Lady Luck (A Chase Elliott Fan Fiction)

Chapter 3

I'm about halfway through my lobster mac and cheese when shit hits the fan. Up until that point, we covered me losing the championship to Blaney last season (sucks but whatever), my plans for this season (to win) and my friendship with Bubba and Blaney. All in all, pretty standard stuff.

"Okay," she says, once I finish talking about how long our friendship trio has been together. "Now that we've gotten all that out of the way, let's talk about the nitty gritty. Our readers want to know what makes you tick. How did you get involved with pro- snowboarding? Did you inherit your father's adrenaline seeking attitude? I mean you do have his DNA, don't you?" she fires off, looking me dead in the eye. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was pushing my buttons on purpose.

I stall for time by chewing slowly and then taking a sip of my water. It takes everything I have not to tense at the mention of my father. Discussing him is a super touchy subject for me. We've been estranged for as long as I can remember.

My father, William Clyde Elliott, also known as "Awesome Bill" is a retired downhill alpine skier. His claim to fame was winning an Olympic gold back in '88 and being voted the most popular skier sixteen times. How he managed that, I'll never know.

Shortly after I turned five, Bill packed up his stuff and left my mom and I in Colorado where we were living. Apparently, he was tired of the skiing scene and needed to "find himself". Obviously, those plans didn't include us. It's clear now he didn't give a damn. I guess you could say I'm still bitter about it. Last I heard, he was living god knows where with his new wife and two daughters. I haven't spoken with him since.

Typically, Taylor includes my dad as a "do not discuss" topic for the media. I mean, it's not a secret he's my father- my mom and I travelled to world cup races with him for the first five years of my life-but it's something I'd rather not talk about. We were hounded enough when I was younger by the media. They would follow us everywhere, hoping to get a quote from Awesome Bill's rejected family. To this day, I still remember my mother telling a reporter to "fuck off" when he wouldn't leave us alone. It was the first and only time I've heard her swear.

Based on the gleam in Shannon's eye, I can tell she's hoping this question's going to rattle me. Now I understand why Bubba said she was a shark. Sometimes the media will do anything to exploit you and get their story. Clearly that's her goal here. She smells blood and is heading straight in for the kill. Funny, I thought Sports Illustrated was supposed to be a legitimate publication, not some dirt sheet. Obviously not.

"I would definitely say he's had an influence on me," I respond calmly. I force a smile. I won't give her the satisfaction of seeing me react. Things should be winding down here soon enough. "But to answer you question, I do think snowboarding is in my blood. My earliest memories growing up were on a mountain. My mom has always said that I was a high energy kid, I guess she figured snowboarding was the perfect way to burn off some of that energy."

Shannon nods and scribbles something down on her notepad. Internally, I breathe a sigh of relief. I think I've distracted her. I take another bite of my mac and cheese. Shit, this stuff is so good, I bet I could eat a bucket of it.

After she's done writing, she looks up again at me. "So would you say that your father leaving you at an early age has had an impact on how you compete?"she probes.

The question is so out of the blue that I drop my fork. The sound of it clattering on my plate draws the attention of the neighbouring tables but I don't care. I can't believe this lady is for real right now.

"I'm sorry, what does this have to do with a story about snowboarding?" I grind out. She's crossed the line and she knows it. Taylor's going to hear about this when I see her next. After this debacle, let's just say I won't be doing another interview for a long, long time.

Angrily, I run my hand over my jaw. The time to be nice is over. What Shannon doesn't realize is that I can be an arrogant son of a bitch when I want to be. I didn't agree to this interview so I could be subjected to the fucking spanish inquisition.

"I told you," she answers, shrugging her shoulders. "The people want to know what makes Chase Elliott tick. That includes you and your mother being abandoned by Bill," Shannon remarks casually. Her face is emotionless. I've never seen anyone look so impassive before. I'd love to know how she sleeps at night.

As I process her comment, I completely lose my cool. This ridiculous interview has gone on for long enough. Abruptly, I stand up and push back my chair. The movement is so sharp, it topples over and crashes to the floor. I'm pretty sure the whole restaurant is staring right now. Good. I'll give them something to talk about.

I place both my palms on the table and lean forward until I'm completely in Shannon's personal space. "Listen," I mutter menacingly. "I don't care about you or your shitty magazine. Here's how this's going to work. You're going to delete that recording off your phone and we'll both pretend that this interview never happened. Deal?" I narrow my eyes at her. If she knows what's good for her, she'll agree to it.

Shannon looks at me for a moment, seemingly contemplating her options. "No," she refuses. "I have freedom of speech as a journalist. I'll post whatever I want, including anything you told me here today. I won't delete what i have on here," she points to her phone sitting on the table.

Fuck this interview, fuck the media and most of all fuck Shannon Smith. I don't have to put up with her bullshit. I'm Chase Elliott.

"Fine," I growl. "But you're making a big mistake." Enraged, I snatch her phone off the table and drop it in her glass of water. The screen goes black. I'm immediately filled with a sense of satisfaction. Now she won't have anything to report on. I breathe a sigh of relief, I'm done with this. At this point, I don't care about my reputation. This's about making a point and standing up to bullies. Because that's all that Shannon Smith is, a bully.

She sits there for a moment, mouth gaping like a fish out of water. Her eyes are about as wide as saucers too. The sight makes me want to burst into laughter. It seems like she finally got what she deserved. Pleased with myself, I turn on my heel and start heading towards the exit. My work here is done. Plus, I don't want to be around when this volcano erupts.

I'm only a few steps away from the table when she snaps back to reality. "CHASE!" she screeches, finally reacting to what I've done. "You can't touch my personal property! I'll have you arrested!" She bangs her fists on the table in frustration. I'm pretty sure the entire restaurant is silent and a couple people have taken out their cellphones to record. Oh well, I couldn't give a crap.

"Talk to my lawyer," I yell back without turning around. That's what I pay him the big bucks for, to get me out of trouble like this. I'm sure he'll find a way to sweep this under the rug, he always does. Though I do know from past experience, it's best if I don't stick around for the cops to show up. That's when things get messy.

As I'm hightailing it out of the restaurant, I pause at the entrance to wink at the hostess who's staring. She blushes immediately. Glad to know I still have some game over here. That makes me feel slightly better. But only a little.

Sighing, I power walk to my truck. When I'm finally inside with the doors locked, I slam my forehead against the steering wheel. What a fucking disaster. I have no doubt this will be all over the internet tomorrow. Well, they say any publicity is good publicity, right?

At least that's what I tell myself as I pull out of the parking lot.  

*****

Well damn, that didn't go very well, did it? Shannon sure is awful mean! New chapter tomorrow!