Born To Run: A Counterpoints Novella Page 2

  “Get that ass back in the car. It’s not over yet!” Christopher insisted following me into the corridor.

  “I am finished, Christopher!” I shouted with all the voice I could manage, so loud my throat hurt for a moment.

  I turned to look at him before adding, “You said what you needed to say, now get out. I have to go back to bed,” and I turned, limping a little, holding on to the wall as the whole world seemed to spin under my feet.

  “Wait,” apparently Christopher didn’t take no for an answer. He wasn’t giving up.

  Why won’t he just leave? I thought, holding on to the bathroom door.

  Christopher looked at me, from head to toe.

  “There is something else. I need your help.”

  It took all of my self-control not to laugh in his face. I stood up straight, as straight as I could and pointed at Christopher.

  “You need my help?”

  Christopher nodded, his face serious, composed.

  “I have an idea, a plan. Maybe you won’t race, but you won’t be out of the game,” a small side smile appeared on Christopher’s face.

  I gaped and for the first time in days I listened, really listened to someone trying to talk some sense into me.

  A plan, Christopher had a plan. Whatever it was, it was still about racing. Whatever it was, it was worth listening to, definitely worth a shot.

  Under my team mate’s stare, I started to reason with myself.

  What exactly have I got to lose?

  Nothing, I had lost what I loved doing already. What was left for me? What did the future hold for someone like me? Maybe a few tv commercials. What else?

  I searched the room, looked down at my hands, at my worn out, rough hands and doubted I was worth it. Never, would have I ever admitted it to anyone, but I knew I wasn’t worth it. Another chance, a new beginning, help from Christopher Taylor, the man that represented everything I hated and loved about the sport- the privileged son of a race driver, a legend, with the passion for racing running through his veins.

  How much had I wanted that same luck, that same destiny, that passion in my blood from the very beginning? But at the same time, I had been proud of myself- at some point I had, I really had and didn’t envy race drivers like Christopher, that had it easy.

  I had made it, in a top championship, in a top team all by myself. Because I was good, because I was a champion.

  “What plan?” I asked and Christopher’s smile spread wider.

  I watched as my friend placed the sunglasses back on his nose and said:

  “Take a shower, you smell like shit! I’ll wait for you here. I want to take you somewhere and show you something.”

  Chapter 1

  Two years later

  Day X, that’s what I like to call it. The day Christopher came to see me- and forced me to listen to him- is the day my life started over again. I was given an undeserved second chance.

  I could have just seen myself, throwing away all my money on silly, meaningless nonsense, to try and wash away the resentment and anger for being kicked out of my team, for being forced to end my career.

  Career, what was left for me to do? What was left for someone like me? Journalism? Nah, I didn’t have the diplomacy nor the interest in chasing people on track with the mic. No interest in being one of those ‘experts’ of the sport, giving out opinions on TV, sitting on a chair in a studio, commenting on the race. No, I wanted to be the showman not the commentator.

  I wouldn’t have even finished the Championship if it weren’t for Christopher, if it weren’t for someone like him. A friend, someone that knew me well enough and knew better than to walk away, when I’d tried to shut the door in his face. He’d put up with my crap since we were kids, he was the only one that knew how to handle me.

  I'd done the trashing of my place, the drinking. I had cursed the names of those that had changed my life into what it was now- the life of a retired race driver. I nearly threw up every time a journalist said that to me.

  That weekend after Christopher came to see me, I attended the race, I finished the Championship and hung up my tracksuit, placed my gloves and my helmet in my collection, and stopped racing. For good. I hate that expression, for good. When you stop doing something you love, it can never be ‘for good’, but we tell ourselves that to push through, to move on.

  I moved on. Two months after the championship was over, I put my shield up again, put my armour back on and went to work for Christopher’s Drivers Academy.

  A second life, a second chance, handed over to me by the person I least expected in that moment. Christopher. I had pushed the man off track, I had tried to warn his woman about him and his reputation for being a ladies’ man. But he was there, lending me a hand, a new opportunity.

  It sounded insane, we were rivals. We had grown up together, but still we were rivals. Why would rivals offer help? To me Christopher had always been the man to beat.

  I always wanted to be better than him. But I'd been wrong all along, he was a friend. A real friend, possibly the only one I ever had.

  “I have to thank you,” I had mumbled to Christopher one day, when I had just started working at the Drivers’ Academy.

  “You really don’t. I wouldn’t have asked you to work as head instructor, if I didn’t think you were good enough,” Christopher had nodded and smiled.

  His words came at the right time, in the moment of need, when everything was closing in on me. They fed my ego and gave me the strength to stand up again.

  He trusted me, he knew I wouldn’t disappoint him. And I promised myself I wouldn’t. Ever. Christopher was a real friend and I was going to honour that, I was going to honour him.

  To new beginnings!

  I wished I could say I started working and stopped thinking about racing. How could I? I was surrounded by cars and wannabe drivers. I thought about racing day and night but knew better than to show anyone that I missed it.

  I never showed the guys there anything, never admitted I was miserable for not being a top driver anymore. They all looked at me like I was a legend, but I felt like I had been forgotten, really forgotten by those who had once seen something in me, something worth putting up with my moodiness for.

  I was an asshole, I couldn’t help but admit that to myself and now I was paying the consequences.

  But guess what? If being honest meant being an asshole, then I was the perfect race instructor. You can’t joke around or lie when it comes to racing. You need to tell the driver or trainee exactly what went wrong, where to improve or what they did right.

  “That wasn’t good enough. Too slow in the last sector. Again!” straight to their faces.

  “If you want to quit, quit! It means you are a quitter. Are you a quitter? No? Then get back in that car. One more time,” just like it was.

  “You are not ready for Third or Second Category Racing. You need more time,” the truth, I always told them the truth.

  Was it gratifying? Yes, but some days I felt trapped, I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and I was so moody, everyone stayed clear of me at the Academy. The truth was I missed it all- the frenzy in the boxes, the travelling, the wind slapping me around when driving the car. I was so desperate I even missed the journalists.

  Well, that’s a lie. I could never miss them and their annoying questions but in a way, I did. Eventually, they stopped asking me what it felt like to be out of the Championship, because I never really answered their questions anyway. I was an asshole like that.

  And so my life went from frenetic- clubbing with the finest crowds, racing in top teams, jet setting across the globe- to retired race driver, now instructor of Taylor’s Drivers Academy.

  Boring? Maybe a little, but Christopher took care of that.

  The day he showed up unexpected, I was doing one of my favourite things; debriefing. I was telling my trainees where they'd gone wrong, how to improve and where they had excelled. I had their undivided attention, until Christopher walked into the room,
as quiet as he could manage. And failed, miserably.

  As if a champion like him could walk into a room full of little ‘Christopher Taylor’s wannabes’ and go unnoticed. I was talking to a crowd of twenty something year olds that looked like they were playing in ‘The Exorcist’. Nobody was looking at me anymore, they had all turned around.

  “I'm sorry,” Christopher raised his hands up, to apologize and I rolled my eyes a little.

  He didn’t mean to interrupt, he said, while the room was all amazement and awe.

  Oh yeah, sure. Mr Attention seeker, I smiled to the side and let him take a seat at the back.

  I barely got to finish the class since nobody was actually paying attention to me anymore. At the end of the lesson I walked to the back of the room, where Christopher was now standing- shaking the hands of every young driver here. He smiled wide at me and we slapped hands, his grip tight till the end.

  “Sorry, mate. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was curious to see how you were treating these young drivers here,” he kept smiling, his hands casual in his jeans’ pockets.

  “Oh, shut up. I know you love to make an entrance,” I smirked and heard my friend chuckle.

  I was surprised to see him though, I thought he was still in Austria, his last race venue- and a very successful weekend for MB, placing both drivers on the podium. Why hadn’t Christopher stayed there to celebrate?

  “I thought you were staying to celebrate with the ‘team’,” and the word team came out a little wrong. Or right, depending on the point of view.

  Let’s just say, I wasn’t hiding my resentment. When you spend most of your life hearing people talk about being part of a ‘team’ and then they exclude you from it in a matter of minutes, you lose faith in the concept. No team, the truth is we’re on our own.

  “I had a couple of things to take care of. I needed to talk to you about something and it couldn’t wait,” Christopher explained and invited me to take a walk with him.

  I followed him into the corridor, down to the foyer and listened to him talk about an opportunity he had come across, something big, something revolutionary.

  Opportunity and revolutionary, possibly my favourite words after ‘fuck’.

  We took one step into the foyer and the conversation was interrupted by a tiny, squeaky voice.

  “DADDY,” I smiled and watched this little kid run towards us, only to grab hold of Christopher’s leg.

  He looked up, straight into our eyes and laughed. Christopher’s exact same throaty laugh.

  James, I smirked.

  How many months since I’d last seen him? Five or six? He had grown so tall and he was only two years old. He wore Christopher’s cheeky grin and big green eyes, but the tiny freckles and wavy brown hair were all Isabella.

  “Give me five, James,” I bent forward and he slapped my hand immediately, giggling as I pretended his strength had taken me by surprise. “Look how big you are and so handsome, you take after your mommy.”

  Christopher mumbled something and elbowed me, but I ignored him completely.

  “James, daddy is talking to his friend,” Isabella said, chasing him across the foyer. Christopher was quicker, he took James in his arms and Isabella smiled at me.

  “Ciao Noah,” she hugged me gently and kissed my cheek.

  “Ciao Isabella,” I said and took in the sight of her.

  You’d think living the crazy life she did, would make her look tired, messy, older.

  She looked gorgeous as always, her long, wavy hair down, her big brown eyes always kind.

  Her kindness, one of the reasons I’d warned her about Christopher years back.

  I won’t lie, in that moment I had feared for her, feared she would have her heart broken by the cocky bastard I knew Christopher was and always had been with women. We were all bastards. It was the suit we wore, the crazy life running around countries. Faithfulness didn’t exactly fit in with the whole ‘race driver thing’.

  Years ago, I wouldn’t have bet a single penny on them, but here they were, in love, married and with child.

  Totally got that wrong, I thought. And for once I was happy I’d been wrong.

  Here is one thing I’ll never admit, I held back a laugh.

  “Looking good, I hope he’s treating you well,” I said and watched her frown.

  “I feel stranded with work and James not sleeping, but thank you Noah,” she smiled again before adding “You don’t look so bad yourself,” and then eyed Christopher to the side and laughed.

  His brows went up, as James turned and dived into his mother’s arms.

  “I take good care of her,” Christopher winked at Isabella and her face lightened up. “She’s my right hand.”

  “You better, you know I am the best at what I do,” she grinned at him and then winked.

  Working together and living together, I had no idea how they did it.

  Isabella dealt with the media and Christopher’s official communications with a toddler around- on top of travelling the world, with the press always on their backs.

  And yet here they were, right in front of me, Isabella Bresciani- strong, calm and confident- with the energy and determination to climb a mountain, hassle free.

  “So, what’s this thing you need to tell me?” I asked after we had exchanged a few words.

  “You haven’t told him yet?” Isabella mumbled to Christopher but I heard her, I was right there.

  “Tell me what?” I glanced from him to her.

  “Ah, you are in for a treat,” Isabella said and Christopher nudged her a little, causing James to giggle.

  “Let’s take a walk outside,” Christopher suggested.

  I followed him on track and we walked fast, up the straight to the start line. In the distance I saw a car, no it was a prototype, one of the cars we were developing in our hangars- fast, light, similar to the ones used in Second and First Category Racing.

  What is a prototype doing out of the hangar?

  “We have a new driver, I asked him to join us here at the Academy,” Christopher announced, when we were halfway there.

  “Anyone I know?” I asked, putting my sunglasses on and Christopher shook his head.

  “No, but this driver Noah, is wicked… absolutely phenomenal.”

  “He must be, you gave the bloke our prototype.”

  We never let anyone touch it, I thought and took a good look at the driver.

  White and blue helmet, he sat in the car, vizor down, his hands rubbing against the wheel, eyes ahead, waiting for the track engineer to give him the green flag.

  “I want you to take a look at this,” Christopher said and raised his thumb up to the engineer.

  The driver pushed on the gas a little and nodded, as the track engineer explained a few things.

  Turn three is tricky and slippery, I say it every time a new driver approached the Academy’s track, but no matter how many times I said it, the drivers always came out of that curb wrong the first few times.

  I should stop saying it really, it’s just a waste of time.

  “Watch carefully,” Christopher told me.

  I simply nodded and did what Christopher wanted me to do. He wanted me to look, so I looked, feeling his excitement. Even though I doubted there was anything new to see, anything that I hadn’t seen before.

  After two years in the Academy, I’d met and trained a good number of young drivers and I’d sent a few off to good teams too. But I also knew that if Christopher was so passionate about something, it was worth sticking around to see it.

  Green flag, the car launched forward, without skidding and I was impressed. At least the lap started off clean. The car drove fast into the first straight, the smell of burnt tires filling our noses, as it passed us by.

  Time was running, I kept an eye on the clock on our left-hand side but followed the car, as it approached the second sector.

  Maniacal, the drivers’ precision was maniacal. He traced the tarmac like he knew the track by heart, drawing pe
rfect trajectory lines, like he had done it many times before.

  I stared in silence as the driver pondered when to break, when to run at full speed, with the ease of an experienced race driver. Never braking too early, never too late, not even once. He took advantage of every single moment, of every slope, to keep the speed up. He knew the curves of the track, like a man knows the curves of a woman.

  Time, I kept an eye on it. He was so fast, I thought he was going to set the record.

  Turn three was slippery, but this bloke drove through it like it was easy as pie, never lost control of the car.

  Wow! Amazing, I thought as I followed him, turn after turn, until he ran through the last straight and crossed the finish line. The time stopped: two minutes and thirty-three seconds. Almost the track record.

  As the car slowed down – to cool the engine and the brakes- I turned to look at Christopher, who was now clapping his hands like a seal and smiling.

  “Fantastic,” he said still clapping. “I think we have a great talent here. There is still a lot of training to do, a lot of theory and wisdom to impart, but I swear I’ve seen how this driver deals with takeovers. Never seen someone so crazy in my whole life. Jumps right at it, scaring off his rivals.”

  “You mean, never saw someone as crazy as me,” my brows went up and I smiled.

  “Yup. What do you think, mate?” Christopher asked.

  “I think the guy has balls,” I declared and watched Christopher laugh. “I also think we should get him to sign with us and try to train him for Secondary Category. If this is his level, we could easily get him in.”

  Christopher shook his head.

  Apparently, there was no time for that.

  “Our aim is First Category with this one,” Christopher said.

  Did he just say First Category? Is he drunk? My eyes went wide.

  “We never train drivers directly for First Category Racing.”

  Never, I thought. It was usually a slow process, first minor championship then to the grand show.

  “I know but did you see the lap time?”