Race With a Heart
Chapter 222: There’s Something in the Air

Chapter 222: There’s Something in the Air

Martin looked in the rearview mirror. "Damn it!" he cursed quietly as he saw Steve’s car slowly but steadily approaching him. In that one curse, the younger driver contained satisfaction and pride that Paxton had decided to fight him but also sporting anger that Paxton could overtake him. Martin really wanted to win.

Damn it! He repeated in his mind focusing on what was in front of him, not behind him. The rain seemed to be picking up a bit. It was fine, but very thick, limiting visibility. Still too small to switch to intermediates, because the track under the heated rubber of the tires was drying quickly, but one had to be careful.

Was Steve careful? Martin glanced in the rearview mirror and got the impression that his rival was closing in on him again. He was so close behind him that he could have slammed into his ass end....

Martin blushed. Focus, kid, focus!

This was not the time for suggestive analogies about sticking anything in his ass. Maybe later, after the race - hell, sure! But now...

Martin felt his car go too wide and catch the wet pavement. He felt the car below him trying to get out of control....

Martin countered so quickly that it took him only one heartbeat. He breathed a sigh of relief, although he still felt a hard gulp of fear in his throat.

"Are you okay?" he heard Abe Allen’s question in his earpiece.

"Yeah, sorry," muttered Martin, glad that no one could see his face now.

"We are considering whether to switch to intermediates. What’s your opinion?"

"Not yet. It wasn’t the tires’ fault, it was mine. I lost my concentration for a while," he admitted.

"Then don’t lose it. You’ve ridden in races. You competed against champions."

Yes, but none had ever sat on his tail, and none had ever been Steve Paxton.

"Sure, Abe. It won’t happen again."

"Okay. You’re going very well..." Allen gave him his lap time. In fact, it was not too bad.

"And Steve?"

The chief mechanic gave him Paxton’s time. He was better. But could that have been surprising?

Steve Paxton was a racetrack genius. Such ones are born once in a generation, or less often. To have someone like that on your tail, not in front of you, happened only in training. Paxton was the king of the racetrack, no, its emperor.

Martin pressed his lips together. He also tightened his hands on the steering wheel. He did it too hard, but it was instinct, not a conscious decision. Instinct and sportsmanship anger that told him to do everything to avoid being overtaken by the world’s best driver.

***

With each passing lap, with each passing minute of the race, Jack felt a growing excitement as well as calmness. This paradox was explainable by only one thing - the drivers on the track were having a good race. A really good one. At first Steve had been a bit sluggish, which was disturbing, but now it looked like he had regained his life. Now he was himself again. It was a real relief.

Don let himself be overtaken, but it was nothing humiliating. He did pretty well for his abilities. Quite well, in fact. However, the difference in the driver class was too great. Don knew this, fortunately. Ambition is a good thing in sports, but only until you cross certain boundaries to achieve your success. Don Alston crossed them. For a few months he was in a place where no athlete should be. However, that was in the past tense. Now Don was back on the right track - literally and figuratively. Jack was proud of him.

Martin and Steve were now fighting for the win.

Martin also drove well, but Lambert felt that he would not prove his first place. On the one hand, he felt sorry for the boy, who had worked really hard to maintain his position, but on the other hand he was happy that Steve was putting so much pressure on him. Paxton had to get back on track. He had to do it for the stable, for himself, but also for Jack, who would not be able to leave until there were two great drivers in Fergus’ Stable. Don and Martin were good, but not good enough to give the stable a good world position. Paxton had to return to his number one role. Looking at him now, Lambert had the impression that Steve was on the right track.

The race, which consisted of only three cars, only two of which still had a chance to win, was extremely interesting. Jack could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He devoured every inch of the track with his eyes, every, even the slightest twitch of the car. The excitement of the spectator was not so bad at all.

He sensed more than heard the signal of an incoming message. He pulled out his smartphone. He smiled. Kevin sent him a text.

"Remember the consultation I was talking about? The matter is a little more complicated. I will stay here at least for one night. Don’t bring anyone to our bed. Nor on great-grandfather’s carpet."

Jack parried amused. He wanted to jokingly write back that Kevin didn’t include the kitchen table or the bathtub or... well, actually the whole apartment except for those two places, but a certain tenderness and remorse came over Jack’s heart. He should be by the Professor’s side right now, who was struggling with these dark crimes, and yet he was in the stable.

"That night I’ll be rolling around in the sheets alone thinking only of you," he wrote back instead, and added a tender "I love you!"

"I love you too."

Jack sighed feeling warmth in his heart. These mobile phones are a good invention after all. How could people live without them? How could they transmit these confessions to each other when they couldn’t communicate so easily? Jack tenderly touched the display regretting that it was only glass, not skin on Kevin’s cheek.

"Are you sure about this?" Lambert was snapped out of his reverie by Larissa’s voice.

"Aren’t you?" Karl asked her.

Jack did not hear the answer. Apparently she answered him with some kind of gesture - a nod or denial, maybe a shrug of the shoulders. Or maybe she didn’t answer him at all. Lambert raised his eyes to her. He couldn’t see her well because a thick, though thin, wall of fine rain separated them.

"Abe, get the guys off the track. We’re done for the day," Karl instructed, which surprised Lambert and apparently Abe.

"What, why? The rain is not that strong..." remarked the chief mechanic.

"But it will," growled Walton, "and I’m not going to risk the drivers and cars when I already have the answer."

"The boys will be unhappy..."

"That’s fine. Let them stay with the feeling of hunger until the race."

So that’s what he means! Jack smiled triumphantly. To give someone a sniff of a juicy roast and make them wait for it! For some reason, Lambert felt hungry. However, he came back to reality.

"Have you made a decision for the whole next season or just for the upcoming race?" he asked.

Karl Walton looked at Jack, then at Larissa. His face did not express satisfaction, rather frustration and anxiety. Strange, stated Jack. That pretend race that Karl had just stopped was pretty good for a test, and Lambert had a good feeling about each of the drivers. Why then would Walton feel dissatisfied? Could it be because of an overabundance of good racers? No, Karl wasn’t one of the people complaining about the disaster of too much crop. There had to be something else to it, something completely different. Jack just didn’t know what.

But he really wanted to find out.

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