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Staying honest makes it easier to follow conversation threads. I also want Sarah to respond to the real me as much as possible. My secret identity led me to call her for help, which is a significant first step in her new job career. What is more meaningful than helping me?
“Is Bert around?” I ask Joey, who is leaning against one side of the hauler. The team owner rarely arrives until race day, but Derek mentioned a pit crew member seeing him. “Do you know why he is here?”
Joey sips from his can of seltzer water. I don’t get it. The stuff tastes like a watermelon and a tin can hugged. It’s one ofthose side hugs where you barely even touch. The brand isn’t even one of our sponsors.
“He’s up there,” Joey indicates the hauler behind him. “He’s talking with the big boss man. It got loud, but not loud enough to understand what he was saying.”
I lean towards the truck but hear only silence. “Bert gets loud. Big personalities can sometimes overflow to the people around them.”
Robert Deere has spent his entire career in motorsports, winning two Cup championships nearly thirty years ago. After that, his career switched from driver to owner, and he’s as much an institution as Tom Rivers, Sarah’s father.
“He bear-hugged me back in Atlanta.” Joey finished sixth, not bad for a rookie’s second race. “You’ve been having a tough season so far, haven’t you?” he asks, the question sounding deliberate. The kid wants to irritate me.
I flash a smile, the one that led Boone Rivers to call me surfer boy. “The season has barely started. There’s a lot of racing, a ton of laps, and more points than you can count. You need to manage it all. I’ll bet your pit chief has taught you a lot.”
You pathetic dick.
“You’re right,” Joey says. His cheeks turn pink. “The points system is tough to understand. Well, I’m sure the season will improve. Like you say, a lot of racing remains.”
Joey tosses his empty can on the ground and leaves.
What the fuck was that? The kid’s confidence has always been over the top, but it hasn’t approached complete asshole territory until now.
I enter the hauler, grateful for the sudden blast of cold air hitting me. Bert notices and beckons me to take the office chair next to him. He usually has a ruddy complexion, but today, hereminds me of a sweating tomato. The stains on his armpits are incredibly obvious.
“Look here, Pierce, this whole thing is damn foolishness.” Bert’s face turns from red to crimson. “Well, give it more thought, and you’ll see I’m right. Foolishness will lead you head first into the deep end of a rocky river. It might be nice and cool, but your head will get smashed in.”
Is that made up? It sounds made up.
Pierce Boylan is the other half ofBP Racing. He owns an extensive network of car dealerships, a couple of restaurant chains, part of a tech company, and more. Motorsports is supposed to be his passion project. He shows up every few races to mix with other notable guests and monitor our performance.
Their conversation ends, and Bert slams his phone on the desk. He leans back, resting his head in his hands. It doesn’t help the sweat stains.
“That was heated,” I say. It’s possible he’ll share some gossip.
No such luck. Bert waves his hand. “Strong personalities lead to strong words.”
That is also made up.
“So true,” I lie and smile big. “It’s good to see you out here early. Is there any special reason?”
“Nothing special, Jake. I miss driving sometimes, do you know that? You’ll feel the same when it’s your turn. You need a new purpose once your racing days are done, or you’ll fade away.” Bert’s face creeps back into its usual pink tones the longer he talks. “I became an owner, while some drivers never visit another race track. Don’t do that, Jake. When your time comes, find something, will you?”
“Sure. Absolutely,” I say because I’m unsure of the correctresponse. His statement is depressing. “You’ll be here a long time, Bert. You’re one of the greats.”
He sighs. “I’m sure you’re right. Now, what can I do for you?”
“Nothing at all. I heard you’re here, and I wanted to personally welcome you to Phoenix, known for its dry heat.”
Bert visibly relaxes. “That it is. We need another fan in here.”
I say goodbye and leave. The visit was a complete bust. This season is the end of my contract. Sarah promised to help with that and my other ambitions. I believe her, but I also know it won’t be easy. There’s no need to panic, but talk about my contract has been strangely quiet.
First, a rookie tried to give me performance anxiety, and now my boss wants to leave me dangling in the wind. Worse, his relief when I demurred was undeniable. We’ve been together my entire career, and he’s always been honest with me. Bert was also a great support when my family needed it, a favor I can never repay.
Am I really that bad?
Fuck no. Rainbows out of my ass.
