” I said, cringing. Evan had warned me that Theo hated media and did little to none, preferring to take the fines instead. He was also fined constantly for cursing on the radio and in the rare interviews he did attend.

“Fuck, sorry,” he cursed and apologized in one fell swoop, then scratched the back of his head. “Do we need to start over?” he asked.

“No, just repeat it. I’ll cut it where I need for it to work,” I explained.

Theo drummed his fingers on the table, and I caught a glimpse of tattoo lines along the bottom of his thumb. He pulled his hand back down before I could make out what they were and repeated the same response, this time without cursing. I wondered what his tattoos were now. He had always talked about wanting them. On his opposite arm, what looked like roots peaked out of his blue long-sleeve shirt. Funny that he was worried about my layers when he himself was wearing them too. Although, I guess he didn’t have a choice when uniform was involved.

As the interview went on, I could tell Theo was trying, but his answers slowly dwindled back to one word.

“Any particular focus points when you’re mentally prepping?”

He shrugged. “To stay focused.” I could feel the tension radiating off him. His shoulders were rigid. I knew the brief pleasant Theo was on his way out, replaced with this guarded one. It was interesting to watch. More people were walking around now, the paddock getting busier as the time ticked on, and the more people, the more Theo’s walls built back up, brick by brick.

When he glanced at me throughout the interview, it felt like the world tilted, and my own focus was waning.

“Do you find any part of preseason particularly challenging?” I asked, keeping my tone casual.

“Every part is challenging, Maisey.”

The sound of my name from his lips made my chest clench. His answers were too short, so I reached over, stopping everything again. “Do you need a break?”

“No.”

“Okay, just this last question. I really think this one is important. A look into the routine will make people feel like they know you more.”

“The whole parasocial thing is kinda weird,” he said, looking at the sky.

“Between?”

“Fans and drivers. They watch those documentaries and think they know us.”

“You do know you’re famous right? That comes with the gig.” I was trying to be patient. But it was so different with Theo. Other drivers were fueled by their fans; it was a huge part of being a pro athlete. And I knew Theo wasn’t saying he wasn’t grateful for where he was, but if he said this on camera, it would not come off well at all.

“Yeah, sure. But—” He paused.