Page 127 of Black Flag

I knew that. I put myown emotions aside and tried for my team who were counting on me today.

Here’s the thing aboutbeing a professional athlete—everyone wants a piece of you.It doesn’t matter if you’re having a bad day or dealing with your ownshit, they regard you as public property, with an obligation to serve, toentertain, to yield to others.Whether it is your teammates, opponents, reporters, fans,agents, or publicists, we are flooded with obligations and forced to treadwater, hoping like hell we don’t tire ourselves out and drown.

Defeat was not anoption for a guy like me. Not for any professional athlete. As a race cardriver, we don’t back away when inches from another car at two hundred milesper hour. We’re not easily intimidated. We don’t flinch, hesitate, give up, andwe certainly don’t surrender. Not at the racetrack anyway.It is the only option. Otherwise, we wouldn’t race and put our lives indanger. No sane person would.

Even though defeat is not an option, our bodies still respond toimpulses. When we’re cold, we shiver. When we’re hot, we sweat. In response tofear or excitement, our pulse races, our breath quickens. We can try to avoidgiving in to these impulses, but eventually, our body acknowledges thesituation and acts quickly to restore equilibrium. It is the only naturalreaction.

Similar to the human body’s reaction to restore regularity in thepresence of various stimuli, I gave in to Sway, the only woman who can make meshiver and perspire at the same time, the only woman who makes my heart beatquickly and my breathing increase.

It was the most natural reaction for me at the time.

And when I finally did give in, admit defeat, I forgot why I fought itin the first place, why I held on so strongly for so long, telling myself thatthere was nothing more than physical attraction between us.

I couldn’t have been more wrong and it taught me a valuable lesson: Thatamidst life’s stimuli and circumstances, and all of the demands and obligationsthrust upon me in the spotlight, there is one impulse that I could control.After the heat of the moment has cooled, deadly sins have been exemplified, andmy body had physically adjusted to everything that had occurred, I couldcontrol how I redeemed myself.I had that power.

“Hey, it’s time.” Bobbystuck his head inside the motor coach. “We have to get to the...” one look in my direction and his voicetrailed off. “What happened to him?”

With as much strengthas I could gather, I rose to my feet.

I had an obligation.A commitment.And I had a choice to make.

Walking beside Tate andBobby we made our way inside the media center for the drivers meeting. I stillhadn’t spoken to either one of them but they understood.

Andy and Paul walked upto us and sat down in front. Everyone was giving me concerned sympatheticglances. You know the look, the one that said, “I think he’s gone off the deepend but we understand why.”

I wanted to say, “Yeah,well, I have people.” I was out of fucking control and I knew it.

Patrick stood at thepodium beside Lisa; Gordon was standing off to the side sporting a new fat lipand wiping blood from his nose trying to appear as if nothing was wrong. Ishook my head in disbelief as Mason came to sit next to me.

I looked over at him inconfusion. They only people allowed in the drivers meeting were crew chiefs,drivers and owners.

“Yeah so...” he adjusted the fit of his Simplexhat. “I’m going be your crew chief today.”

I let out a small chuckle.“Let me guess...jail?”

“Yep,” Mason let out alaugh of his own shifting to get comfortable in the metal chair.

Straightening his tie,Patrick cleared his throat, drawing the crowd’s attention to him. “Our firstorder of business today is to announce that Gordon Reynolds will be steppingdown as Director of Competition effective immediately.” He said glancing at thecrowd. “Lisa Westin will take over intermediately until a permanent replacementis announced next week in Dover.”

That was a change Ididn’t see coming. At least maybe now I could make it on and off pit roadwithout a speeding penalty. But then again, speeding penalties were the leastof my worries right now.

After the announcementabout Gordon, I couldn’t tell you what they said during the drivers meetingother than the competition yellow after fifty laps because of yesterday’s rain.When it rained, it washed away all the rubber built up on the track. In turn,NASCAR would usually allow what they called the “Competition Yellow” to allow teamsto make necessary changes to their cars due to undetermined track conditions.

Walking through thecrowd, paddock and taking the golf cart to the motor coach seemed robotic.

“How exactly is thisgoing to work?” Spencer asked. “I mean, look at him? He hasn’t eaten anythingtoday or yesterday. We can barely get him to drink fucking water! How’s hesupposed to spend four hours in a car that reaches temperatures close to ahundred and twenty degrees?”

“What are we supposedto do?” Alley and Aiden said together. “We don’t have a replacement driver.”

Apparently curled up onthe floor wasn’t what they wanted. At least I had my racing suit on. I wantedto drown in my own misery, the images just repeated in my brain on an endlessloop. I was drowning, treading was no longer possible. And though I wanted todrown, it was impossible with Spencer and Aiden bugging the fuck out of me.

“This isn’t good...oh man...” Mason walked in, with the same concern as everyone else.“What are we going to do? How long has he been laying there?”

“A while,” Alleymuttered handing me another bottle ofGatorade, trying to get me tohydrate myself.

Shaking my head, Ipushed it away. I hadn’t eaten or drank anything since before the race yesterday.I couldn’t. It was disgusting how consumed I was with this but I appalledmyself even.

“Maybe we should callJustin as a backup driver?” Aiden suggested. “He’s a NASCAR sanctioned driver.”

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