Chapter 5: Shadows on the Track

The air at the Voss Grand Prix track was thick with heat and exhaust by Wednesday morning, day five of training. Tessa rolled in at 6:50 AM, her pickup rattling over the gravel lot, her head still fuzzy from a restless night. The bar incident had left her wired, sleep elusive, and Julian's face had haunted her dreams—those green eyes, that steady voice, cutting through her usual defenses. She shook it off, grabbing her gear and heading for the pit. Today, she'd focus. No distractions.The ZX-10R waited, gleaming under the canopy, and she ran her hands over it, grounding herself in its familiar hum. The other riders were already out—engines snarling, tires biting asphalt—and she suited up fast, eager to lose herself in the speed. Julian was there, as always, leaning against a workbench with a coffee in hand, his black polo clinging to his shoulders in a way she tried not to notice. He nodded as she approached, but his usual calm was edged with something tighter."Morning," he said, voice clipped. "You're with me today. One-on-one drills."Tessa raised an eyebrow, strapping on her helmet. "What, I'm not good enough for the pack now?""You're too good," he replied, setting the coffee down. "They're holding you back. We're sharpening your edge—starts now."She smirked, half-annoyed, half-flattered. "Bossy today, huh?""Always," he shot back, and there it was—that glint in his eyes, quick and gone. He grabbed his own helmet, and they headed for the track.The drills were brutal. Julian rode lead, pushing her through hairpin turns and chicanes, his voice crackling through her earpiece with relentless precision. "Commit earlier, Kane. You're hesitating." She gritted her teeth, leaning harder, the bike's power surging beneath her. He was right—she'd been holding back, just a fraction, since the skid. Fear wasn't her style, but it had crept in, and he'd seen it.They ran the course ten times, then twenty, sweat soaking her gear, her arms burning from the strain. By the eleventh lap, she was matching him—her lines cleaner, her speed climbing. On the straightaway, she gunned it, pulling ahead, the needle kissing 195 mph. The rush hit her like a drug, and she whooped into the wind, a sound swallowed by the roar.Back in the pit, she yanked off her helmet, grinning wide. "Beat you," she said, breathless, as Julian rolled up beside her."Barely," he replied, but his mouth twitched—a real smile, rare and unguarded. He dismounted, peeling off his gloves. "You're getting it. Instinct's kicking in.""Always had it," she said, tossing her helmet onto the bench. "You're just polishing it."He laughed, a low, rough sound that caught her off guard. "Fair enough. Take five—we're not done."She grabbed a water, chugging it while he checked something on his clipboard. The pit was quieter now, most riders on break, and the silence let her study him. Sweat beaded on his neck, his hair mussed from the helmet, and for a second, he didn't look like the untouchable CEO. He looked human—tired, focused, real. It stirred something in her chest, and she hated it.The break didn't last. Marcus stormed in, his face red, a tablet clutched in his meaty hand. "Voss, we've got a leak," he said, shoving the screen at Julian. Tessa edged closer, peering over his shoulder. A grainy photo filled the display—her, mid-crash on the strip, her bike sparking against the pavement. Below it, a headline: Voss's Mystery Rider: Stunt Girl or Liability?Julian's expression hardened, but his voice stayed calm. "Who ran it?""Some rag—Vegas Insider," Marcus said. "Picked up by X this morning. Sponsors are freaking out—say she's a PR disaster waiting to happen."Tessa's stomach dropped, anger flaring hot. "A disaster? I'm the best you've got.""They don't see it," Marcus snapped, turning on her. "They see a nobody with a wreck on her record. No wins, no cred—just a viral clip of you eating asphalt.""Enough," Julian cut in, sharp enough to make Marcus flinch. He handed the tablet back, his eyes on Tessa. "This changes nothing. You're still in."She clenched her fists, glaring at Marcus. "I didn't ask for your approval, old man. I'll prove it on the track.""You'd better," Marcus muttered, stalking off. Tessa turned to Julian, her pulse still hammering."Why stick with me?" she asked, voice low. "Easier to cut me loose, grab some shiny pro."He stepped closer, close enough she could feel the heat off him. "Because I don't bet on easy. I bet on winners. And you're one, Kane—crash or no crash."Her breath caught, his certainty hitting her harder than it should've. She nodded, breaking eye contact. "Then let's get back to it."The rest of the morning was relentless—more drills, more laps, Julian pushing her past exhaustion. By noon, her legs shook as she dismounted, but her time was down to 1:48—a personal best. He didn't praise her, just gave a curt "Good," and she didn't need more. The numbers spoke.They were packing up when a shadow fell over the pit. A man in a slick suit—mid-forties, blond hair gelled back—sauntered in, flanked by two guys in Voss team gear. Tessa didn't know him, but Julian did. His posture stiffened, a wall slamming up."Elliot," Julian said, voice flat. "What do you want?"Elliot Grayson—rival CEO, Tessa would learn—smiled, all teeth and no warmth. "Heard about your little project. Thought I'd see the trainwreck for myself." His eyes slid to Tessa, lingering too long. "This her? The stunt girl?""Back off," Tessa said, stepping forward. "I'm not your sideshow.""Oh, you're more than that," Elliot replied, smirking. "You're Voss's gamble. And I'm betting you fold." He turned to Julian. "Still chasing redemption, huh? Your dad would've loved this—another long shot to lose."Julian's hand twitched, but he didn't swing. "Get off my track, Elliot. You're not welcome."Elliot chuckled, backing away. "See you at the race. Hope she's worth it." He left, his goons trailing, and the air felt heavier in his wake.Tessa glanced at Julian. "Who's that asshole?""Old business," he said, clipped. "Doesn't matter. Focus on the race."But it did matter—she saw it in the tension of his jaw, the way his eyes darkened. She didn't push, though. Not yet.That night, Tessa hit Milo's shop, needing familiarity. The garage smelled of oil and metal, a balm to her frayed nerves. She told him about the leak, the article, Elliot's jab. Milo listened, tinkering with a carburetor, then set it down."Sounds like Voss's got enemies," he said, wiping his hands. "You sure you're not in over your head?""I can handle it," she replied, but doubt gnawed at her. The crash photo stung—proof she wasn't invincible, splashed for the world to judge. She'd fought to be more than her past, and now it was a headline."Handle him, too?" Milo asked, nodding at nothing. "Voss, I mean."She snorted. "He's a pain in the ass. But he's got my back. For now."Milo raised an eyebrow but didn't press. She left an hour later, the article still burning in her mind.Julian didn't go home. He stayed at the track, running laps alone until the sun sank. Elliot's words echoed—redemption, long shot, lose. His father's ghost, always there, laughing at every risk. He'd built Voss Enterprises to bury that, to prove he wasn't the man who'd gambled their lives away. Tessa was part of that proof, but she was more now—too real, too vital.He stopped, helmet off, staring at the empty stands. She'd stood up to Elliot, to Marcus, to him, and never blinked. She was fire, and he was starting to feel the burn. He couldn't afford it—not with Elliot circling, the race looming, his legacy on the line. But pulling back felt impossible.Tessa didn't sleep well again. The article looped in her head, but so did Julian—his faith in her, his quiet fury at Elliot. She didn't need him, didn't want to. But as she drifted off, his voice lingered: I bet on winners. For the first time in years, she wondered if someone else saw her the way she wanted to see herself.