I didn’t see it coming and I wasn’t prepared. Even if I had time, I wouldn’t have been able to prepare for this.
One second we were laughing, and the next…
Drew was in my arms.
The weight of him barreling into me was shocking at first. Sure, with football, I was used to unnecessary roughness, but this was different. I wasn’t on a football field. This wasn’t some play, and I wasn’t on the defense. Drew wasn’t trying to knock me down; he was hugging me.
I liked the way his weight felt colliding into mine. It hit me immediately, but it was like my body was ready; my body knew how to react to Drew.
He bounced excitedly at first and slapped me on the back. I chuckled and pressed my palm against his back.
Something changed.
The excited, celebratory hug turned into more.
His body relaxed, and my arms moved, pulling him tighter, towing his chest right up against mine. Drew’s chin dropped onto my shoulder, and his hand stopped slapping my back. Instead, his fingers dug in.
So this is what it’s like.
This was what it was like to be held by Drew.
To hold him.
Damn.
Drew
A whole new brand of racing.
That was the proposal.
I came here hoping for a sponsorship, a car with a ton of logos slapped all over it, entrance fees paid to a bunch of legit, well-known races.
I didn’t get it.
I got something better: a chance.
Some driver’s would be kicking themselves in the ass right now. They’d be feeling let down, denied, rejected.
Not me.
No. I didn’t get a sponsorship or a deal with a lot of backing. I got something a hell of a lot more risky. Something that might ruin my career before it even got started. I got a dirt path through a heavily wooded forest.
All I needed was a path.
All I needed was a chance.
I liked risks.
Maybe I was reckless.
But with great risk comes great reward.
Or at the very least, one hell of an adrenaline rush.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the meeting with Gamble. About the sharp disappointment I felt when I heard the “but” in his voice before he finished critiquing my driving.
The critique itself was on point, so I couldn’t be mad about it. The bottom line was drivers had to mesh with their main sponsor. Drivers had to be given the freedom to drive the way they wanted. I wasn’t going to ask Gamble to look for something other than he normally did in his drivers. Just as I would never change the way I raced to please a sponsor.
I think it was my “rebel without a cause” attitude that put what happened back there into motion.
“Seriously, though.” Trent scoffed. “This is going to be huge.”
It was midafternoon, and we were on the highway headed back home. Soon as the meeting ended, we grabbed some food and hit the road. Trent was driving. I wasn’t sure he knew, but he was the only person I’d ever let drive my car.
Usually handing anyone the keys gave me anxiety like a dog in a room full of cats. But not with him. Everyone knew how much I loved my car.
But not everyone really understood.
In fact, no one really knew.
But he did.
Since I was literally buzzed from everything that went down I figured it might be best if he drove. I could totally handle it, but kicking back and letting my mind go to all the possibilities seemed like a pretty fucking fine idea right about now.
“Dude.” I agreed. “If we can pull this off…”
He laughed. “Are you kidding? This is like perfect for you.”
It was pretty freaking perfect.
Gamble wanted to create a whole new division of racing. Kind of like pro racing’s bad boy brother. Where institutions like NASCAR and Formula One, etc. were governed by rules and policies and pages of stipulations, this new world—this new generation of racing—wouldn’t be.
We would be dirtier. Grittier. More exciting.
Basically, we’d be just as the indie world was now—but bigger. Better.
The difference?
We’d have money. We’d be given a spotlight.
It would be illegal street racing. Except it would be legal and we’d have a track.
People would flock to it.
Why?
Because there was something inherently exciting about no rules. It was thrilling. It was taboo. It was dangerous.
Most people were too cautious to live like that, but watching someone else do it? From behind the wheel of a sweet-ass car?
Hells yeah.
The idea was to bring underground racing out of the dark. To set up a series of races—all at legitimate tracks—basically for the “non-professional” driver.
Can I just say that really burns my britches? The fact that any driver who devotes so much time and energy to his car and driving, a man who hones his skill and strives to make a name for himself, only to be called unprofessional and somehow lacking compared to a driver with sponsors and logos is a bunch of blazing horse shit.
Horse shit covered in flies.
If anything, the drivers of the indie world are hungrier and more knowledgeable because they have to work and scrape for everything.
We might be less controlled, not as honed to the “rules” of traditional racing, but I’d still put money on one of my own before I would on anyone else.