Page 52 of Racing Hearts
I exhaled once, slow and controlled. My eyes flicked toward Georgia’s car ahead of me. She wasn’t going to hand this to me, and I didn’t want her to. I was going toearnthis win. She might have had compassion for me this morning, but she was fighting for dominance in the World Driver’s Championship.
The five lights blinked out.
Unsurprisingly, Georgia had gotten an excellent start, and for the first quarter of the race, we stayed in position as we slowly pulled away from the other drivers. Even though Georgia drove like she had a rocket ship underneath her, as each lap passed, her tires were starting to give out, and surprisingly, I was starting to gain on her.
Tire management had never been either of the Dubois twins’ specialty.
Just as I was starting to feel comfortable in my pace, dust exploded in front of me.
“Shit!” I cursed, jerking the wheel slightly as Georgia’s car spun out ahead, a wild 360 that kicked up dirt and debris. By some miracle, she corrected and kept going, but it was enough. Enough for me to slip past.
How close was third place behind me? What if he didn’t see her?
My heart panicked, quickly checking my mirrors. In a split second, Georgia was back in the race, her car quickly accelerating, attempting to regain her position.
I hit the radio button. “All okay with Georgia?”
“Yes,” my engineer replied calmly. “Head down. Only thirteen laps to go.”
While I knew Georgia would be furious with her mistake, this had given me the opportunity to get out in front of her. For the first time all season, this was my race tolose, and as my dad liked to say, “They don’t ask how you won, just if you won it.”
Lap after lap, Georgia gained on me, but I fiercely held on, defending my position. I could hear her engine growling just behind me, feel her closing in.
By the final lap, she was practically glued to my rear wing. Georgia was just over a second behind me. Her pit stop had gone better than mine, and even with her small mistake she’d driven with such precision she’d managed to make up almost all the lost time.
Georgia lunged her car again as she attempted to pass, and I knew by the final turn, she would probably have me.
And then it hit me. Back at the go-kart track, we’d discussed the racing lines she liked to do when sneakily passing. “The thrill of taking an unexpected racing line to surprise someone, to pass them. It’s the most thrilling part of racing.” There was only one spot at Monza where I knew I could take her, and it was coming up.
“Alright, Luca,” I encouraged myself. “You can do this.” My car went flying into the last corner, and I drifted off the racing line, breaking early as I defended her aggressive lunge. The move blocked Georgia’s attempt to overtake. As expected, Georgia hadn’t anticipated my car being there and was forced to back off. I could almost imagine her cursing under her breath, her face furious like it was after my karting victory.
“Fuck, yeah!”
Only the final corner remained. For the first time in over a year, I could taste victory. I was going to show Hermes that I was worth the investment, that I could also be a winner. The checkered flag waved frantically as my tires skidded over the finish line, beating Georgia’s car by mere inches. The cheers and roars of the crowd were muted by the thrumming in my ears.
I had finally done it.
Monza was mine.
“That’s P1, Luca!” Francesco yelled into the radio. “What a race! First Italian to win since your father! You’ve made your family and Italy proud.”
Tears burned my eyes as I choked out, “Grazieto the team!”
With shaking hands, I parked in my assigned spot and turned off the engine. Stumbling out of my car, the weight of my victory settled in my chest. To my right was Georgia in the P2 spot, on top of her car doing her classic window-washing dance as her mechanics cheered her on. She would be disappointed that her win was lost purely on driver error, but still, P2 was an excellent result, one all the other drivers on the grid would gladly take—all except forme.
“Congratulazioni!I am so proud of you, son!” My mother grabbed my face, bringing it to her lips as she kissed my cheek.
Then my father. He pulled me into a large hug, our first this season. I pulled back, gazing into his excited green eyes that were filled with pride. Watching my parents celebrate together, I felt like a little boy again. All of my frustration and anger this season had made me forget how amazing it was to stand next to my parents, joy lighting up their faces. We hadn’t celebrated a race win in well over a year.
“This is a great win for you and for Italy! It should really get your reputation back on track,” my father announced. “This is exactly what we needed!”
And just like that, the magic cracked. A win would never be just a win with him. Forcing a tight smile, I gave my parents a quick kiss on the cheek before making my exit towards the interview area.
A light touch on my shoulder startled me. Turning, I saw Georgia grinning, radiant, her hair windswept and her cheeks flushed with adrenaline. Without a word, she threw her arms around me. I held her against me, appreciating the moment of genuine, unguarded affection.
“Congratulations, Rossi, a race well won,” she whispered. “Not that you should get used to it, I’ll be back next week.”
Laughing, I went to put her down, but then I felt it: her lips against mine.
