Page 113 of Out of Control

Rossi

“Alec?” I say through gritted teeth.

It’s hot.

The race has been one caution and restart after another.

Everyone’s on pace, and it’s been dog fight after fucking dog fight with all of us in each other’s dirty air, struggling to gain a position and stay there.

Cruz is in front of me.

Riggs is behind me, coming in fast and full of momentum.

Two laps are left.

“Alec?” I ask again. “Free to fight or no?”

I repeat the question I’ve rarely asked in my career. The checkered flag is within my sights. My car’s running at full capacity to push harder, to overtake Cruz and win the race. It would still be a one-two finish for Gravitas if I placed first.

And yet . . . I ask the fucking question no driver wants to ask.

“Defend, Rossi. Defend.”

I take those three words like a hit on the chin. They sting and suck but fuck if I’m letting Spencer Riggs in between us.

“I’ve never been a fan of red anyway,” I say, referring to the Moretti team color.

And I fucking defend my ass off.

Each corner. Every chicane. I try to make my car seem larger in the space and anticipate any lane I think Riggs might try to take.

It’s a brutal fight. He moves, I move. He hesitates, I try to capitalize on it.

All while trying not to slow us both down so that Cruz has more time to gain.

Riggs tries his hardest to get a wheel in each turn, to use DRS to his advantage, to try a last-ditch attempt on the final straight, but I hold him off.

“Fuck, yeah!” Alec yells into my earpiece as every part of my body that was tight with tension eases. I feel like I can finally breathe. “Great teamwork, Rossi. Mega driving right there.”

I’ve had much more satisfying podiums. Ones where I’ve taken the overall win. Ones where I did anything possible to get there.

But for some reason, this one hits me hard.

My chest constricts but I blink back the damn tears and pull into the number two spot on the start/finish line.

I climb out of my car to the cheer of the crowd. I stand on its hood for a second and breathe it all in before I jump off and am immediately grabbed into a ferocious hug by Cruz.

“Thanks for having my back. This win is because of you,” he says in my ear before he’s whisked away by his crew and me by my crew.

But I’m searching for her in the crowd. Those amber eyes and that huge smile and it feels that much more complete once I see her.

Maybe one of these days I’ll be able to kiss her when I win.

Maybe . . .

But I do see my parents. And I’m overcome with emotion yet again. We stare at each other for a beat as my babbo raises a fist in celebration before putting an arm around my mamma and hugging her to him.

So strange to see them here.