Page 8 of You, Me, and Lucky Number 13

Of course not. Though I did hope he’d grow a pair and apologize for being the worst engineer I’ve had in my career. I guess both of us were imagining we were better people.

“Listen, Gene. I did what you asked me to do. I tried to diffuse the situation and smooth things over with a plate of steak and potatoes, but?—”

“He had already quit!”

I wink. “Semantics.”

As if he feels a migraine is coming on, Gene massages his temples. “You know, you could try apologizing every once in a while.”

I could, but I rather not. I definitely didn’t have anything to apologize for with Lyle.

“You don’t have to be a dick all the time.”

Now, he’s just challenging me.

“I can’t help it if people are stupid, Gene. You and I both know that in our line of work, stupid gets me killed. I did the team a favor.”

To be a great race engineer, you need to be able to anticipate your driver’s every move. You have to know them, be in sync with them, trust them.

These Lyles they keep sending my way are supposed to be the best in the business, but turns out, they are the only ones who think so.

“I need someone who knows what the fuck they’re doing,” I say. “And so far, that number remains at zero.”

“Listen, man, Robert is getting really tired of having to find replacement engineers. Especially with this current losing streak you’re on.”

Rage simmers under my skin at the wordlosing. “It’s these fucking idiots that you keep sending me! Find me someone better!”

“I have! Eight, to be exact. And you lost while using all eight of them.”

That’s because they all sucked.

“You’ve got to help me out here, Cole.”

“I am helping you out. I’m getting rid of the trash you keep sending my way. Send me someone who understands the pressure, the intensity, the absolute need for perfection that comes with being a driver at this level.”

Gene adjusts himself in the chair, the leather creaking under his weight. “I know you’re frustrated, Cole. It’s hard to keep putting your trust in people when they keep failing you. But you’ve gotta give them a chance, you know?”

My voice is raw with frustration. “I’m not a revolving door, Gene. Give me someone who can handle the pressure.”Handle me.

“All right. But I can’t do this alone, Cole. You’ve gotta meet me halfway.”

“Fine. I'll give the next one a chance. But if they don't measure up... you know what happens next.”

He flashes me a tired smile. “I know, Cole. I know.”

“You’ve been hexed, dude.”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Not this again. “I’m not hexed.” I flash Randy, my race strategist, an impatient look. “It’s just a dry spell.” I shake my head, sipping the tepid champagne in my hand. The bubbly nectar of victory tastes about as appealing to me as a swig of truck-stop toilet water.

“A dry spell that has lasted all race season?”

No matter how often Randy pitches this cursed idea, I refuse to accept it. “I don’t believe in luck,” I answer dryly. “Skill and hard work produce wins.”

Randy’s brows arch. “So, you don’t think your losing streak has anything to do with changing your number to thirteen?”

“Second place is not a losing streak, nor is the number thirteen unlucky.”

Randy flashes me a smirk that resembles someone who wants to get hit. “Then why change your car number? Why not keep the number forty-five that you’ve had for years?”

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