I slip my phone into my pocket and don’t even try to hide the smile on my face. It feels damn good to be communicating with her again. We’ve quickly fallen back into a familiar routine, one that has lain dormant for a few years, but is easy to slip back into now. Of course, having her in my house and helping care for my son does make it a bit easier, but it’s more than that. It’s not just us sharing a living space. It’s sharing a past.
And hopefully a future.
The conference room is bustling when I push through the door. Coop is at the head of the table, the chair to his right empty. That’s where the brass from the office will sit, often Colton himself. He’s very involved in his teams, in the company he built. Truth be told, it’s one of the main reasons I signed with him. Sure, he’s Colton fucking Donavan, a legend in open-wheel racing, but it’s more than that. It’s his passion for the industry, his business, and his family.
“Let’s get started. We have Mid-Ohio coming up, and I want to be ready,” Coop says, as we all take our seats and prepare to discuss the upcoming race. Sure, we have a weekend break before then, but we don’t waste time when it comes to preparing for a race. Especially not since my year hasn’t exactly been what I was hoping for.
What we all were hoping for.
There’s still time to salvage points standings. I’m not too far behind that with a little hard work and a few top-five finishes, I could be right back in the hunt for a championship. I came close last year, only my second year in the series, and I ended at number five. This year, my goal was champion. I have the team, the sponsors, and the drive to win, but I can’t seem to close. I still haven’t figured out what’s changed this year over last, but I will.
I need a good season. The analysts and industry leaders are starting to chirp about last year being a fluke. Fuck them. It wasn’t a fluke. But so far, I haven’t been able to back up my claims. The last thing I want is my sponsors to think I’m a one-hit wonder. Or, a three-hit wonder, in my case. I had a big win toward the end of my rookie season and followed it up by two wins last year. But this year? Nada.
Time to fix that.
Buckling down, I listen to Coop talk strategy. Of course, that may change when we actually get the car on the track and run some laps. Next week, I’ll be behind the wheel again, and I’m damn sure looking forward to it. I hate off weeks. I’d rather be driving, doing what I love. The guys throw out suggestions for car handling and improving fuel efficiency, and the ideas are flowing like wine as our food is delivered to the meeting room.
“Let’s take a break to eat some grub. After, we’ll head to the shop and check out the Ohio car,” he says, standing up and stretching his back and shaking out his legs.
My own legs protest when I stand up and head over to the food table. There are pans of lasagna, salad, and garlic breadsticks, and my mouth waters. I was able to inhale a quick protein bar on my way out the door this morning, but since Oliver arrived, my eating schedule is way off. Except for the beef and noodles last night, I haven’t eaten much in two days.
When our plates are full and we’re all shoveling it in at the table, I decide to share a bit of news with the crew. “So I have something to say,” I tell