Chapter 7: Under Pressure

Friday morning hit the track like a storm front—clouds rolling in, thick and gray, the air heavy with the promise of rain. Tessa pulled up at 6:40 AM, her pickup's wipers swiping at a light drizzle. The week had worn her down—five days of relentless training, the article's sting, Elliot's shadow—but she thrived on the grind. It was fuel, not fatigue, and she'd be damned if she let anyone see her crack. She grabbed her gear, boots splashing through puddles, and headed for the pit.Julian was there, under the canopy, his black jacket zipped against the damp. He was on the phone again, voice low and tense, but he hung up as she approached, his green eyes scanning her like he was checking for damage. "You look like hell," he said, blunt but not unkind."Feel like it too," she replied, dropping her bag. "Rain's gonna make this fun.""Fun's one word for it," he said, handing her a coffee—black, steaming, no frills. "Wet track's a beast. We're testing traction today—slow laps, tight control. No heroics."She took the coffee, their fingers brushing, and ignored the jolt it sent up her arm. "Slow's not my style," she said, sipping. "But I'll play nice."He smirked, faint but real. "First time for everything."The drizzle thickened as they hit the track, tires hissing on slick asphalt. Tessa rode lead, Julian behind, his voice steady in her earpiece. "Ease up, Kane. Feel the grip—don't fight it." She gritted her teeth, throttling back, the ZX-10R skidding slightly on a curve. Rain stung her visor, blurring the lines, but she adjusted—slower, smoother, her instincts bending to the conditions. It wasn't her usual chaos, but it worked. Lap after lap, she found the rhythm, and by the tenth, her time stabilized—1:55, respectable for a soaked track.They pulled in at 9:30, water dripping from their gear. Tessa yanked off her helmet, shaking out her wet hair. "Not bad, huh?""Not bad," Julian agreed, peeling off his own helmet. His hair stuck to his forehead, and he swiped it back, looking less polished, more raw. "You adapt fast. That's rare.""Had to," she said, shrugging. "Life doesn't wait for you to catch up."He nodded, something flickering in his eyes—recognition, maybe. "No, it doesn't."Before she could reply, Marcus stormed over, his boots slapping the wet ground. "Voss, we've got a bigger problem than rain," he said, thrusting a tablet at Julian. Tessa leaned in, catching a new headline: Voss Team Insider: 'She's a Risk We Can't Afford.' Below it, an anonymous quote—someone from the pit crew, claiming Tessa's inexperience could tank the race.Her blood ran hot. "Who the hell said that?""Doesn't matter," Julian said, voice like ice. He handed the tablet back to Marcus. "It's noise. We're not cutting her.""It's not noise if it's one of ours," Marcus argued, his face flushed. "Sponsors are calling me nonstop—want a meeting tomorrow. They're spooked, Julian.""Let them be," Julian snapped. "She's staying. End of story."Marcus glared, then turned to Tessa. "Hope you're worth the headache, kid." He stomped off, leaving a wake of tension.Tessa rounded on Julian. "You keep sticking your neck out for me. Why?"He met her gaze, unflinching. "Because I see you. Not the crash, not the headlines—you. And I don't back down from what I believe in."Her chest tightened, his words landing harder than she wanted. She broke eye contact, grabbing a towel to dry her face. "You're gonna regret that when they ditch you.""They won't," he said, stepping closer. "Not if you keep riding like today."She didn't answer, just nodded, the weight of his faith pressing on her shoulders.The rain stopped by noon, but the mood stayed heavy. They ran more laps—dry drills now, pushing speed—and Tessa hit 1:47, her best yet. Julian stayed quiet, letting her work, but she felt his eyes on her, steady and unyielding. It was unnerving, how he saw through her bravado, how he didn't flinch at the chaos she brought.They were wrapping up when a mechanic—a wiry guy named Pete, mid-twenties, with a nervous tic—approached, tools in hand. "Uh, boss," he said, glancing at Tessa. "Found something on her bike."Julian frowned, following Pete to the ZX-10R. Tessa trailed, unease prickling her spine. Pete pointed to the brake line—a thin cut, barely visible, leaking fluid. "Not wear and tear," he said, voice shaky. "Someone sliced it. Shallow, but it'd give out mid-race."Tessa's stomach dropped. "Sabotage?""Looks like it," Julian said, his tone dangerously calm. He turned to Pete. "Who's been near it?""Everyone," Pete admitted. "Crew's in and out all day. Could've been anyone."Julian's jaw clenched, his eyes scanning the pit. "Lock it down. No one touches her bike but you from now on. Check the others too."Pete nodded, scurrying off. Tessa stared at the cut, her hands balling into fists. "Elliot?""Maybe," Julian said, low. "Or someone closer. Either way, they're not stopping you."She met his gaze, anger and gratitude warring in her chest. "They try that again, I'll break their hands."He smirked, dark and sharp. "I'll hold 'em down for you."That night, Tessa hit the bar downstairs, needing noise to drown the day. The jukebox played Stones, and she nursed a whiskey, the burn grounding her. Sabotage. The word looped in her head, a violation she couldn't shake. She'd fought for everything—her bike, her name, her shot—and someone wanted to rip it away. Elliot's face flashed, then Marcus's, then the faceless crew. Trust was a luxury she'd never had, and now it was a liability.A shadow fell over her table—Julian, jacket slung over his shoulder, looking out of place among the barflies. "Mind if I join?" he asked, voice softer than usual.She nodded, surprised. "Didn't peg you for a dive bar guy.""Used to be," he said, sliding into the seat across from her. He ordered a beer, and they sat in silence for a minute, the music filling the gap."Checked the crew," he said finally. "No proof, but I've got eyes on 'em. Bike's secure.""Good," she said, sipping her whiskey. "Still pisses me off.""Me too," he admitted, his fingers tightening around the bottle. "This race—it's mine. No one's taking it."She studied him, the hard lines of his face softened by the dim light. "Why's it so big for you? Beyond the PR?"He leaned back, exhaling. "My dad—he lost everything. House, car, me. I was sixteen when I walked away, swore I'd build something he couldn't touch. This race, this company—it's proof I did."Tessa nodded, the echo of her own fight ringing in his words. "Mine was my mom. She bet on me when no one else did. Died before I could pay her back. This—" She tapped her glass. "This is me trying."He held her gaze, a quiet understanding passing between them. "You will," he said, low and sure. "We both will."She smirked, masking the warmth his words sparked. "Big talk, Voss.""Big stakes, Kane," he shot back, and they clinked drinks, a pact sealed in whiskey and beer.Later, Tessa climbed to her fire escape, the city humming below. Julian's presence lingered—his story, his fight, the way he'd sat with her like it was natural. She didn't want to need him, didn't want the pull, but it was there, growing roots. She'd ride for her mom, for herself, but now—maybe—for him too.Julian drove home, the beer a faint buzz in his veins. Tessa's fire burned brighter every day, and he was caught in it—her grit, her scars, her refusal to break. He'd meant to keep her a piece on his board, but she was more now, a partner in a game he couldn't lose. Sabotage or not, he'd protect her shot. And his.