Page 17 of Octane

He looks at me with mock irritation. At least I think that’s what it is. I try to think of something to say to explain why I haven’t been able to meet up with him, but I can’t. How do you tell someone you’re stuck in a horrible relationship, and meeting up with another guy foranyreason would cause your boyfriend to fly into a jealous rage?

“I’m joking, Sawyer. It’s fine,” he chuckles.

As he walks to the back of the garage and collects a racing suit and helmet from one of the workbenches, I make my decision. If I can endure a life with Daniel, then I can endure anything. He’s worse than all of these guys put together. Besides, I’m not doing this for anyone but myself. If I quit, the only person who will be let down is me. They would rejoice, and I refuse to give anyone that kind of satisfaction.

“Thank you.”

As he walks toward me with my gear in his hands, the fog clears from my mind, and I can feel a smile form on my face. For the past month, I’ve known that I’m an official driver. But when he places the racing suit in my hands, holding on to something so tangible makes it feel even more so. It takes everything in me not to squeal with delight like a child.

“If you think that’s exciting, come with me.”

I follow Jackson down the line of cars parked along Pit Road. We pass the cars belonging to the other members of my team, each with their own number and sponsors’ logos covering their vehicle. The last car in the line is mine.

Its indigo body color is absolutely beautiful. The logos from my various sponsors pop out all over the place: the hood, the doors, the windows. My mind is blown, and it feels like all of my breath has been sucked out of me.

Is this real life?

That’s when I notice the car number.

3

“Number three?” I question with surprise in my voice, thinking about the fact that I just told him it was my favorite number.

“I wish I could take credit for that, but it’s just a coincidence.”

Meant to be… maybe it’s a sign that I’m meant to be here.

My pit crew is working to make sure they tune every inch of my car up, so it’s working perfectly and safe to drive.

“Sawyer, this is Joe McIvey, your Pit Chief.”

The older man with salt and pepper hair extends his hand out to me.

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you,” I tell Joe as I shake his grease-stained hand.

“The pleasure is all mine. Looking forward to working with you this season.”

I smile genuinely at him.

Why couldn’t the rest of the team be this welcoming?

I walk a slow lap around my car, taking the sight of it all in. Reaching out, I run my hand over the top of the door frame, feeling the raised lettering under my fingertips. It’s so surreal.Mysignature onmyrace car.

“This is incredible,” I marvel.

“It’s going to be a great season, Sawyer. It will be a lot of hard work. I’m sure there will be some bumps along the way, but, just so you know, I believe in you.”

I thought nothing could tear my attention away from my car until Jackson uttered those words. Maybe it’s seeing my car and the realization that this is actually happening. Or maybe it’s because when I look at Jackson now, I no longer see that Penthouse Prick from the elevator or the asshole from the garage.

I see my future in him. He’s the one who sought me out once he saw my tapes. He’s the one who believed in me when almost no one else did. I see genuine enthusiasm when he speaks to me about my racing, and I believe every word that he’s saying.

“Thank you, Jackson. You really have no idea what it means to me to hear you say that.”

“Good. I’m glad,” he offers, his eyes connecting with mine for longer than I should like.

Don’t let him look at you like that. And stop liking it so much. What would Daniel think?

I’m the first to look away, and I clear my throat as I try to clear my head.

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