GREENE | CS55

15 - With Two Limes

Pierce held her hand up and ducked her head down, an attempt at shielding the flashes from the cameras that surrounded the short distance between her and the car. The large black Cadillac with windows tinted looked darker than night, save for the windshield. It was reflex, menially shielding herself from the paparazzi. However tonight, they were the least of her concern.

Her cold fingers picked and prodded at the barriers of her nailbeds, twirling the cool gold rings she had stacked sporadically on her fingers. The thickest banded one, the only permanent marker of the accessory set, reflecting each passing streetlight back at her as she ignored the rasping on the windows until they were gone. It only left her thumb during races, safe in Holden's clutches (though, she wasn't shy to threaten his life every single time, should he lose it).

This ring has made it through worse, Pierce thought to herself. I told Carlos I'd go, so go I would do.

The sights of Melbourne were lost to her distant eye as she tried to remind herself what she'd thought back in her hotel room. It was a good thing Jim called, this time. She didn't see it coming. She couldn't have seen it coming for miles. Even if it was a tank-bearing army with flags breaking the horizon, announcing their arrival.

Never in a million years did she think her father would call her in praise. Mind, it was still Jim Greenes version of praise. There were no flowery, sweet song-like bits to it. No mention of him being proud of her attempts at the car these past few years. No mention of him being so happy she's stuck to it, despite the car being close to undrivable. That Jim can't imagine being in her position, taking the brunt end of the blame from everyone— including him.

But, maybe Pierce and Jim could work towards that. After a few more points finished, Jim said. He wants more.

So did Pierce, as to be expected. Ninth was the closest she's gotten to a good result in a car in a long time.

"Well, you'd better hope that the car gives me more," Pierce had jeered, her lips testing a chuckle.

Jim remained silent for a long moment. "Pierce, you're driving the car. Don't let it drive you."

She shook her head. There was no way that was even possible. However, the acknowledgment that she was driving the car, pushing it into ninth place, was the closest thing to congratulations that Pierce had gotten from her father in months. Years. Since Karting!

"You've got a whole season ahead. If we can have every race end like it did today, maybe we can see what opportunities that opens up for Haas in the future."

Pierce gulped. Opportunities for Haas. "Yes sir."

Then followed a short-winded goodbye, the click of the receiver, followed by the droning dial-tone. It woke Pierce up from her zoned-out real-life brain fog in the same way she had just now; with the Cadillac coming to a full-fledged stop in front of the shack-like bar.

She was here.

Her eyes grazed down to the screen of her phone, fingers working to find his contact. The last text she'd sent him was buried beneath notifications that the first car arrived. Then another, to remind her it was waiting. Then the final, to notify her it was leaving. The phone call with Jim kept her wrapped up for nearly thirty minutes. Jim asked for a detailed recount of the race events that led to his daughters points. Needing to know first hand, from the pilot, if the data that had been verbalized through Gunther was credible.

When Pierce realized she was late for dinner, it only added to the panic and disbelief that was festering inside her at the fact that she'd actually had a somewhat civil conversation with her father. One that didn't leave her wanting to throw herself or her phone off the balcony. That Jim was happy with her performance today.