One For The Road

6: Restart

I climbed out of my car and into the grass after I undid the safety harnesses and the smoke cleared up into the sky. The hood of the car stood practically upright to block my windshield, and the rest of the front was caved in to match.

Bright flashing lights lit up the crash site, and there were at least ten other cars piled up with Tyler's and mine. At least ten other cars got fucked out of a better finish that they deserved.

Of course, I was supposed to climb into one of the ambulances, so they could take me to the infield care center to make sure I wasn't actually dying, but I had other things that needed taken care of before I went through that protocol.

"You got your wish, honey. I wrecked," Tyler said as I approached his car. He still hadn't climbed out yet, and I wanted to be right there to punch him in the mouth as soon as he did.

I stood next to the window, where he had taken the netting down to signal to response crews that he was okay. Blood boiled in my veins, and I took in a shaky breath. "Why the fuck would you wreck me?"

"It ain't about you. I'd do it to anyone for a chance to win," Tyler replied.

"You're a pussy. A pussy who couldn't stand the fact that I was just about to finally win. You just can't let me be happy, can you?"

"Look, Katie, you better grow up and realize that everyone isn't out to discriminate against the woman. You whined about the goddamn drug tests, and we're all sick of hearing about you and your imaginary war." He sat up on the side and the car and swung his legs around. "If you want to be seen as just a driver, then shut up and drive."

"Take your helmet off," I said.

"What? You gonna fight me over this?"

I nodded.

I didn't deserve this. I deserved that win, and he stole it right from my fingertips because he was bitter. He stole it.

I bit my cheek as my throat swelled shut with emotion.

"You gonna cry?" Tyler asked.

I shook my head, but we both knew that was a lie.

I didn't even bother to cover my face as the first tear fell down and hit the track below me. "I'm done, Tyler. That was my last race for RTR. I got fired."

"What do you mean?"

"Roger Truscott is gonna terminate my contract. I'm done for the year, and unless someone else wants to sign me down the road, I'm done here all together."

"Miss Moore, we're going to need you to come with us," one of the medics said.

"Can he do that?" Tyler asked.

"It's shady as fuck, but until I figure out exactly what's happening, what can I do about it? Winning was my only shot at keeping my job. What am I supposed to do now?" I said.

I gave Tyler a moment to say something, anything, but not a single word came out of his mouth. Maybe he finally felt like a shitty person for wrecking me, but I didn't count on it.

I looked up to the scoreboard as I climbed into the ambulance. Although I could barely make out the numbers through my blurred vision, listed at first place was the number sixty-six.

At least Griffin won my last race.

***

Back in Baton Rouge, reporters shuffled into our conference room for the announcement of my termination.

I knew Mr. Truscott. I knew what he would say. NASCAR's golden girl is finished, it's all her fault, she's a nightmare to work with, and she accomplished nothing worth anyone's admiration or respect.