Team Orders (Lights Out Book 1) by RJ Scott

Author:RJ Scott [Scott, RJ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Love Lane Books Ltd
Published: 2023-05-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

NOAH

I didn’t have much of a chance to think about what had happened in my RV. Presley returned soon after Archie left, and I didn’t even have the space to enjoy the bliss of a few moments of thinking of nothing but getting off, and all too soon, what I’d just done hit me with so much regret it hurt.

That it happened at Archie’s hand—literally—was freaking me out; hell, that it happened at all was destroying my equilibrium. At least, nothing had come from me hitting Karl—yet—and I was relieved and pissed all at the same time.

FP3 had been quiet, we fiddled with setup and, at last, the over-steer was diminished enough that I knew I could race the full distance. There would be implications for tire degradation, but nothing the team couldn’t handle. Tire deg was just another variable in an already complicated balancing act.

Then, qualifying had gone as well as expected given both Fibonacci and Cadigan were flying. It lasts an hour, but is split into three sections, each long enough for just one or two flying laps. Cars are knocked every session, so it was all about speed, strategy, and timing.

Things I could think about in my sleep.

Qualifying is held before each race to determine the order cars will be lined up at the start of the race, with the fastest qualifier at the front and the slowest at the back. Split into three: in the first round the slowest five cars were eliminated; in the second, it was the next slowest five cars; until the final cars fought for positions one to ten on the grid for the race. Both Archie and I had made it to that final ten.

“That’s P7, Noah. P7.” I’d hoped to get P5 again, fight for the first corner, but maybe, for this race, a small amount of breathing room would be a good thing.

“Copy.” I slowed down and took the non-racing line, a Fibonacci haring past me on a final lap. I didn’t have another run in me, so I had to hope my P7 was safe, and all the scarlet car was doing was trying to swap places higher up the grid.

“Archie?”

“P10, kid did good.”

He’d started final qualifying in P10, and he hadn’t been able to get a better lap time, but he’d gotten in the top half of the grid for tomorrow. He’d have my back, a buffer between me and the guys behind him, and that was all that mattered.

I mentally fist-pumped, skirting an abandoned McCarthy car that had put a stop to a couple of the drivers out improving their fastest lap, and headed for Parc Fermé for scrutineering, rather than to our garage. Hot cars didn’t do well if simply turned off and left alone, so three of my mechanics were allowed into the cordoned-off area to do various shutdown jobs, fitting cooling fans to brake ducts and air boxes. There was always that niggling worry that someone would find we’d breached regulations on our cars, but I trusted the team had our backs.

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