Racer

Except he won’t be a stranger for long.

He’s on my team.

But I can’t help wonder that it might make me forget how much I miss David. I know it’s been long and I need to put myself out there, and maybe I have it all wrong. Maybe instead of trying to find a replacement of a relationship that meant so much to me, I should look for the opposite. I should not look for a replacement, simply embrace single Lana and sleep with whoever I want, live the single life proudly, knowing I’m the girl that has already found love and will always cherish it.

I don’t think anyone can ever compete with what I had with David. We knew each other since we were kids. He protected me, cared for me, he loved me. Sometimes I miss him so much my chest hurts, and I press my hand to it to try to quell the pain.

I try to forget it as I suck on a bottle of water and tip my cap down to shield me from the sun. I’ve already got too many freckles and I don’t want anymore.

“The Clarks are really strong this year,” Dad mutters as I come stand next to him, a warning.

“Are they not any year?” I roll my eyes.

“Is Clark himself still after your bones?” Drake asks from behind us.

“No!” I cry, glaring at him past my shoulder. “He just wants info. I’m not going to give it to him.” I frown, then I turn around and wade my way to pits as I watch the drivers head to their cars.

Racer and I make eye contact as he polishes his visor and as my brothers and the team get the car ready.

I keep bringing drinks to everyone, even offer one to Racer, which he declines with a look into my eyes and a shake of his head.

It makes me blush, for some reason, but I keep trying to help in any way I can. I suppose I need the activity to help calm my own nerves.

Once he’s got his helmet on, and his visor lowered and is settled and strapped down in the car, I leave pits as the motors turn on.

Brrrmmmm!!!!!

I can’t bear to watch. First time in the track for qualifying. First time in a Formula One car. This could be painful. I can’t watch.

I head over to take a seat next to my dad. My dad pats my hand. “Trust your gut.”

“My gut is knotted right now.”

He laughs.

I see the laughter reach all the way into his eyes and I ease.

“Clayton’s on the radio with him?”

“Yep.”

“Tell me when it’s over.”

I hear the wheels spinning—the car roars out of pits, and I am not sure I’ve ever heard Kelsey sound so angry and so fired-up.

I inhale, and then hear my dad inhale too. Before he says, looking at his chronometer, “Decent as fuck time.”

I open my eyes and look at Dad. I’m seeing something I recognize as hope in his eyes, and it makes my stomach knot up even more—this time with something similar to excitement.

I turn my head and watch as Kelsey speeds like a demon on Red Bull down the track.

“He’s a natural, Lainie baby,” Dad whispers, looking at me with pride.

“He’s so good, Dad,” I admit, something in my heart swelling in ways that it doesn’t even swell when I get complimented myself. “On my way to the US I kept praying for me to find someone like Seth. I didn’t—I found someone better. He was too rare to leave alone.”

People really have no idea how difficult it is to drive at 225 mph with a shit ton of G force pushing back at you. You need to be extremely fit to endure that for hours.

After the cars circle around and their times are adjusted and their cars are adjusted, qualifying is wrapped up with Clark in first, the Clark’s second driver in second,

“AND RACER TATE IS THIRD,” the announcers are saying. “QUALIFYING FOR P3, a great great comeback for HW Racing this year.”

When Racer pulls into pits and hops on the scale, I take note of his weight and notice he’s lost 10 lbs of body water in sweat. I hurry to bring him a bottle of Gatorade, coconut water, lemonade, or plain water, tucking them all in my arms so that he gets to pick.

“P3. Not fucking bad!!” I hear my brothers cheer, slapping each other. I hurry over as he climbs out of the car for his interview.

He grabs the first drink I offer, a Gatorade, and is attacked by the press before we even reach the motorhome.

“Racer Tate, you’re the year’s only rookie and are taking no prisoners, already you’ve set the internet ablaze with your talent. What’s the difference between racing out on the streets versus a track like this one?” the attractive reporter asks as she puts the microphone up to his lips.

“I get to hear whispers in my ear,” he grins, and Clayton laughs behind us.

“Is the horsepower too much …”

“Not too much. I like the power. It’s the walls I need to watch out for—not a lot of those off the track. Usually trees.”

Laughter.

“So when we asked for this interview and how on earth the team at HW Racing found you, Lana told us she found you … by accident, literally …”

I groan inside as the reporter continues,

“… Is she a good driver?”

“We’ll work on that,” Racer says gruffly, his dimple appearing as he winks at me and he takes my elbow with a little crackle in my skin as he leads me away.

“That’s Racer Tate,” the TV lady says to the camera as we walk away, “live from the F1 track in Australia.”

“I can’t believe I told them that,” I groan, brushing my fingers over the spot he touched.

He’s eyeing me speculatively, his blue eyes shining so bright under the sunlight, I can’t look away. “Lucky for you, you now have the best driver in the world at your disposal,” he growls.