Page 50 of Octane

“I have to go, I told Carissa I would meet her after the race.”

“Yeah, of course. I've got to go catch up with Nate, anyhow. But I’ll talk to you this week sometime?”

I nod to Jackson before making my way up to his owner’s box. I don’t want to see anyone right now. I just want to go home, shower, and sleep for the next week. I can’t skip out on them, though. Especially not Carissa.

* * *

Once I’mout of the shower and in my pajamas, I remember that Vic called me after the race—but I’d sent his call to voicemail. As much as I don’t want to talk about my performance, I can’t ignore him like that after everything he’s done for me.

Unable to find my cell phone, I pick up the landline. When I check for a dial tone, I realize that Daniel is speaking to someone. Before I have a chance to hang up, I hear Warren’s voice on the other end, my interest piqued.

“...I don’t care, Daniel. That was a lot of money to lose out on.”

I wonder what money they’re talking about.

“I don’t trust him, Father. He wants Sawyer. He’s trying to turn her against me. I hate the way he looks at her.”

I can hear the disgust in Daniel’s voice, and I know he’s talking about Jackson.

“Well, if you would have tightened her leash earlier in your relationship like I’d instructed you to, he wouldn’t be in your lives right now. You lost your control over her the moment she signed that contract. As usual, I’ll have to step in and do what you should have done in the first place.”

I inhale sharply, praying that they didn’t hear me.

I’ve never heard Warren speak about me in that way. I’ve always suspected he played a role in Daniel’s abrupt personality change in college after we moved in together, but I never would have dreamed it could have been to this extent. And I certainly never had any proof on the matter.

I remember trying to convince myself that Daniel was under a lot of pressure from his father, in a business sense, leading him to come home stressed out and on edge. It seems like the pressure Warren has been putting on his son stretches outside of the office as well.

That doesn’t change my opinion of Daniel, however. If anything, it makes me hate him even more. He could have chosen to treat me differently. He made a choice, and as usual, he chose himself over me.

“Your mother hasn’t worked one day since we got together. She barely leaves the house, and the last time she had a friend over was 1997. Why? Because I know how to control my woman.”

“Father—”

“Sawyer isn’t that interesting, and she doesn’t have much to offer. The only reason she worked for me is because Zachary begged me to give her a chance. That’s my fault, though. I never should have let our friendship dictate my decision. But now that you’ve wizened up and finally terminated her, that’s neither here nor there.”

His words gut me, and I lower myself to the carpet before my knees can give out.

“After her pathetic performance today, hopefully, she’ll finally realize that she won’t have a successful racing career either. We represent several of her top sponsors. I’m sure they won’t be excited to hear she came in dead last. One call from me and their contracts will be pulled by this time tomorrow. She won’t last long on the team, and Powell should be out of the way in no time.”

I can’t stop the tears from falling. I’m shocked. I’m angry. My already faltering confidence breaks a little more with each word that I overhear.

“As always, Father, you’re absolutely correct. Her performance today was abysmal at best. The sooner she realizes her future in racing is screeching to a halt, the better.”

I hang up the phone after that, and don’t hear the remainder of the conversation. How, after all this time, can Daniel's cruelty still shock me? Why did I think he was the only one against me? Now I know, with his father’s backing, he’ll be able to put a stop to my racing. Either I wait for them to take me down, or I do it of my own accord.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

SAWYER

Trying to open your eyes when they’re weighed down by grief is like trying to pick up a two-ton slab of cement with your eyelids. Sadly, I’ve had a lot of practice. When I finally manage to get them open, I see it’s still dark outside. I look at the clock on Daniel’s side of the bed.

5:30 a.m.

I don’t remember the last time I was up this early. Or up before Daniel, even. I lie in bed for a few minutes, thinking I’ll fall back to sleep, but my mind flashes back to the conversation between Daniel and Warren last night.

No.

I won’t let it replay in my mind. Getting out of bed, I pad into the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror. I look like I got socked in both eyes; they’re bright red and puffy. Splashing water on my face, I try to wake myself up.

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