Page 73 of Prove Me Wrong
“Great.”
Julian hums. “No more pits after this. Straight to the end.”
“Where’s Stevens?”
“Behind you. Hoping to pull out in fourth.”
Nodding, I take a sip of water and wait for the signal to pull out. Shifting into gear, I drive out of the pits before gaining speed and sticking to the restricted pace.
“Carmichael is behind you. First position.”
My lips pull into a brief smile before passing the crash scene. Both cars have been moved away, but debris covers the pavement.
I keep my rhythm, moving with the track. Julian keeps me updated on everyone else behind me. It’s been a long time since I’ve driven in first place, and the feeling is unmatched. The track is full of the bottom pack—the stragglers—that I'm having to dodge while keeping my pace.
I keep first position for twenty laps, with Carmichael and Grimaldi slowly gaining on me with slipstreams and less traffic on the track.
“Five laps to go. Carmichael is point nine. Grimaldi is one point five. Those two are battling for second. You’ve got time.”
“They’re close, J.”
“Yeah, but you’ve got this,” he pushes.
Sweat coats my skin, mouth dry and eyes burning, I keep shifting and braking into the corners, not wanting to lose any speed. Those two are gaining on me slowly, and to win this, I can’t afford to make one little mistake or else it’ll cost me everything.
“Grimaldi is close to Carmichael. They’re backing off a bit. One point four now.”
“Stevens?”
“In fourth. Gaining on Carmichael and Grimaldi.”
Jaw clenching, I serve through a chicane, dying for some fresh air and water, before speeding down the straight.
“Three laps. Keep it up, Sterling. We’re looking good.”
“Don’t jinx this J,” I grunt, bracing for another turn. My abdomen muscles ache with how many times they’ve squeezed, calves starting to spasm, but I push through the pain. I don’t want to lose this position.
“Time?”
“Grimaldi in second. One point seven. Carmichael is two point one. Stevens is two point five. He’s gaining on Carmichael.”
“Good. Maybe first and third, then.”
“Double podium,” Julian says, and then cheers in my ear. “Stevens overtook.”
“Perfect.” I smile briefly before focusing on the track.
“Last lap. Keep the pace and we’ll be finishing first, Sterling, you absolute weapon.”
I sniff a laugh, focusing on my time and position. Gloves slipping on my hands from sweat, I cross the checkered flag first. The crowd erupts as I slow down, banging a hand on my wheel and grinning
“We did it!” I shout at Julian, who I can imagine is high fiving and hugging the team.
“Yeah, you did, Sterling. The best you have driven in a while.”
I shout again, droplets of sweat running down my skin. I just finished first.
Going around the track to celebrate, I pull the car into position and get out, jumping on the bonnet to wave at the growing crowd cheering for me. I miss this feeling, of having a loud crowd surrounding me, clapping and shouting, waving and taking photos as I grin and wave back. I do miss my glory days from when I started racing, but I would take my life now in a heartbeat, knowing that I have my baby girl waiting for me at home, along with her babysitter who I now can’t wait to see as well.
