Chapter 14: Glory Days

(AN): I initially planned to have Chapter 14 and 15 be one chapter, hence the shortness of this one. As for the late update, apologies are due, of course. I got really busy at the end of the semester, but I'm on summer break now. I was also struggling to find the interest and motivation to continue working on this fic, but one way or another, I got this chapter done. It's good to be back though. Sorry for making some of you wait!

CarsGeek24 (Guest): Ah, no worries for reviewing late! We've all got things to do. And yes, the 'Caraoke' is fun to write and imagine! Glad you enjoyed that chapter! You mentioned a while back on Tumblr you were going to Disneyland. How was your trip? Did you get to visit Cars Land? :D

(Guest): Well, it's probably because he does! XD This chapter makes it a little more obvious, I think.

A few days later...

Cruz rounded the bend of the Thomasville Speedway, narrowing her eyes in optimal concentration. The cool, early morning June air rushed against her windshield, leaving her metal exterior cold and stiff. She pictured herself as a bullet winding around the track, her momentum locking her in a never-ending loop. That inkling of anxiety that rose within her whenever she headed toward a wall—now a distant memory. Cruz had other priorities at the front of her mind. Like making those turns faster. Faster. Her surroundings blurred past her, encasing her in a disorienting vortex. Was she going any faster? She couldn't trust herself to determine that.

Luckily, she had someone else to rely on of better judgment. Cruz made one last lap around the track before petering over to Danny, who was watching her from the infield.

"How was that?" Cruz asked, slightly out of breath as she approached.

The Octane Gain racer squinted in thought. "Not bad. You're still going kinda slow 'round those curves, though."

Cruz heaved a deep breath, and her greyish frame sunk to the ground. That fear gnawing at the back of her mind burrowed deeper. And that fear had a voice:

You're not good enough. When you make your big comeback, you're going to be unbelievably slow, and everyone will laugh at you. You've lost it, Cruz. You'll never be as good as you once were, let alone better than Storm.

Sensing Cruz's concern, Danny endeavored to cheer her up.

"Hey, don't worry about it, Cruz. You'll get there…" His final word wobbled with uncertainty. "...eventually."

Cruz shook her hood, attempting to shed her gloomy expression. She didn't want to make Danny worry. "You should be the one practicing right now. It's the day of your race, after all."

Danny waved her off. "Eh, I can spare a few minutes to watch you race."

Cruz picked up her hood, offering him her best smile. "Thanks."

But Danny wasn't quite finished. He shrugged, shying away from her gaze. "I mean, for you, I got all the time in the world, you know?" He fidgeted, full of nervous energy.

"Uh, huh."

The purple racecar shot up on his suspension, tense in anticipation. "So, uh, Cruz! I was thinkin', uh. I mean, I wanted to talk to you about something. It's something that's been on my mind for a while now—"

"Hold that thought, Danny." Cruz's attention diverted towards the entrance, from which she heard the faint rumble of a car. "Someone's coming."

"But—"

A dark green, broad hood emerged from the tunnel. Once out in the light, the rest of the stranger's physique was compact, telling of a sports coupe lineage. Though their form was rigid and straight, their low, smooth, windshield and hood gave the appearance of being laid-back and almost meek. This car was of the older variety, someone who looked as if they had potential, but it had faded away into the past, along with their paint.

Cruz squinted, not being able to make out the car's features clearly enough. "Who's that?"

As the green coupe grew closer, their face became more discernable. The male vehicle's hazel eyes began to widen upon seeing Cruz. He seemed to be unsure that what he was seeing was real.

Cruz's own eyes mirrored his as he came more into view. "Wait…"

The stranger, who was becoming less and less of a stranger, peered at the silver coupe before him with a mixture of uncertainty, surprise, and apprehension. He slowed to a stop some feet away, almost hesitant to come near.

"Cruz?..." He was trying out the sound of the name. "Is that you?"

Somehow, by pronouncing her name, he had confirmed his identity to her. Cruz had seen photos of him before, but she hadn't been sure it was actually him. It was as if believing in the idea of him was too painful of a hope. It was foolish to dream. And yet…

"It's… you," Cruz stated softly, as if staring at an enigma.

Danny was confused. "Who?"

The man tore his eyes away from Cruz to meet Danny. "I'm her father, Carlos. I'm…" He turned back to Cruz, careful once more. "I'm here to talk to you, Cruz... If that's okay."

The silver coupe wasn't sure how to react. How were you supposed to react in these situations? Cruz's father had never really been a part of her life. Neither of her parents were, really. Her aunt and cousins were the ones who comprised her family. But this man who called himself her father after abandoning her when she wasn't even old enough to remember... Was she supposed to be upset? Shocked? Curious? Turn him away? Or hear him out?

Cruz didn't have much animosity in her toward anyone. And she was interested in hearing what he had to say. It wasn't like she hadn't wondered about him before. Especially during those low moments in her life. When she felt like she had nobody there to cheer her on. Of course she had to know what happened.

"Danny…" Cruz said, not taking her eyes off of Carlos. Her father. "I'm sorry, but could you leave us alone for a little while?"

Danny could read the situation. "Yeah, sure."

The electric whir of Danny's engine faded into the distance, and all that was left was Cruz, Carlos, and the racetrack.

Now that they were alone, Carlos deemed it appropriate to approach. He made an attempt to appear cordial, but anxiety clouded his demeanor.

"Hello, Cruz. ¿Estás bien? I… heard about your crash."

Cruz, who had been in a daze up until this moment, snapped out of her reverie. "Uh, yeah! I'm fine now!... mostly."

The green vehicle was relieved, despite Cruz's uncertain tone. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Thanks, but…" Cruz's own pleasantries fell away, though she bordered on curiosity rather than hostility. "Why are you here? I mean, where have you been for all these years? I didn't even know you were alive!

She caught herself before she lost herself in despair, dropping her volume. "Why did you… leave?"

Carlos inclined his hood. He was prepared for this reaction, and came equipped with an explanation. "I can answer those questions for you. But first… there's a story you need to know…"

Cruz waited with expectant eyes as the worn-down coupe closed his own, reclining back—as if rocking away into the past.

"A long time ago, I met a girl. She was a bright, positive, sunny coupe. For someone like me, who was always told to 'Keep your hood down, Carlos,' she was everything.

"I had hopes, dreams, but I never had the confidence to see them through. I was just another farm boy. I didn't have talent anywhere else." Carlos adopted a sparkle in his eyes; his smile—bittersweet. "But… tú mamá… mi Cristal… she helped me to believe…" The light in his eyes flickered away. "That was... until…"

"She died…" Cruz finished, with an unintentional curtness. She had known how the story ended since she was young, so the outcome felt somewhat distant from her.

But the mention of the event still impacted Carlos. It was as if the life had gone out of him.

He hung his hood. "Sí. It… destroyed me." He picked up his gaze, some energy coming back to him. "But it didn't destroy my dream. I wanted to become a musician. Your mother reignited that spark in me. It was all I wanted to do then.

He looked off into the distance, drifting mile aways. "We were young… I was young…

His face darkened, and there was an anger festering, directed toward himself. "And I was selfish. A part of me wanted to leave my past behind. All those good memories I had were too painful. I wanted to start over."

"So you left." An understanding was beginning to grow on Cruz's face.

Carlos rolled up towards turn one to behold the dirt track. Cruz swung around to join him. Their movements created a small billow of dust which blew forward in the muggy morning breeze, disappearing into the air. Sunlight filtered through the trees surrounding the track, sifting through the particles floating in the light.

"I thought I'd come back one day," he continued, "once I made it big. But… I never did." He gave a bitter laugh, and shook his hood in disappointment. "I was hoping so badly to surprise you all with the news that I became famous. But I never did. And I was too ashamed to come back. How could I? When all my plans crashed and burned...

Cruz perked up at that final phrasing, which rang with some familiarity.

"I lost everything. I gave up on one dream, but I also gave up on the most important one of all..."

He locked eyes with Cruz.

"You."

The Dinoco racer stared back at him in wonder before glancing away to take a moment to digest all this. No doubt his story reminded her of her own, except with a different ending—one that she wasn't already aware of. Even so, failure, too, was a part of her life. The only question was of how her father dealt with it.

"Then… why are you here now?" She studied him. "Do you need my help?"

Carlos shook his hood. "No, Cruz. I could never ask you for anything like that." He turned to face her, his expression sincere and determined. "I came here to make amends. To apologize, and tell you how proud I am of you. For making it. You succeeded, when I failed."

Cruz chuckled softly, casting her eyes to the ground. "If I'm honest, I never thought I'd make it either."

Carlos' eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yeah…" Cruz wore a sheepish smile. "I guess I'm kinda like you in that way."

"But look at you now, Cruz," Carlos said, gesturing at her. "You're one of the most famous racecars in the Piston Cup, maybe in all of racing!"

For a second, Cruz forgot she was wearing a dull, silver paint job, and instead, stood up tall on her tires, projecting that Dinoco design embodied deep within her chassis. She broke out into a more confident grin.

"It's all thanks to Lightning McQueen and all my friends for supporting me." Her strength faltered. "Especially since…"

Carlos' own enthusiasm faded, and he, too, was reminded of his daughter's ghosts. He furrowed his lids. "Are you really okay? Can you… still race?"

Cruz wrinkled her own lids, mulling over this. "I think so… But… I don't know if I'll ever be as good as I was before…" She tumbled into a greater distressed state, her voice going soft. "I'm afraid…"

Her father fell silent, staring down at the ground in thought. He seemed to be at a loss of what to do, and his visage was tinged with guilt—perhaps, for not being there for her in her time of need. As if he could have prevented the accident from happening to her if he were there.

But for Cruz, this issue bled deeper than just his absence at her races. It went back further than that. And suddenly, it was as if she needed someone to blame. Her worries snowballed into one, and were desperate to find somewhere—or someone—to direct them towards.

"You know... back then... it was like that," she began, her voice quiet, but steadily growing in volume and passion. "I didn't have anybody. Nobody was there to tell me, 'Cruz, you can do it!' 'Cruz follow your dreams!' 'Cruz, don't worry, because everything will be alright!'"

Cruz realized that she had lost control over her emotions by the end of her disclosure, and tried to recompose herself with a deep breath. Her words had poured out of her before she had a chance to properly think them through, but she knew that she had meant every single one of them. They were all true, and they had been hidden inside her for a long time.

For a moment, Cruz had a flash of déjà vu, as she felt this moment mirror the one she had with McQueen after the incident at Thunder Hollow. Pulled over on the side of the road, emotions flaring after McQueen lost his temper. It provoked Cruz into opening up about the things she struggled with, that tangled with her life.

The guilt only increased on Carlos' face. He moved closer, as if to comfort her, but he refrained from making any contact. He was afraid of making things worse, and wasn't quite sure what he could do to improve the circumstances.

"I know, mija. I wish I was there. I really do. But…" He was hesitant, hopeful. "I'm here now."

Cruz dropped her hood in agreement. "I guess that's true."

Carlos laid a supportive tire against Cruz, prompting her to look up. His eyes were shining. "Cruz, you have so much hope. I don't know if this means anything to you, but… creo en ti."

Cruz's eyes were wide, reflecting that hope. "You do?"

"Sí."

The racer took a moment to mentally revisit the details of the recent conversation, taking all the parts into consideration.

"You know… I might not have been where I am now if you'd stayed. So, when I think about it like that… I guess I wouldn't have changed a thing." The rising sun glimmered off Cruz's silver surface, and her eyes glowed golden brown in the light, as did her father's. "Everything that's happened since the day I was manufactured has shaped me into the person I am today. The good, and the bad. Even the crash. And what happened, happened, and all I can really do is accept that and move on."

Carlos stared back, accepting of this analysis. That was really all he could make of it as well.

Cruz glanced down, pausing for a moment, before lifting her eyes up at him. "Papá?"

Carlos wasn't expecting the name, and it brought him a sudden, wistful joy. "...Yes?"

"The fact that you believe in me makes me think that there's still hope for you too."

Carlos shook his hood, a sad smile on his lips. "It's too late for me, mija. My 'glory' days are over."

A grin spread across Cruz's face. "I don't know. I know an old washed-up guy like you who still has a career. It just looks a little different than it used to."

The deep verdant colors of the trees surrounding the stadium restored the faded green paint of the coupe.

"Well in that case…"

The sun hung high in the sky over the Thomasville Speedway.

Cruz waited in the stands of the Charlotte Motor Speedway. After the meeting with her father, the two parted ways, though Carlos gave her his number, promising to keep in touch. It was still a little too soon for them to become father and daughter as if nothing happened, but they were on the path to some kind of relationship. Carlos himself still had some soul-searching to do, and he told her that he'd let her know if he had any luck in reviving his music career. But first, he was off to visit his sister-in-law and her sons, as he owed them an explanation as well. Cruz was reminded of them, and she felt a pang in her engine. She wondered if they had still given up on her. Or did they hang onto the tiniest shred of hope? No matter what they were thinking, Cruz was glad that she now had at least one family member who believed in her dream.

Cruz had gone with Danny to the race in hopes of it instilling in her the skills needed to win again. She thought that by being a spectator, instead of being on the tracks, she'd gain a different perspective on things. After all, she learned so much about racing alone from just watching the pros do it.

Despite not being in the race herself, Cruz still felt that chilly anticipation one gets before a big competition. Force of habit, perhaps. It might have been because a part of her was itching to get back on the asphalt. Her soul was still ingrained in the tracks. It never left, even after all that had happened. She longed to make a big comeback after her mysterious absence. She wanted to prove to everyone that she still had what it took. But she wasn't quite ready yet...

She would be.

Storm went through the motions of racing, as per usual, since he was such an expert at the sport. He could have glided around the track with his eyes closed. Maybe even asleep. His "not-first-place" streak prodded him in the back of his mind, but he wasn't too concerned yet. Not really. No, there were other things at the front of his mind. Thanks to his innate ability to multitask on the track, he was able to muse over these things, as he was want to do during many a race. This time, though, those things had a name. And that name was Cruz Ramirez.

He recalled back to that late night encounter a few days ago. The two of them hadn't met again since that time. He had trouble remembering what happened exactly, which may or may not have been due in part to the amount of gasohol he drank. It all seemed like a confused blur. Maybe it never actually happened. It was too uncomfortable for him to admit to happening. But Storm had been sober enough to know that it indeed did occur.

He thought about her offer. Why couldn't they just break ties completely? They had made amends, hadn't they? Wasn't that good enough? She wouldn't forgive him unless they started working together. As a team. The idea was ridiculous. Besides, Storm didn't need her forgiveness anyway. As long as he could move on with his life, that was all that mattered.

Storm sped down, in alliance with his thoughts. He was hardly conscious of it. Maybe he wasn't so good at multitasking with heated emotions at play as he thought.

According to Cruz Ramirez, though, Storm didn't have a life. He smirked to himself, dismissing the idea. What was she, his guidance counselor? He'd never live it down if he sought her advice for anything…

Nevertheless, he held the possibility in his mind, working it over. As reluctant as he was, he couldn't help but be drawn to it.

Maybe he'd offer her a few tips on her racing. Just to keep her happy. But a nagging fear grew in his mind, that of which had been buried there for a long time. What if she got better than him? What if, when she'd return to the track, she'd replace him as the fastest racer in the Piston Cup? In fact, anyone could. He was replaceable, as he always knew he was, because they'd just churn out the next Next-Gen to fill his place. He always knew this and was convinced that he was comfortable with it, but only now did the thought bother him so much. What would become of him then?

What then?

The dark grey racecar grit his teeth, pushing forward.

He wouldn't let that happen.

Storm made his way through the crowd of fans and reporters, so accustomed to their presence that he could navigate them without even looking. This time, though, he made sure to relish in their attention. He had finally broken his losing streak by taking first place in the race. It was a slump after all, like he always knew. Even the mighty Jackson Storm wasn't immune to a few losses every once in a while.

He participated in interviews with his usual cool nonchalance, answered questions with biting wit, and signed autographs like second nature. And all the while, all he could think about was how foolish he had been to consider Ramirez's help. At the very least, he could outlive Ramirez on the racetrack. The idea of her being the first one to retire satisfied him. It was good enough. He was fine. He was doing perfectly fine.

But then his eye caught a flash of silver somewhere far off from the sea of vehicles. And his engine lurched under his hood, and he cursed himself for it. It was stupid to be so naively hopeful. And for no good reason.

Nevertheless, Storm felt himself tear away from the hustle and bustle, and drift toward the distant sight, as if under the influence of a magnetic pull. But the closer he got, the farther and farther away the silver surface got away from him. Whoever they were, they were leaving.

Storm picked up speed, desperate even, to catch up with this person. He knew it didn't make any sense in his mind to follow this vehicle, who was likely just a stranger, but he couldn't help but believe.

The silver car reached the exit, but Storm was catching up to them now. They couldn't get away, not with his agility. Despite being donned in a pink feather boa, and large, cat eye sunglasses, he recognized their make and model.

"Hey!" he shouted, in hopes of stopping them in their tracks. But they continued on, rushing through the tunnel and emerging outside the stadium.

Storm followed after, soon only yards away from them.

"Hold it!"

This seemed to get their attention, though Storm was sure that they heard him the first time. The silver sports car eased to a halt, still facing away from him. Their form was sleek and slim; their features: round and lacking any sharp edges. Yet their low profile and futuristic design was familiar.

The shiny coupe wheeled around halfway, refusing to turn all the way around to meet Storm's eyes.

"Sorry, kid. You must have the wrong person. There's no way a famous celebrity like Jackson Storm would know someone like me." The speaker had a smooth, feminine voice, which carried an underlying sarcastic tone. She spoke with a poor, exaggerated New York accent, designed to disguise.

Storm's engine shook under his hood—his RPM soaring (due to his sudden burst of physical activity and not anxiety, he assured himself). He recognized that voice. The young racecar entered yet another dreamlike state, not unlike that of which he experienced a few nights ago. He was caught off-guard by this person's arrival, grappling for something—anything to keep him in control. This wasn't like a race on the simulator or even on the physical track. There wasn't a plan or rules he knew of to deal with this situation, that of which he had only imagined and dreamed of. This was real.

He huffed a breath to release the tension in his frame. "You're not fooling anyone. I know who you are."

The woman sighed, defeated.

"My agent always told me I was bad at accents," she said, dropping the false one she had adopted. She shrugged, pushing herself higher off the ground. "Oh, well. It was worth a shot."

She turned all the way around to finally face her pursuer. Storm searched her appearance, looking for confirmation that she was who he thought she was. As if her voice wasn't enough. The costume was hardly enough to make her invisible, but he still had to be sure.

The silver vehicle lifted a tire to push her sunglasses up past her windshield. Ice blue eyes met dark grey ones. It was like Jackson was staring back at a piece of himself—a past chapter of his life that he thought he had lost forever. But here it was again, like nothing had ever happened. He didn't know whether to be happy or mad.

He chose something akin to the latter. "What are you doing here?"

The mysterious lady donned a coy smile, lidding her eyes to demonstrate her collectedness.

"What do mean? Am I not allowed to watch my own son race?"

(AN): Wow, these absent parents are popping up like weeds! But in all seriousness, I didn't originally intend to have both Cruz's and Jackson's parental situations parallel each other so much. Speaking of parents, apparently Danny's Latin Spanish name in Cars 3 is Carlos?...Oops… And yes, I did name Cruz's mother Cristal after Cristela. The name kind of has some significance if you overthink it. Also, just as an FYI, I changed Cruz's mother's model to a 2005 Chevrolet Cobalt SS Supercharged. So there's that. As for Jackson's mother, think sleek. Maybe a BMW i8. (I know they're fairly recent cars, but I don't know how car ages work in the Carsverse, so let's just go with it. And let's be honest, Jackson is in a whole 'nother league of his own, so his parents are special too).

[EDIT: Changed Cruz's mother's name from Cristela to Cristal. Just to avoid confusion.]