Chapter One
Tex Johnston
For the last twenty-six of the twenty-nine years that I’ve been alive, I have lived and breathed racing. Everything about it fascinates me. My uncle, Rowe, shared his love for the sport with me and I never looked back. Rowe is only seven years older than me. We grew up together. He’s not only my uncle, he’s also my best friend. I enjoy other sports, but racing is where it’s at for me. He’s the one who started calling me “Tex” when we were kids and I have no idea why, seeing as we are from Fayetteville, North Carolina, and my name is Tyler. The nickname stuck and followed me professionally as well. We watched every race on TV together until I was old enough to actually go to the speedways. Since then, we went to a new track every year. I’ve now been to them all as both a driver and a die-hard fan. It was a bucket list item for me.
By the time I was ten, I already knew what I wanted to be when I grew up and now, I am living out my dreams from the only seat of my Era-7 2019 Ford Fusion #71. I race for Wellington Racing’s Gold Team and have since I went pro. Rowe is my agent and number one fan. The team’s owner, Jack Wellington, is my father’s best friend and it seemed only natural to align myself with him. It’s been both lucrative and fulfilling on a professional level, but personally, I’ve never felt like anything was missing until now. I rarely date as I am saving myself for my wife, but most women out there don’t get that, and that alone tells me that they are not for me. I am looking for the one woman who gets me on another level. She’s out there somewhere, I know it. While racing is a huge chunk of my life, there is more to me than my fastest lap. Pit lizards, also known as groupies, have never done it for me and never will. They’ll fuck any driver or members of pit crews for that matter.
After yesterday’s happy hour, the last official practice before today’s race, I am more than ready for this. The Houston 500 is the biggest race of my career. It’s always been my Achilles’ heel. The last four races have killed me. Between crashes, improper equipment, and a shitty pit crew I’ve yet to actually finish a race at this track.
The qualifying races have me starting at number five, my lowest start position in the five years I have been on the circuit. Something big is coming, I can feel it in my soul. The last ten years of blood, sweat, broken bones and the tears of my mother have led me to this point.
With just five minutes to get into position, I am starting to get pissed. My brand-new pit chief isn’t here yet. Some would say that it’s insane that I hired a new one only yesterday, sight unseen, but I am not superstitious in the least. Besides what is the worst that can happen? If it was bad, it already happened in the previous four years.
Bristol Talbot is supposed to be the stuff of legends. She took the Sandifer Racing Team to new heights with her complete overhaul of the pit crew. I am hoping for some of the same here. My previous chief, Dante Briggs, fucked me over royally. He had been betting against me and held up my pit times so that I would lose laps. He’d been doing it all season. I had heard rumors but brushed them off until it was blatantly obvious at the last race. I’ve been kicking myself in the ass that I was blind as a fucking bat to it prior. I can’t outright fire the whole crew without new members, but with Bristol, I stand a chance again.
If she’d get her ass here, that is. At the starting line, just as I am about to climb inside Monica, my car, I see Rowe hightailing it over to me, followed closely by the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Her long blonde hair flows in the breeze behind her. I heard he was seeing someone and I’m insanely jealous that she’s with him. They come to a halt in front of me.
” I’m so sorry I’m late. It won’t happen again. I’m Bristol Talbot,” she says extending her hand. I stare at her hand for a second before remembering what the fuck I’m supposed to be doing. I remove my glove and the second our hand’s touch I get a jolt. She gasps and quickly jerks her hand away as though she’s been burned.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Talbot. I know how unorthodox it is, starting on a race day, but I assure you that it’s necessary.”