Page 14 of Rivals

My alarm goes off earlier than normal. At first, I have the urge to silence it, but then I remember I need to be at the track early today because we are going to get our press schedule. This was the part of being a professional driver that I had expected to hate my first year. However, I learned pretty quickly that it’s not that bad. You just need to smile and nod at the right time. Memorize scripts with what to say and then say things at the right time. I learned to act like the camera was just another person that I’m talking to in the crowd. The moment you allow the camera to become something bigger it will own you. You have to play it off like it’s no big deal.

Those words keep filling my mind all morning, no matter what I’m doing. Those were the words of advice that Chris gave me right before we walked on stage to announce some winner at some award show. I can’t even remember the name or the award, but I remember my hand shaking and my body being covered in sweat. I was a nervous wreck. I just knew I was going to lose my food at any moment, and I was terrified it was going to be on the stage in front of the crowd and camera. It would haunt me for my entire career, but then Chris came up. He took one look at me and laughed to himself mostly. He patted my back and told me to calm down then explained how he saw the camera when it was sitting in front of him. Ever since then, I run those words through my head before any press situation, I have to be in.

Last year was rough, though. I was hearing his words but feeling his absence. From the moment I had signed that line on the Revv-It contract he had been by my side. We went to every race together, every event, every press junket. We showed our united front as teammates. Last year I was alone. The questions at the beginning of the season we’re so hard. I couldn’t run from them. I had to act as if I wasn’t haunted by the memories of the wreck that took Chris’ life on the track that day. I managed and to the world I seemed like I had everything together but, I was falling apart.

This year, however, I will have Sutton by my side. The gorgeous girl who the camera will love. Nothing will phase her. With looks like hers I’m sure she is used to being the center of attention. Hell, she’ll probably do anything to get it. It’s obvious that she was made for the press, fame and limelight. Most drivers cringe at the idea of it. We just want to drive, but we have to deal with all the other crap in order to get to the track, but Sutton will be a pro at this.

I see her car sitting in the parking lot as I pull up to the racetrack. My mood instantly goes downhill even though I don’t know why. I have no reason to dislike Sutton. She’s done nothing to me really. It’s just the idea of her, the threat of her that gets to me. I’ve never had to second guess myself once I was behind the wheel of a car, but ever since that wreck it seems like that’s all I do. I lost what Tucker used to call my natural ability. Sutton seems to have it though and that’s what frustrates me. I should be on the top of the leaderboard. I should have had a winning season. She should be scared of me on the track but instead I see the little flashes of pity in her eyes when she looks at me and it pisses me off.

As I reach the gate Patrick waves at me. I give him the best smile I can muster and wave. “Good morning Patrick, how are you doing today?” I ask.

“Real good Mr. McCall. How are you?”

I shake my head. Patrick is like that grandfather that you never had. “Patrick, I’ve told you how many times to call me Rathe, please and I’m well, thank you for asking.” He nods his head at my request, yet I know tomorrow as I approach, he’ll once again refer to me as Mr. McCall and it drives me crazy. As I look through the glass windows, he sits behind I notice a large piece of apple pie. “I didn’t know you liked apple pie.”

Patrick smiles and nods his head. “Yes sir, it’s my favorite. Miss Sutton brings me a piece almost every day.”

That really shouldn’t rub me the wrong way, but it does. It’s ridiculous. “Well, my mom makes the best apple pie in the world. Next time she makes some I’ll grab you some slices.”

“That’s not necessary Mr. McCall,” Patrick tells me. I give him a stern look and he chuckles. “Rathe.”

I laugh. “Well, if apple is your favorite then it’s totally necessary.” Patrick finally nods. “Well, I better get in there. We get to find out our press schedules today.”

“Least favorite part of the job?”

“Always has been, always will be, but it comes with the territory, so I have to embrace it to some extent. You have a good day Patrick,” I tell him, as I wave goodbye to him.

Patrick smiles and waves back. “You too, Rathe.”

The elevator music plays soft and low as I ride up to the next floor of the building. Considering how much I dislike elevators I should have just taken the stairs, but knowing that Sutton is already here makes me feel like I’m running late. I’m not, but I feel it. As I exit the elevator I’m greeted by a few employees. I don’t remember their names from the brief time I’ve met them, but I say hello. When I reach the all glass conference room, I see Mr. Wilson, Tucker and Sutton sitting around the table laughing. I take a deep breath and attempt to remind myself that Sutton is my teammate and I have no reason to dislike her.

As I enter all three sets of eyes turn to find me. “Good morning Rathe,” Mr. Wilson calls out to me.

“Good morning Mr. Wilson. Tucker, Sutton,” I tell them, with a nod of my head as I move towards a seat across from them where a stack of papers is lying in front of. “How is everyone?”

“We’re well and early apparently. Since everyone is here should we go ahead and start?” Mr. Wilson asks no one in particular. We nod and then he opens his packet of paperwork. I do the same and I notice a lot of the same press stuff from the last couple of seasons along with a few new ones. I chance a glance at Sutton and see that her blue gray eyes are wide and wild. She looks like a baby deer in headlights. Part of me feels for her because I remember the first time, I saw this packet. My look was probably similar to that. Chris’ words float back into my mind, but I don’t say anything. Over the next hour we go over our schedule. Between press, charity functions, sponsor events and races, Sutton and I are going to be incredibly busy.

As soon as Mr. Wilson dismisses us Sutton jumps up. I shouldn’t take notice of how her jeans mold to her every curve. Or, how her worn band t-shirt looks like perfection on her without making her look like she doesn’t care. Her long chocolate brown hair is down and curled today. The shine of it glistens under the lights above. It looks so soft and a part of me itches to reach out and run my fingers through her hair just to see if it’s as soft as it looks. I watch as she rushes from the conference room. My blood pumps in overtime and I have to fight my overactive imagination before I get carried away.

Sutton seemed worried and it keeps hanging around in the back of my mind, making me feel bad for her, but really, she has nothing to worry about. She’ll be a natural. I’m the one who has to worry about her taking my spot. It’s at this moment that I decide I’m going to have to practice double time to get back to where I was if I want to stay on top.

Fifteen

Sutton

I moved so quickly that I’m dizzy as hell now or maybe it’s because this schedule in my hands feels like the weight of the world. Either way if I make it out to the elevator, I’ll be lucky. I step slowly and try to take in tiny breaths through my mouth. I remember reading somewhere that helps nausea which I’m starting to feel thanks to the constant spinning of the room. I was never one of those kids who was a fan of merry-go-rounds or roller coasters. I love fast cars, but everything else I like at a nice and normal speed. I’m so zoned out that I don’t even hear him approach from behind me until I smell his woodsy cologne. It should be an annoying scent. I mean, who smells like the woods in the middle of the damn city but on Rathe, well, let’s face it the scent is kind of intoxicating.

“Well, I think you might have high tailed it out of that conference room faster than you race around that track.” I don’t respond. I think I’m in shock with my building anxiety. “What, cats got your tongue?” I can hear the irritation lurking in his tone. He’s trying to get a reaction out of me and I’m not giving it to him. His smirk is in place, eyes guarded when I turn my head to look up at him. I don’t know what he sees. I can only imagine what a mess I am right now but whatever he’s seeing causes his facade to falter. “Hey...are you alright?” I just nod my head, numbly. My tongue feels like cotton in my mouth and there’s a lump in my throat I can barely breathe around, let alone talk with. His eyes swim with worry. “Sutton, you need to speak.” He reaches out, his large hands grip my biceps, trying to pull me back into the now but I’m not sure I can find it. “Do I need to call for help?” his voice shows a hint of panic, and I manage to shake my head no. His face shows a bit of relief. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?” I open my mouth, but it’s just too dry to speak so I end up closing it again. “Okay, come on chatterbox.” Rathe pulls me into the elevator and we head back down. The ride down only takes a couple of seconds really, but it feels like hours in the tight space. When the doors open, Rathe grabs my hand and pulls me down the hallway before taking the left and heading down to his room. I’m sure there’s a better term for this area but I haven’t learned it, yet. Basically, it’s like a dressing room for us, we each have one and each is filled with certain things we like to have on hand. Rathe unlocks his door and ushers me inside.

I try to take it in because it’s so different from mine. The walls are painted a beautiful and soothing ocean blue color. The furniture is dark gray and oversized. The kind of furniture that you know you’ll just sink down into the moment your bum hits the seat. Suddenly, I feel incredibly tired. As if he can read my mind, Rathe leads me over to the couch and nudges my shoulders with his hands until I sit down. There’s a large TV mounted onto the wall in front of me with a huge stereo system underneath that. There’s a guitar in the corner of the room, sitting on the stand. It’s beautiful but something that’s definitely been used before. I watch as he opens the minifridge and pulls a bottle of water from it before he crosses the room and hands it to me. I take it, thankful for the moisture and as soon as it hits my tongue it feels like all my prayers have been answered.

“Thanks,” I mumble quietly. My throat is still scratchy.

Rathe smirks. “She does speak!”

I glare at him which causes him to chuckle which then leads my toes to attempt to curl inside their Converse. It’s ridiculous but this man causes some strange reactions within me. “I speak just fine.”

“I beg to differ darlin’. I mean, you couldn’t say a damn word a few minutes ago upstairs but who knows maybe that’s just the effect I have on you,” he tells me with a wink.

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