Page 24 of Trip

“This is bullshit!” I heard Crane square off with Trip as I stopped just outside the garage. Leaning against the wall, I stood off to the side and watched the fireworks. “I’m the lead mechanic. No one touches that engine but me unless I say so.”

“Back off, Crane,” another voice rang out, sharp and commanding. Ansel stepped into view, his face a mixture of irritation and authority. “You might be the lead mechanic, but I run things here, and you don’t get to bark orders like you’re king of the garage.”

Crane bristled, his face turning an angry shade of red. “I’ve been here long enough to know what I’m doing. All I’m asking for is respect for the chain of command!”

“Respect is earned,” Ansel fired back, his voice unwavering. “And from what I’ve seen this morning, you’ve got a long way to go.”

The tension in the air crackled like a live wire. I took a slow sip of my coffee, amused at the show playing out in front of me. Crane’s shoulders were taut, his hands curled into fists at his sides, but he didn’t take a swing. Instead, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the garage, muttering curses under his breath.

“Drama already, and it’s not even 9 a.m.,” I called out, stepping into the garage.

Ansel turned toward me, his expression softening slightly.

“You’d think this place was a soap opera,” he muttered, shaking his head as he looked at his watch. “You’re late.”

“I’m the driver.” I grinned. “I’m never late.”

Ansel glared at me. I knew he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. Instead, he turned and faced my pit crew. “Listen up, everyone. As you can see, we have some unfamiliar faces around here today. I want to introduce you to your new crew chief, Trip Hall.”

The crew murmured as the newcomers watched from the other side of the garage.

“Trip isn’t new to the track. He grew up in the circuit. He knows everything there is to know about the cars and what goes on behind the scenes. As you all know, we’ve had some setbacks, and Trip’s here to get everything back on track. I’ve given him my full support,” Ansel said, taking a step back, giving Trip the floor. “Trip.”

As Trip stepped forward, he nodded at Ansel before turning to the crew. “All of you are fired.”

“What?!” I shouted, marching toward the motherfucker. “You can’t fire my entire pit crew!”

Trip raised a hand to silence the uproar that followed his announcement. His face was stony, his stance firm, and for a moment, I could see why Ansel had vouched for him—despite wanting to punch him square in the jaw. My crew’s murmur of disbelief grew louder, and I caught sight of Jake, my spotter, looking like someone had just told him his dog had died.

“Hold up,” I said, stepping between Trip and the crew. “I’m not going to stand here and let you bulldoze my team without a damn good reason.”

Trip didn’t flinch. “You want a reason? Fine. Your pit crew has been costing this team race after race. Mistakes, delays, bad calls. I’m here to clean house, and that starts with them.”

A wave of indignation rippled through the group. Jake’s jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the wrench in his hand. “That’s bull—”

“Jake,” I interrupted sharply, shooting him a look. The last thing we needed was more fuel on this fire. “Trip, don’t do this. These are good, honest, hard-working men.”

Trip smirked, crossed his arms over his chest, and said, “If you want to keep driving, you’ll let me do my job.”

Chapter Ten

Trip

“Gotta say, brother. Ansel sure knows how to stir up a hornet’s nest,” Gunner said as we all listened to C.C. rip into Ansel’s ass. The second her old crew left, she marched her cute little ass into Ansel’s office and started reading him from the bible. The woman gave no quarter. She was relentless and determined to make Ansel know she wasn’t happy.

“It was his idea. I just implemented it,” I said, then added, “Stayed up last night and watched her last three races. She should have won. Instead, she didn’t finish two and came in tenth on the last one. Her crew was fucking off instead of doing their jobs.”

“She doesn’t see it that way,” Enigma commented.

I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, as the tension in the garage buzzed like a live wire and said, “She’s the driver. Her job is to drive the car. But she can’t do her job if her crew isn’t pulling their weight. Racing isn’t just about who’s the fastest driver. There is a lot that goes into winning a race and it starts with a reliable pit crew.”

But Gunner was right about one thing. Ansel had a knack for walking into a room and igniting chaos like a match struck in a dry field. But whether he was right was another matter entirely.

C.C.’s voice carried through the walls, sharp and unyielding, her frustration spilling into every syllable. Ansel, to his credit, wasn’t backing down, but it was clear he was outmatched. The crew might not have been perfect, but they were loyal, and inracing, loyalty often counted for more than raw skill. Still, loyalty wouldn’t win races if the equipment failed, if the timing was off, or if egos got in the way of precision.

“He’s not wrong, though,” Enigma said finally, his tone measured. “If her crew is slipping, it’s her career on the line.”

“Yeah, but the way Ansel’s going about it?” Gunner shook his head. “How are we going to find out who sabotaging the engines now?”

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