AllFreeNovel
Share Us
They were going so fast, so few inches from the ground and so close to the driver next to them, it took some serious balls of steel. If I had my way, soon balls wouldn’t be needed at all.
I watched it all with bated breath—every pass, every takedown, every decision I heard over the radio. They pitted Rocco, but they took way too long. Ten-point-six seconds, nearly four seconds more than acceptable. Rocco fell back to seventh, and after they pitted Mickey, at a minorly better seven-point-eight seconds, the team came back looking dejected.
Hayes was on the airjack, and it wasn’t his fault, but I could still see the annoyance in his eyes. You wouldn’t know it, though, by the way he slapped shoulders and told his team they would be better next pit. He boosted them all up, and as Rocco climbed back up to sixth, then fifth, then fourth, I could see the determination to be better settle on their faces.
Another forty laps, and they pitted again a little early, getting Rocco out in seven-point-one seconds, which was pretty fucking good.
Fist pumping in the air, I hollered for Rocco to go. He slipped back out well, getting into a good position to hopefully eat the distance between himself and the race leader as they all pitted for the second time.
Mickey got shoved into the wall, spinning him out and putting the track on a yellow. “Dammit,” I breathed, but it happened. It had happened to at least three other drivers already today. A bunch of cars pitted under the yellow flag, and that would filter Rocco back up the front. Then he’d just have to keep the spot, for himself and for VANT.
Finally, we were down to the last five laps of the race, and Rocco was in an epic battle for one of the top three places. He was in a dogfight for first, but Powski was riding his ass like Mary on the way to Bethlehem.
Second. Third. Second again. First for a moment, before it was taken back on the second turn. I held my breath as they came up to the finish line, their speed on the straight hitting well over the two-twenties, and I couldn’t believe it.
“And Rocco Passero and VANT get a podium in their debut race! P2 for Passero and for VANT Racing.” The announcer’s voice boomed around the paddock, and I jumped to my feet.
“Yes! YES!” I bounced over to the closest stunned mechanic, wrapping my arms around him and jumping up and down. Hayes was down on the pit wall with the other mechanics, so this dude would have to do. “We did it! We podiumed on our first run!”
I spotted Mickey looking dejected in the corner, but that wasn’t allowed.
“Get over here, Mickey Macguire! You’re part of a podium team and you have to celebrate.” Pulling him up, I wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. “You should be so damn proud of yourself. You’ve achieved something today.”
“Choking out and crashing in the final moments of the race?” he asked sullenly.
Teenagers, man. “We both know Millward touched your rear tire, Mickey. It wasn’t your fault. It’s just racing—you know this in that big head of yours. Celebrate with your team, and then next race, we’re going to kick fucking ass! We’ll be one-two on that damn podium, you mark my words.”
That goofy grin I’d come to associate with Mickey finally lit up his face. “Yeah, okay.”
I grabbed his hand. “Let’s go and congratulate the team down in Victory Lane, you included. You did good, kid!”
We raced down to Victory Lane, where Rocco was in the second-place spot. I hopped the wall, stopping to congratulate Antony and Ari as they gave interviews to the press around them. Rocco was out of his car, talking to the trackside interviewer. I waited off at the side as he answered questions about the first disastrous pit, about climbing back up, about how it felt in comparison to Formula One.
As soon as he spotted me, though, he curled his finger at me, so I ran over and jumped into his arms. He kissed me hard on the lips, and I pulled back grinning. “P2, baby!”
He laughed, joy emanating from every inch of his face.
“I can’t see Powski and Millward of Team Beerberg kissing in celebration, ladies and gentlemen. Tally Palmer, reserve driver for VANT Racing,” the interviewer said, laughing.
I raised my hand in greeting at the cameraman, flushing a little, and moved back so they could finish the interview. Spotting Hayes, I went over and hugged him too. “You guys totally nailed that last pit stop,” I yelled over the sound of the crowd, kissing him as he spun me around.
A throat cleared behind me. “Excuse me. You must be the new Mrs. Passero.” I turned and met the disapproving features of an Italian guy in his late twenties, or maybe early thirties.
“Uh, Tally Palmer-Passero. It’s nice to meet you.” I put out my hand to shake, mostly out of instinct.
The guy raised a single eyebrow. “Rafa Passero. Your brother-in-law.”
A brother-in-law who’d just seen me kissing a man who wasn’t his brother. Fuck.
FORTY-TWO
ROCCO
Tally was giving me the silent treatment, and I probably deserved it. Although I’d known Rafa was coming to my debut race, with the court case and the testing—and let’s be honest, the brain-melting sex—it had kind of slipped my mind.
I definitely hadn’t mentioned that I was sharing my wife with two other guys to Rafa. That wasn’t something my extremely traditional family would approve of.
We sat around in the hotel restaurant awkwardly—except Hayes, who’d feigned being tired and volunteered to take Bobbi-June upstairs and put her down to sleep. While I wanted to curse him for his cowardice, if I’d had the option, I also would have run for the hills.
