Grip: A Driven World Novel (The Driven World)

grin at the familiarity. When I pull back, my eyes lock with his. “Thank you, Jim. For everything.”
His eyes soften as he says, “You did this, Mack. Now, go.” He gives me a gentle shove toward the door. “I believe my daughter is down in her workshop.”
My heart starts to hammer with excitement as I make my way out of the office. The mid-afternoon sun is high in the July sky, the thickness of the Kansas humidity steals my breath. I pull my ball cap down low on my head to shield my eyes and make my way toward the one building standing all by itself. I think the original track owner used it as a maintenance shed, but not the Stanleys. Jim transformed it into a workshop for his only daughter, Lena.
As I round the office and her building in the distance comes into view, I spy the screen door open, which tells me she’s not in the darkroom. Lena is a brilliant photographer, even at the young age of twenty-five. She sells her photographs to blogs, magazines, and companies all over the Midwest. She specializes in landscapes, but she’s amazing with people too. Ever since she was seventeen, she’s been the track photographer, taking pictures of the races, drivers and crew, and even the fans in the stands. Afterward, she posts them to the track’s website.
My legs seem to move quicker the closer I get to her shop. I can see her long brown hair piled high on her head as she gazes at her computer screen, the corner of her mouth slightly turned upward. I stop outside the door and just stare. Actually, I do that a lot. I could get lost in watching her for hours if it weren’t so damn creepy.
I pull open the old door, the squeak alerting her of my arrival. The moment she turns, her face lights up in the most gorgeous smile. “Hey, you,” she says, her arms shooting up as she stretches her back. Her maroon tank top drifts up, exposing a sliver of the delicious skin of her abdomen.
“Hi. Working hard?” I ask, as I fully step inside the old garage.
It looks nothing like it did years ago. When Lena found her passion for photography, Jim made sure this space was updated with insulated walls, heating and air-conditioning, and tile floors. He also built the dark room and installed a bathroom for her, so she didn’t have to leave her shop once she was there. Lena chose a light green shade for the walls, which reminds me of her eyes, and pored hours of time into selecting the portraits for the walls, and the end result is a place she can work and feel comfortable in.
“Just finishing up the pictures from last night’s race. Look at this,” she says, spinning around and bringing the pictures from victory lane. I’m standing there, small trophy held high above my sweaty head, and a big smile on my face.
“Lena?” I ask, unable to hide my excitement any longer.
“Yeah?” When she looks up, her eyes mirror the excitement I radiate.
“I just got a phone call. A big one. Do you know Colton Donavan?” I ask, my words rushing out.
Her smile falters as recognition sets in. “Of course I do.”
“Well, what if I told you he just called me. One of his drivers had a medical emergency and isn’t going to finish the season. He said he’s been watching me for some time, and…this is it, baby. He wants me to drive for him.” I’m practically vibrating in my boots as I wait for her response. For her elation. For her to throw her arms around my neck and kiss my lips.
“He what?” Her words are barely audible.
I start to pace her small space. “We fly out tomorrow morning, Lena. His company has a small apartment I’ll be able to stay in, and I meet with his team Tuesday morning. They have track time reserved for Thursday, so…this is it. I get to drive. They want me to finish the season. We’re going to LA!” My heart is practically pounding out of my chest as I stop and turn to face her.
My Lena.
What I’m not expecting is the look of pure sadness on her face or the tears in her eyes.
I move to her, squat down, and take her hands in my own. “Why are you crying? This is the best news ever!”
Lena sniffles. “I know, it is. You’re going to do amazing. I have no doubt about it.” Even though her words are happy, there’s an underlying tone of despair I don’t understand.
“Then why do you look like I just kicked your puppy?” I ask, a small smile playing on my lips.
She takes a deep breath, her eyes full of a sorrow I can’t even describe. She sits up tall, straightens her back, and says what I never expected to come from her lips. “I’m not going with you, Mack.”
Standing up, I reel backward, as if she struck me. “What?” Dread fills my entire body, my heart racing faster than the moment I see a checkered flag through my windshield.
She follows suit, her hands reaching out for my arm. “Please, listen to me, Mack. I mean really listen to me. You’re an amazing driver. I knew this day would come, and I’m so happy it finally has. No one works harder on or off the track than you do.” She takes a deep breath, her eyes cast downward. “But I don’t want that life. Not anymore. I traveled from the time I was four to seventeen. I hated it,” she whispers, the tears now falling freely from her eyes.
I know she hated it. After her mom passed away suddenly from a brain aneurism before she was even in kindergarten, her life had been on the road. She moved from place to place, track to track. She was homeschooled for much of her early education before she was finally enrolled in a middle school