Y'all ready for this? The third and final part of Talladega. Bear with me through a longer than normal AN. I toyed with breaking this into two parts, but it all goes together and I just didn't want to - 'Dega needs to happen!
Talladega is a volatile track. Cars crash often. One of the important things at Talladega is drafting. In its simplest terms, drafting is using the airflow from other cars to move around the track. When cars get "hung out of the draft," they tend to lose spots on the track, rapidly.
Another NASCAR note important to this chapter: Loose vs. Tight cars. When watching NASCAR, you will hear announcers say so and so is loose or so and so is saying they're tight. That has to do with their ability to steer their cars round the track. If a car is tight, it's harder to handle. If its loose, it's more sensitive, moves around more, so to speak. If you google it, there are some great diagrams that explain it better!
And finally - pit stops help win races. There are a few pit stops below. Damon and Stefan? They have pit stops figured out. Pit crews are often made up of former athletes. These guys tend to be in beast mode shape, are fast, and have to be very accurate. Changing four tires and pouring in gallons of fuel in seconds? Kind of a hard thing to do. But, a super important thing to do as well.
I'll stop rambling. Thank you SO SO SO much for reading. I hope you like this one. I hope!
Disclaimer: I don't own Vampire Diaries. Or the 24 car or its likeness.
"Morning, Mom," Damon greeted, rounding the corner of his parents' motor home to where a portable picnic table was set up. On another folding table, Ginny was manning an electric skillet and a hot plate powered by a generator. She turned at the sound of Damon's voice.
"Good morning," she replied. "You're early. Breakfast still has a few minutes to go, but the coffee is ready." Damon nodded. He had purposefully shown up to breakfast early so he would have a few minutes with his mother.
"You need a refill?" he asked as he poured his coffee. He had to admire his parents' elaborate set up. Their luxury motor home truly was a home away from home. His resembled a rolling frat house, given that he shared it with most of his crew members.
"Top me off," Ginny said, holding out her mug with one hand, flipping bacon with the other. "You're up early this morning."
"I'm always up early on race day," Damon countered. Ginny scoffed.
"You, my dear boy, have not been up early for anything a single day in your life."
"That's not true," Damon argued, taking a seat at the picnic table. "I get up early all the time these days. I can't even tell you the last time I woke up after eight o'clock. Between racing and Molly, my days start early."
"Welcome to parenthood," Ginny said with a smile. She gave him a curious look as she flipped the bacon on the skillet. "How are you feeling?" she asked bluntly. Damon shrugged.
"I'm okay," he said honestly. "I'm a little nervous, but it's just racing, you know? I can do this."
"No one will think less of you if you are nervous about going out there," Ginny said. "It's a completely natural response to be nervous, given the last time you were here…"
"Mom," Damon said gently. "I'm fine. I know you are worried, but you don't have to be. I'm okay. My injuries have healed. I was pretty worked up before we got here, but I talked about the accident with Stefan and I have been driving the track. I'm okay. Really" He smiled slightly. "In fact, I don't know when I have ever been better."
"First, I hope you remember this moment sometime down the line when Molly looks at you and says 'don't worry, I'll be fine,'" Ginny replied, pointing her spatula at him. "As a parent, I assure you, you will always worry. I spend every weekend from February to November worried about my sons and husband and their love of things that go fast." Damon chuckled, but didn't say anything. He knew she was right.
"Secondly," Ginny continued, her features softening, "I agree. You do seem to be in a good place these days. I assume Molly and Elena have a lot to do with that?"
"They do," Damon confirmed. "But, well, you and Dad and Stefan, even Caroline – you have a lot to do with it, too." He jiggled his knee nervously. "Just, you know, having you all around again. It's helped with – things." Ginny kept one eye on breakfast even as she turned to Damon.
"It's good to have you home," she told him. "We missed you, Damon. I missed you." Damon's throat went dry.
"I missed you, too," he choked out. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but I did. After a certain point, I just didn't know how to come home again."
"You can always come home," Ginny told him firmly. "I wish you would have come home in one piece, but I will always take you however I can get you, so long as you are alive."
"I would have preferred to come home in one piece, too," Damon admitted. He took a sip of his coffee while his mother moved crisp bacon from the skillet to a paper towel-lined plate and put more on to cook.
"Just stay in one piece today, okay? I already have to tell Matt Donovan and those disloyal rodents exactly what I think of them. I don't want to have to put you in your place for getting hurt again, too." Damon chuckled again.
"I can't make any absolute promises, given the nature of the business, but I don't intend to do anything other than try to win this thing," he told her. Ginny responded by handing him a piece of bacon.
"That will hold you over until breakfast is ready," she said. Damon thought a single piece of bacon wasn't going to do much for his appetite, but he took it anyway.
"So," he started conversationally, "is it safe for me to assume you were in on Dad's plan to bring Elena home?" His mother had never been one capable of controlling her reactions. Whatever she was feeling showed plainly on her features. At the moment, they had twisted into a look that told him she had been caught.
"Your father did tell me he was bringing Elena back to Mystic Falls in hopes that she would be able to, shall we say, straighten you out," she admitted. "I had some hope that it would work, of course, but, well, let's just say I didn't think it would work out quite so well." Damon furrowed his brow.
"What do you mean?" Ginny sighed and moved more bacon from the skillet.
"I thought that it had potential to work," she said again. "I know you loved Elena…"
"Love," Damon corrected. "I love Elena." Ginny smiled.
"I know you love Elena," she amended. "But, it was just so romanticized. Your father was relying on the fact that you loved Elena so much that you would do whatever you needed to do to get her back. He believed fully that true love would fix everything. True love and Molly, that is. As much as I wanted to believe that Elena could save you – and I did believe it, to an extent – I was also realistic. You were in such a – state – and I didn't see how the girl you had left behind would pull you out of it after all this time, especially when she showed up with a daughter you didn't know about in tow. Frankly, I wasn't sure she would even speak to you."
"I am surprised every day that she speaks to me," Damon admitted. "She has been nothing but gracious since the moment she moved back here, no matter how deeply I hurt her. I wait every day for her to tell me to go to hell or to take Molly and leave without a backward glance." Damon shook his head. "That's the thing that would hurt me worse than anything – to lose Molly." Ginny removed the last of the bacon and stirred the gravy before turning to Damon.
"Do you think Elena would do that?" she asked. He shook his head.
"She's a far better person than I am," he said. "She wouldn't hurt me like that."
"No," Ginny agreed, "she wouldn't." Damon looked his mother in the eye.
"I'm not going to hurt you like that again," he promised. "I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."
"I believe that," Ginny said with conviction. She walked over and planted a kiss on the top of Damon's head. "I still want to know what made you act like you had no raising, but for today, I just want you to race hard and cross the finish line, okay?" Damon nodded, feeling a wave of gratitude towards his mother. He knew she still had a lot of questions that she wanted answers to and he would give them. But today, he merely wanted to reassure her, both that he was okay and that he wasn't going anywhere again.
"Can I ask you something?" he asked as Ginny went back to her sausage gravy.
"Ask away."
"How are you going to manage to bake biscuits?" While she had a hot plate and a skillet, he didn't see a way to make biscuits, nor did he see any sign of said biscuits. Some motor homes had miniscule ovens, but his parents' did not.
"She sends your father to Bojangles," came Giuseppe's voice. He rounded the motor home carrying two bags with the fast food chain's logo. Damon looked at his mother in surprise.
"Don't you dare," she said, this time pointing a wooden spoon at him. "No one was supposed to be up this early. You were the one who asked for biscuits and gravy and given where we are this weekend, I thought you should have what you requested. You will eat these fast food imitations of a biscuit and like it. You will also keep your mouth shut and not tell the rest of your family what you know."
Damon was laughing so hard he couldn't catch his breath. Giuseppe was working hard to maintain a neutral expression, knowing his wife was very proud of her cooking and didn't much like the idea of serving anything she didn't make herself.
"That's enough, Damon," he managed. Damon knew the admonishment was more for his mother's benefit.
"Sorry," he chortled, trying to bring himself under control.
"You hush," Ginny said, again pointing her spoon at him. "And go to your brother's motor home and tell them breakfast is ready." Damon stood to do what he was told. "Not a word about the biscuits!" Ginny called after him. Damon just laughed.
He waited until they were all seated, Molly in his lap, Elena at his side, and breakfast on their plates, to tell the truth about the biscuits.
His nerves were threatening to make a comeback.
The green flag was less than an hour away. He hadn't had much time to really think about the fact that he was about to race at Talladega, which was probably a good thing. If he had too much downtime with his thoughts, there was no telling what might happen, where his thoughts might go.
After breakfast, he and Stefan had gone back to the shop along with his crew, working on the car until the very last moment NASCAR gave them was up. The standard driver's meeting had followed, and then he had sat down with ESPN for an interview about his return to the track before being ushered to another reporter, this one with NRN, the network that broadcasted the races each week. He had already given them an in-depth interview, but they wanted him live as well. He hated live interviews, especially before the race, as he was always worried he would say something wrong. It was different after the race, when they pushed microphones in his face and he could simply talk about what had happened over the last few hours. Elena had been with him for the interviews, but had been all business, not giving him the chance to so much as give her hand a squeeze.
Now though, he had a moment.
He had always liked to pull on his fire suit in his hauler, alone. It gave him a few minutes to get his head in the game, to focus his mind on the task at hand – racing. Today, though, his mind wanted to go to October, to flipping down the front stretch, flames and smoke and pain. He gave his head a shake as he pulled his fire suit up to his waist. He tucked his thin undershirt in and pulled the suit's sleeves over his arms. With a deep breath, he zipped it up.
"It's just a race," he said to himself. He reached for his hat, and turned to exit the hauler. He had only taken a few steps when he heard his favorite sound.
"Daddy!"
He turned to see Molly pulling against the grip Elena had on her hand and broke into a grin. Once again, she was wearing a dress, this one red with white polka dots, a big black, red, and white bow in her hair, black sandals on her feet. She was wearing his team colors. He loved that Elena took the time to dress her in his racing colors on race day. It was a small gesture, but it meant everything to him.
"My girls," he greeted with a smile. Elena returned his smile and released Molly's hand, letting her run the last few feet to Damon. She held her arms up and out, expecting to be picked up like always. He didn't disappoint, swinging her into his arms. He gave her a little hug and felt his nerves calm a bit. She always smelled like Elena, all lavender and vanilla.
"Molly wanted to see you before the race," Elena said by way of explanation.
"Did she?" Damon asked, raising an eyebrow. "How about her mom?" Elena shrugged casually.
"I thought I would say hey," she said. Damon chuckled.
"Daddy, you gonna win?" Molly asked. She looked hopefully at Damon, her fingers running over one of the shoulder strap of his suit – the straps designed to aid in pulling an injured driver from their car. Those straps had been used to remove him from the wreckage the last time he was at Talladega.
"I'm going to try my best," he promised Molly. "But, win or lose, I say we celebrate with ice cream after the race." Molly cheered in response, making both Elena and Damon laugh. Damon looked at Elena. "Walk with me?" he asked. "I'm headed to the starting grid." Elena nodded.
"That was sort of my plan," she admitted. She fell into step beside Damon who put Molly down to walk on her own. She reached for their hands and walked happily between them. "How is the car?"
"We don't know," Damon said. "We have absolutely no idea what's going to happen once we start the engine."
"It will be fine," Elena said confidentially. "Just talk to Stefan. He will get the car where it needs to be."
"I'm glad Stefan is with me," he admitted. "I needed to face Daytona on my own. But, well, this is Talladega." Elena gave him a small smile. She got it. A few months ago, he had needed to face his fear of racing again at Daytona. Now, he needed his family to face Talladega.
"Daddy?" Molly asked, tugging on his hand to get his attention.
"Yep?"
"Do you like my dress?" Damon smiled down at her, reminded once again how innocent she was.
"I love your dress," he confirmed. "I especially like the colors." Molly beamed.
"It da same colors as you car!" she said, giving an excited bounce, thrilled he got the colors were the same as his. "Mama picked it out!"
"Did she?" he asked. Molly nodded. He glanced at Elena and in that moment, truly noticed what she was wearing – red shorts, and a black flowing tank top, her long legs melting into a pair of black wedges. Her Salvatore Racing and press badges hung around her neck and he silently thanked God there were no dress codes at the track. He also found himself thankful it was hot out – otherwise, she might be wearing jeans to cover up those legs. "Looks like Mama is wearing Daddy's colors too."
"Mama has to remain neutral," Elena reminded him. "I just coincidentally put this outfit on this morning." Damon grinned. She would never admit. Not at this point in their relationship – or whatever it was they had.
"Regardless, you look great," he told her. He winked, and then smirked at the faint blush that crept into her cheeks.
"How are you doing?" she asked him. "The truth, not the song and dance you gave the press earlier."
"I'm okay," he told her truthfully. "The nerves are there, but I'm okay. I can do this." He looked almost guilty. "It helps knowing Matt won't be on the track." Matt Donovan's arrest and the sabotage scandal were almost as big of a story as Damon's return to the track.
"I'm rather grateful for that myself," Elena admitted. "It would be too easy here, for him to pull something on the track and make it out to be 'just racing.'"
"Daddy?" came Molly's voice again.
"What's up?"
"Can I drive your car?" Damon and Elena both chuckled.
"When you're bigger," he promised as Elena rolled her eyes. Molly beamed in response. Damon turned his attention back to Elena. "I'm glad the two of you are with me right now," he told her. "Thank you." Elena gave him another smile and nodded.
"I wanted to check on you before the race," she admitted. "And, Molly really did to see you." She gave her daughter a fond smile. They were nearly at the starting grid. Damon could see his car already sitting in the pole position. He paused while they were still in the relative privacy of the garage area. It, too, was busy, but compared to the action in the infield and on the starting grid, it was the most private place they had. As soon as he stepped onto pit road, he knew there would be more reporters, eager to talk with him about his return and everything that had happened in the last two days. He needed a moment with his girls.
"Come here, Molly," Damon said, swinging her into his arms again. "Can I have a hug?" Molly obliged and wrapped her arms around Damon's neck.
"Can you wish Daddy good luck today?" Elena asked, stepping closer to them.
"Good luck, Daddy," Molly said. "You gonna win!"
"I'm going to do my best," he promised.
"And we gonna get ice cream after da race?" Molly countered.
"Smart as a tack," Damon observed. "Yes, we will get ice cream after the race."
"We are going to watch the race from your pit box," Elena told him. She reached into her bag and produced Molly's earmuffs. She stepped forward and looped the earmuffs around Molly's neck for later. Her perfume filled Damon's nostrils and he felt his nerves calm even more. "Oh, and Giuseppe told me to tell you your mother is going to watch from suite. I think that's his way of making sure she's out of the way. She's – nervous."
"I know she is," Damon said. "That's why I spent some time with her this morning."
"That was a good call," Elena agreed.
"Damon!" came Stefan's voice from across the lot. "Time to go!" Damon gave him a thumbs up.
"You heard your uncle," Damon said to Molly. "Time to go racing."
It became real then.
He was about to race at Talladega, the same track that nearly took his life seven months ago. He wasn't concerned about his car's engine or what adjustments they would need to make to be a contender. Not anymore. Suddenly, he just wanted to make it around the track. He wanted to go the full 200 miles and not crash, not flip his car, not be overwhelmed with smoke from his burning wreckage. He felt his stomach churn.
"Damon?" Elena asked softly. She had seen the fear flash through his eyes, watched him glaze over as he realized it was time to get behind the wheel. He shook his head slightly. He had to face his fears.
"Come with me trackside," he said to Elena, trying to hide the urgency in his voice. "You and Molly. For the invocation and the Anthem and all that." Elena understood. He wanted her and Molly by his side before he got in the car. His nerves were close to getting the best of him and he wanted – needed – their support.
"Okay," she agreed simply. She let him lead the way, Molly securely in his arms.
The starting grid was bustling. Drivers and their families, crewmembers, owners, NASCAR officials, and representatives from team sponsors mulled around, giving last minute interviews, discussing strategy, and preparing for the race. Damon was swarmed almost as soon as he stepped onto pit road, both by well-wishers and reporters. He was polite, but kept both Molly and Elena close, Molly in his arms as he unconsciously stuck close to Elena's side, breaking away only long enough to go through driver introductions and take his parade lap around the track before he was back with Molly and Elena.
While other children either stayed out of the way of the press taking to their fathers or else shyly tucked their faces into fire suits, Molly thrived, smiling happily as people approached, giggling as reporters and supporters alike make conversation with her. She even recognized the reporter from NRN, Bill, and gave him a high five. Her innocent charm seemed to calm Damon down, bring a smile to his face as he let her answer NBC's questions.
"What do you like about racing, Molly?" the reporter asked. Elena stood quietly at Damon's side, beaming as her daughter squared her shoulders.
"We gets ice cream after," she said proudly, causing everyone to laugh.
"We should be getting a move on," Elena said, stepping into her role of publicist to move Damon along to his car where Stefan was motioning for him impatiently. It was almost time. "We will talk to you after the race, Michelle." Michelle, the reporter, nodded.
"You will," she promised. Elena had to refrain from rolling her eyes.
"No more interviews," Damon whispered just loud enough for Elena to hear. "I don't want to keep talking about it. I just want to get in my car."
"Okay," Elena agreed. She gave his arm a quick squeeze. "Come on." True to her word, Elena maneuvered him through the last few reporters waiting, telling them they would be able to talk to him after the race.
"Thank you," he said quietly as they arrived at his car. Stefan approached them.
"You okay?" he asked quietly. Damon pulled Molly a little closer.
"I just need to get into the car," he said. "The anticipation, the waiting… I need to get into the car." Both Stefan and Elena could tell that Damon was on the brink of a full-fledged panic attack.
"Molly, come here for a second," Elena said, stepping in to extricate Molly in order for Stefan to talk to him. "Let's say hello to Enzo before the race, okay?" Molly, ever perceptive, knew something was amiss, but allowed her mother to take her from Damon's arms without a fight as she especially liked Enzo. Once they were a few yards away, Stefan stepped forward and put his hand on Damon's shoulder, aware that eyes and cameras were on them. He didn't think they could hear what they were saying to one another, however.
"Listen to me," he said sternly. "It's going to be fine. We are going to sing the National Anthem, listen to a preacher give the invocation, and then we are going to strap you into that car, put your helmet on, crank the engine, and go racing. You are a racecar driver, Damon. You know how to race. This is just a race, just like last week at Dover was a race and just like Kansas will be next week. That is all this is – a race. You have raced hundreds of times before. This is just another race. You are going to be fine. Okay?"
Damon took a deep breath, letting Stefan's words sink in. "Okay," he agreed. "It's just a race." Deep down he knew Stefan was right. Still, Stefan hadn't been the one in the car seven months ago.
"It's just a race," Stefan repeated. He squeezed Damon's shoulder before he let him go. "Just talk to me, okay? It's just me and you on the radio. And, well, Ric. It wouldn't be a race without him running his mouth in between sharing actual observations from the tower." Damon quirked one side of his mouth upward. Ric did like to ramble during races, especially when the track was quiet and he had nothing to report.
"You know it's just not me and you and Ric," he reminded Stefan. "ESPN has my car tapped with microphones and dash cameras." He didn't even bother mention the fans that listened to radio chatter during the race.
"Don't worry about them," Stefan said. "We're just going to race."
"Everything okay?" Stefan and Damon turned towards their father.
"I just want to race," Damon said. "I'll be good once the race starts." Giuseppe nodded.
"Caroline and your mother are in our suite," he told them. "Caroline is going to keep her busy."
"That's good," Damon said. Around him, teams were beginning to line up beside their cars in straight lines, ready for the last of the pre-race ceremonies.
"Are you sticking around or going up to the suite?" Stefan asked.
"I'm going to hang out down here for a while," he said simply. He clapped Damon on the shoulder. "Race hard," he told him. Damon just nodded. Before he had left for Florida, Giuseppe would tell him to 'race hard' before every race. This was the first time since his return that he had said it. It helped further calm him down. "I'm going to go check in with Eric and Martin before they roll off." With that, he walked away, only to be replaced by Elena and Molly.
"Where Nonno goin'?" Molly asked looking after her grandfather.
"He's going to say hello to Eric and Martin," Damon answered. He reached for Molly, wanting to hold her for a few more moments before it was time to get in his car. "You will see him soon, I'm sure." He had no doubt his father wouldn't be far from his pit box today.
"Looks like its time to line up for the presentation of the colors," Stefan said, noticing that the crowd was growing quiet and standing at attention. Wordlessly, Damon turned to face the group of men in uniform lining up in formation to present the American flag. Elena fell in beside him, Stefan and the rest of the crew lining up next to her. The men removed their hats. Damon didn't put Molly down. All up and down the starting grid, fathers were holding small children in one arm, their hat over their heart with the other.
He listened as the script presenting the colors was read. He bowed his head during the invocation, saying what he thought was his first prayer in years that echoed the guest reverend's prayer of protection. The large crowd muttered a collective "Amen" as a female country artist stepped up to the microphone to perform the National Anthem. Up and down the grid, right hands covered hearts. As the last words were sung, the air around them roared to life with a flyover of military planes, bringing an eruption of cheers from the crowd with it. Molly covered her ears. And then, just like that, it was time to climb behind the wheel.
"Time to race," Damon said mostly to himself as he turned towards Elena. She looked him over, trying to gauge where his head was. She instinctively knew he was masking how nervous he really was, aware of the eyes and cameras on him, eager to get a glimpse of him slipping through his car's window.
"Give Daddy a kiss for good luck," Elena prompted. Molly obliged, giving Damon a messy kiss on the cheek. He grinned and returned the favor.
"I'll see you after the race, okay Princess?"
"We gonna get ice cream," Molly reminded him seriously.
"We are," he promised. He kissed her cheek again before passing her back to Elena. They caught one another's eyes. "Elena…," he choked out, his nerves suddenly worse than ever. She didn't hesitate to step forward and wrap her free arm around his waist, pulling him into her. His arms went around both her and Molly.
"Everything is different this time," Elena told him softly. "Molly and I are here. Your family is here. We will be waiting for you at the finish line, no matter where you place."
"Thank you," he mumbled, dropping his head so he could rest his forehead against her temple. Molly leaned in as well, not wanting to be left out. "Thank you for being here."
"We are here," Elena repeated. "And you can do this, Damon. Talladega beat you last time, but I think its time for you to take it back." That idea hit home for Damon – Talladega had taken a lot from him the last time he was there. It was time for him to get some of that back. He felt a wave of courage wash over him.
"It's time," he agreed. He kissed her temple. "I love you," he whispered into her ear so only she could hear. "I know you may not want to hear that right now, but it's the truth. I love you. I never stopped." He pulled away a bit then and smoothed a hand down Molly's back. "I love you," he told her as well. "So much." After his last outing at Talladega, Damon felt like he needed to tell them how he felt – just in case.
"Love you too, Daddy!" Molly said happily. Elena smiled up at him.
"Despite everything, I never stopped either," she told him quietly. Damon felt a weight lifted from his shoulders. She stepped closer to him and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Don't crash," she whispered. Damon closed his eyes for a moment. Before everything, that had been their pre-race ritual – she would kiss him and tell him "don't crash" just before he climbed into the car. Instead of putting him on edge, it helped him relax even further. For those few moments, it was as though nothing had changed between them.
"Yeah, don't crash, Daddy!" Molly added seriously. "I not wanna have to see you in da hospital again." Damon sighed.
"And that would be my mother talking," he said as Elena laughed lightly. Molly had seemingly reached an age where she repeated everything she heard. Just hours ago, Ginny had lectured Damon on making sure he didn't find himself in the infield care center or worse again. Molly seemed to have remembered some of her lines.
"Damon?" Stefan asked. Damon turned and traded a look with his brother before he nodded.
"I'm ready," he said. He placed another kiss on Molly's forehead, and then Elena's. "I'll see you soon," he told them.
"Drive fast, Daddy!" Molly exclaimed. Elena merely nodded, smiling at him. He winked at her before turning to Stefan as she turned to head to Damon's pit box.
"Okay," he said to Stefan, "let's do this."
In one fluid motion, Damon slipped through the window of his car. His body molded to the custom driver's seat. Blowing out a breath, he reached for his helmet and pulled it over his head. He picked up the gloves left by his gearshift and slid them on, leaning back in his seat as Stefan went to work helping him with his harness.
"Ready for the HANS device?" he asked. Damon just nodded and stayed still while Stefan fastened the straps of the device to his helmet. The device would keep his head from surging forward in the event of a crash, helping protect against a broken neck. He hated it, as it decreased his range of motion, but he knew it had likely played a very large role in saving his life in the fall.
"Ric, do you copy?" he said into the helmet's built in headset.
"Loud and clear," Ric replied. "It's a beautiful day to win a race." Damon just chuckled.
"All set," Stefan said, clapping Damon on the shoulder as best he could with all the safety equipment in place. He leaned down and rested his forearms on the car, knowing he had mere moments left before the command to start engines. "We don't know how this car is going to be," he said. "Talk to me, tell me how the car is feeling. If I'm right, you're going to be pretty tight at the start. Just do what you can to stay towards the front until we get a pit stop to make adjustments."
"Here? I would rather it be tight than lose," Damon said. A tight car was harder to handle, and he generally liked to race a little looser, but a loose car at Talladega made it that much more difficult to stay in control. Stefan nodded his agreement and glanced around him.
"Time for me to head to the pit," he said. "I'll mic check you in a few." Damon nodded.
"Ric is coming in loud and clear," he confirmed. He frowned. "He's singing right now, actually."
"Lucky you."
"I heard that!" Ric exclaimed.
"Stop singing," Damon countered. "And if you must sing, pick a song from the last 20 years, at least."
"That was a classic," Ric quipped, but fell silent. Damon rolled his eyes. Stefan clapped Damon on the shoulder one more time.
"It's just a race," he reminded him. With that, he fastened Damon's window net into place. Damon took several deep breaths, wondering what was taking so long for the command to start engines. He tapped his steering wheel nervously. His headset crackled to life again.
"Damon, you copy?" came Stefan's voice.
"Copy," he replied. "What's taking so long?"
"There was a piece of debris in turn two," came Ric's voice. "They just removed it. You should be getting the command any second now."
Right on cue, the announcer's voice boomed over the speedway.
"Ladies and gentleman, here with the most famous words in all of sports, please welcome today's Grand Marshal, Four time GRAMMY winner and Alabama native, Lionel Richie!" A roar went up from the crowd.
"Gentleman," the singer said into his microphone, "start your engines!" Damon reached forward and flipped his switches with a practiced hand. His car thundered to life around him. The din of the speedway was deafening.
"Here we go," he muttered. With the 17 on his outside in the No. 2 starting spot, he led the field onto the track behind the pace car. They circled around once. He braced himself, ready to jump on the gas as the second pace lap started. As they came into the fourth turn, the pace car dropped to the shoulder of the track. Up ahead, the green flag was waving.
As soon as the nose of his car was over the start line, he floored his pedal, shifting through the gears in a smooth, well-practiced motion. He got the jump on the No. 17 and before he knew it had happened, he had led the first lap at Talladega. He also knew he wasn't going to be able to lead for long.
"You're right," he said to Stefan. "This car is wound tighter than Mom was about the biscuits this morning." He heard his brother chuckle.
"Do what you can until we get a caution," Stefan advised. "We will take a couple rounds of pressure out on your next pit stop."
"I can't accelerate in the turns," he replied. "I have to take my foot off the gas to steer.
"Just hang in there," Stefan said.
"Damon, go ahead and let the 17 pass you," Ric advised. "He's faster than you are right now." Damon glanced in his rearview mirror, aware that the 19 had been on his tail since the green flag a few laps earlier. He pursed his lips. He wasn't one to back down, especially when he had the lead. Still, he knew his car couldn't hang, at least not right now.
"Fine," he grumbled, letting his car drift up the track to give the 19 room to pass him on the inside.
"We will get you back up there," Stefan promised. "Just pick up the draft and stay clean." Damon didn't reply. He was already doing what Stefan had suggested. That was part of why they worked so well together – they instinctively knew what the other was thinking.
He settled in, managing to keep his car in the Top 12, even while fighting the wheel. His fears ebbed away with each lap as he grew more confident. It really was just a race.
"The engine reads are fantastic," Stefan said after the radio had been silent for a while. "Damon, if we can get you loosened up, I think you can be up front at the end."
"How many more laps until we pit under green?" Damon asked.
"About 15, unless there's a caution."
"Your wish is the NASCAR God's command," Ric chimed in. "The 15 just got into the 33. They are both off the track, but the caution flag is waving."
"I'm clear?" Damon clarified.
"You're clear," Ric confirmed. "Just stay where you are."
"Pit road is going to open lap after next," Stefan added. "We're going to take two pounds of pressure out of the rear, give you four fresh tires, and top off the gas tank. Need anything else?"
"Just loosen me up," Damon said. "I'll do the rest."
"There's our boy," Ric said.
Two laps later, Damon turned down pit road and coasted to a smooth stop in his box. His crew went to the right side first, jacking his car up and swapping out tires. He watched anxiously as they dashed to the left side. Within 15 seconds, he was leaving pit road in a cloud of smoke.
"Nice work," he said into his headset. "Give Enzo a high five for me."
"Will do," Stefan replied. "Looks like we got you a couple of places in position. You re-start eighth."
"Pick up the draft with the 20," Ric came in. "He's looking for some help."
"Not a bad plan," Stefan agreed. "Make friends now. We might need them later."
"How about I do the driving?" Damon asked.
"And the Damon we know and love makes another appearance!" Ric exclaimed.
"I'll shut up for a while," Stefan promised. He knew Damon would let him and Ric give their suggestions to a point, but when he was tired of it, he let them know. "You just tell me how that car feels after the adjustments."
"The restart comes on the next lap," Ric told him. "I'll shut up for the moment, too."
When the green flag dropped, Damon went racing. Within two laps, he knew the adjustments had worked. His car felt good. It also felt fast. Not as fast as his original engine, but fast all the same.
"She's sitting pretty," he said into his headset. "I can go where I want on this track. No drag, no pull. It feels faster, too."
"We added a couple strips of tape to the grill to redirect airflow," Stefan explained. "You should have better down force now. I just looked over the tires with Enzo. They are wearing evenly. Looks like we're in good shape for the moment."
They returned to silence and Damon focused on the race in front of him. He had managed to creep up to fourth, but couldn't seem to get any further up the pack. He was dealing with some lapped traffic now, but found picking them off one by one to be relatively easy. He was growing frustrated all the same, eager to get out front.
"Let's take another round of pressure out on the next stop," he said to Stefan.
"I thought you were good." He could hear the frown in Stefan's voice.
"I need a little more freedom," he replied. "The set up is perfect, but you know I like to race a little loose."
"I don't know, Damon…"
"Trust me," Damon replied. "Even just a half round. I just need a little more freedom to move around the track."
"Fine," Stefan relented. "A half round of pressure. Deal?"
"Deal," Damon agreed. He knew Stefan wasn't happy about it. While Damon liked to race a little lose, Stefan thought it best, especially at Talladega, to stay where they were. It was a sign of Damon's growing confidence that he wanted to loosen the car up more, but Stefan was still weary. Still, he trusted Damon.
They went back to silence, the track largely quiet. Damon worked his way through the lapped traffic and could see the 24, 88, and 30 ahead of him. He pursed his lips again, thinking fast. He needed to catch up with the front three, but he was out of the draft, meaning he was losing ground. He could see the 20 in his rearview.
"Come on, Kenseth," he urged, willing the car to reach him. Kenseth, too, was once more in need of a drafting partner. It took a few laps before the yellow car caught up to him and picked up his draft. With Damon in the lead, they caught up to the front three just in time for a round of green flag pit stops.
"Lead this next lap," Stefan advised, "then come down pit lane. We will make the air pressure adjustment and swap out right tires only. We're topping off the tank and adding some more duct tape, to."
"Copy," Damon agreed. He led the next lap and then, as cars cycled through their pit stops, he dove off the track and once again smoothly braked to a stop. He watched as a layer of coating was ripped from his windshield. He hadn't realized how filthy it was until it was crystal clear again. He could just see the guys in the front of his car, strategically taping up his grill to improve airflow and aerodynamics. This time, he was out of the pit in 14 seconds flat.
"Beautiful," Stefan said.
"You're going to be in third after everyone cycles through," Ric said. "The 33 overshot their pit box and lost time rolling back."
"As long as the breaks keep going for us instead of against us," Damon said. They once again fell silent after Damon confirmed his car felt good – and faster. He had been picking up speed all day. Unbeknownst to him, the race commenters kept coming back to his team, marveling at how well they were doing in a backup engine, steadily getting better with each pit stop.
"Trouble on the backstretch!" Ric suddenly broke in. "Put the brakes on! Get up high! Get high! Stay there! Smoke is thick! Just stay high! Stay high!"
As Damon rounded turn three, he saw the chaos. Cars were all over the track in varying degrees of damage. He maneuvered up high, momentarily losing the track in the heavy smoke, running purely on muscle memory and instinct until he cleared the accident. The yellow flag was waving.
"Who was in it?" he asked.
"Hamlin, Vickers, Stewart, Busch… A whole bunch of them," RIc answered. "There's oil on the track. This will be a long caution."
"Here's to hoping that was the big one," Damon said.
"We're more than halfway, but we still have a lot of race to go," Stefan reminded him. "Listen, when pit road opens, we're brining you in for left tires and more gas. I was worried we wouldn't be good on fuel, but with this caution and our last scheduled pit stop, we will be fine."
"Just get me in and out," Damon said. He was running in the Top 5 and wanted to keep it that way. Any thoughts of his previous visit to the track were out of mind, his focus on the race at hand.
"Pit road will open next lap around," Ric informed him. Damon didn't reply, but on the next pass, he fell out of the pack of cars and took to pit road, watching his speedometer so he didn't speed and risk penalization from NASCAR. Again, he slid to a stop. His crew had his left tires off before he had barely come to a full stop. Another layer of film was removed from the windshield. He saw more tape going on the frontend.
"Go!" Stefan cried, giving him the go ahead to peel out of his pit box and return to the track.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"Third," Ric told him.
"The restart will come at lap 118," Stefan said. "We have another pit stop scheduled for lap 160. Just drive for now. Wait until…"
"10 laps to go," Damon finished. "I know."
They had talked strategy for several scenarios. If Damon was in the Top 5, he was to wait until they had 10 laps left to get aggressive and race for the front. That was the typical status quo at Talladega – wait until the laps were few before going all out. It tended to be the last laps of the race that brought out the biggest crashes.
"Unless the rest of them start going at it," Stefan reminded him. "Then, we throw our dog into the ring."
"Terrible analogy," Ric muttered.
"Just keep your eyes on the track," Stefan snapped.
"Roger that," Ric said. "File in, Damon. We're going back to green in two. You're going to have lapped traffic on the outside. Try and get them behind you. They are the people who can't drive." Damon snorted. That wasn't necessarily the case with cars that were down a lap or more, but Ric was Ric.
The went back to green flag conditions, Damon's radio largely silent, save for the occasional tip from Ric about track conditions and other cars. Along with the 88 and 24, he pulled ahead of the rest of the pack, their pack of three racing single file with a comfortable space between themselves and the rest of the field. All three were content to sit and wait, but Damon knew they wanted to win as bad as he did and soon enough, they would go all out.
"Looks like our final stop is going to be under green," came Stefan's voice. "We're going fresh tires all the way around…"
"Do we have time for that?" Damon interrupted. "A full set of tires?"
"Your right-side tires are worn and your front tires are wearing faster than the back, based on the last two sets we have looked at."
"Fine," Damon muttered.
"The 24 is going four tires, too," Stefan informed him. "Not sure what the 88 is doing, but the 24 went fuel only last stop. He's gunning for fresh tires to help him out at the end. Just like we are."
"Just make it fast," Damon said. "I'm going to try to win this thing."
"We're going to get you in position to win this thing," Stefan promised.
"I trust you," Damon replied simply.
A few laps later, he coasted to a stop in his pit box for the final time.
Later, when they watched the pit stop footage the fueler found on YouTube, they would realize just how synchronized they were, each person moving individually, yet still as one, removing tires and putting on new ones, filling the gas tank and wiping down the windshield.
"Go!" Stefan cried mere seconds after he pulled to a stop. Damon wasted no time.
"Oh, that was pretty!" Ric cried.
"12 seconds, baby!" Stefan exclaimed in a rare show of emotion. He tended to be all business during a race, saving any emotional outburst, good or bad, for post-race.
"Nicely done!" Damon added with a grin. He knew it was fast, but he hadn't realized it was that fast. 12 seconds was the pit stop goal crews aimed for, but rarely hit.
"You beat the 24 off of pit road," Ric told him. "You're going to be second after they cycle through. The 88 stayed out."
"He's gambling," Stefan realized. "On fuel and on tires."
"He's not going to be able to hang," Damon said. "It's going to come down to me and the 24."
"Beat him," Ric stated. "If for no other reason than the fact that I don't like his paint job." If Damon wasn't driving nearly 200mph, he would have rolled his eyes.
"25 laps to go," Stefan said. "The game plan is still the same – open it up with 10 left. But, if the 24 makes a move, go for it."
25 laps to go.
That was the last thing he remembered his former crew chief saying to him before he crashed. He blew out a breath and focused. This race was going to end different. He was going to make sure of it.
"I'm going around the 88 the first chance I get," Damon told Stefan. "It's Talladega. I'd rather be in the lead and fend them off then try to fight for it with just a few laps left. The track conditions are going to be too volatile."
"Fine," Stefan agreed. "Do what you need to do. This is your race from here on out." Damon just nodded his head, even though Stefan couldn't see him. ESPN was live from both his in-car camera and his headset. He had no idea that millions of people were watching him nod at home, all on the edges of their seats, most pulling for Damon, even if he wasn't their favorite driver.
They settled in to a single file line once more, the 88 in the lead, Damon in second, the 24 behind him. Again, they pulled away from the rest of the field, no one able to keep up with them. He bided his time, circling the track again and again. With 20 laps left, he decided it was time.
He drove right up to the back of the 88, making sure he had the draft coming off the car to pull him along. He was successful in what he set out to do. The 88, with nothing but Damon in his rearview, bobbled as they exited turn one. The slight bobble was all he needed to nose his car downward and cruise past him, the 24 following. The 88, now hung out of the draft, fell back, leaving the two cars to duke it out.
"Beautiful," Stefan said into the headset. "Absolutely beautiful."
"He was real loose out of the turns," Damon said, glancing in his rearview. He could see the 24, but it looked like he was intent to cruise, at least for the moment. They still had 18 laps left. "And his tires are worn. Getting past him was easy. Keeping the 24 behind me though, that's going to take some driving."
"Drive the wheels off," Stefan said with gritty determination. "You know how to do this Damon. This is where you're at your best." It was true. Damon was a good driver, but he was at his best when the stakes were high.
"He's not going to make his move until we're almost at the end," Damon said. "We're just going to cruise for a while." Instinct and years of racing against the 24 told him he would wait until there was minimal time left to gun for the lead, especially at Talladega.
"Just a nice Sunday drive," Ric mused. "With champagne at the end."
"Ice cream," Damon corrected. "You can celebrate the end of this thing with champagne, win or lose. I have an ice cream date to attend to."
"Sap," Ric replied. They settled in, ready to see what happened.
"How is he?" Elena asked from her seat next to Stefan on top of the pit box. Molly had gone with her grandfather to the suite earlier, cranky from the heat, and on the verge of a temper tantrum because she wasn't allowed to use the headset to talk to her daddy. Stefan moved the microphone away from his mouth and leaned toward Elena so she could hear him.
"He's looking forward to an ice cream date when this thing is over." Elena smiled.
"He's okay?" she asked. Stefan nodded, a small grin on his face.
"He's okay," he agreed. He turned back to the track. "He's going to win this thing."
"I think so," Elena agreed. Stefan moved the microphone back to his mouth and started bouncing his leg, a nervous habit. She spotted Giuseppe holding Molly's hand as they crossed the garage area to Damon's pit box. He helped Molly climb the ladder of the tower with Stefan lending her a hand. She climbed into Elena's lap. Stefan motioned to Giuseppe that he was coming down. It was loud and she was wearing her earmuffs, but Molly leaned towards her mother and pushed Elena's earmuffs aside so she could be heard.
"Daddy's winning!" she yelled. Not wanting to remove Molly's earphones and expose her to the noise, Elena gave her a big grin and nodded while displaying a thumbs up. Molly laughed and turned back to the race. Elena watched as Giuseppe gave Stefan a smile and a clap on the shoulder before joining her on top of the pit box.
"He's going to win this thing," Giuseppe told her. "Have you been listening to the headset chatter?" Elena nodded.
"He sounds confident."
"He is," Giuseppe agreed. "He sounds like himself." They traded a smile. They would both be proud of Damon, no matter where he finished today.
"How was Molly?" Elena asked, leaning closer to Giuseppe to be heard.
"Oh, fine once we plied her a brownie and a milkshake," he said with a shrug. Elena looked at him sharply. He shrugged one shoulder. "I'm Nonno." Elena laughed and repositioned her headset so she could listen in. She knew Molly would be a ball of energy well into the night, and not just because her Nonno – and probably her Gigi and Aunt Care-line, too – had given her too many sweets.
"The 12 blew a tire," Ric was telling Damon. "He's out of the way. No caution."
"What's the field looking like?" Damon asked. He could only see he 24 in his rearview.
"It's starting to shake up," Ric said. "There are about 10 cars in the pack behind you and the 24. They have several car lengths on the next pack. You have got some lapped cars about a quarter mile ahead of you. You shouldn't catch up to them, but we'll keep an eye on them, in case." Damon knew what the 'in case' meant – in case there was an accident. "They are starting to race for places. Three and four wide the last trip around."
"Just keep driving, Damon," Stefan chimed in. "Don't worry about anyone except the 24."
Another couple of laps went by. The 24 took a couple of looks, but Damon blocked him, maintaining his lead. There were a dozen laps to go. Damon rounded turn two and accelerated down the stretch. The 24 tried again to pass him on the outside, but quickly fell back in line. Just as he was going into turn three, the lapped cars ahead of him scattered, several going sideways.
"Go low!" Ric hollered. "Get low, Damon! Get low! Take it through the infield!"
Damon wasn't listening. Operating on instinct and adrenaline, he squeezed between two cars still sliding across the track, missing being hit by a hair. The track was cluttered with wrecked cars and debris. He did the only thing he could and shot down the track, tearing through the infield. He returned to the track and registered what Ric was saying once more.
"Beautiful driving," he said. "Beautiful. You're all clear. Caution is out."
"Any damage?" Stefan asked. "I didn't have a good vantage point."
"I don't think so," Damon said. "I didn't feel any hits."
"The 24 cleared the accident too," Ric said. "You are still in the lead, he's still No. 2."
"Stay out on the track," Stefan advised. "No need to pit. Let's get this thing won."
"I'm all over it," Damon agreed.
A couple of laps lapsed in silence as NASCAR worked to clean up the track and clear the debris left behind. Damon appreciated the reprieve. It gave him a chance to prepare for the shootout he knew was coming.
"We're going back to green in two laps," Ric said. "You will have eight laps left when the flag waves."
"Eight laps, Damon," Stefan repeated. "That's all you have left when the flag drops. Eight more laps. Then you can have that ice cream with your girls." Damon took a deep breath.
Two more caution laps. Eight more laps that would hopefully remain under green. Ten laps total.
Just ten more laps.
The second to last caution lap went quickly. Before he knew it was happening, he was beginning the second and final caution lap. He took a breath and rolled his shoulders as much as he could in his harness. It was go time.
"Single file restart," Ric said into the headset as Damon came out of turn one. "The 24 is going to be all over you."
"Drive the wheels off that thing, Damon," Stefan said. "Just drive."
"Don't let him past you," Ric advised. "Keep him in your rearview and win this damn thing."
"He has a faster car," Damon admitted, glancing in the rearview as he entered turn three. "But, I want it a hell of a lot more."
"Yeah, you do!" Ric exclaimed. Damon cracked a smile.
"Its all on you now," Stefan told him. "Ric and I are going to shut up. You do what you need to do." Damon was a good driver. He trusted Damon's instincts. But more than the fact that he trusted Damon, he knew Damon needed to finish this race on his own.
"Okay, boys," Damon said as he exited turn four, the start/finish line just ahead, a green flag waving above it. "Let's go racing."
He didn't hesitate in his actions. As he crossed the start/finish line, he jumped on the accelerator, watching as his speedometer ratcheted towards 200mph. It was physically draining, coping with the g-force that came along with the rate of speed, being cramped in a tight, hot space for so long. But in that moment, Damon wasn't aware of how his body was protesting, in need of a stretch and a bottle of water. He was only aware of the draft in front of him, the car behind him, and the sheet metal surrounding him.
As he predicted, the 24 wasted no time. He tried to pass him on the inside, but Damon ducked down, blocking him. They fell back into a single line, Damon waiting for the 24 to make his move. He didn't have to wait long.
With six laps to go, the 24 drove right up to his backend, just like he had done to the 88. Unlike the 88, he didn't bobble. He held strong and anticipated the 24's next move. Sure enough, the 24 bumped him, just enough to make him wobble.
"Son of bitch!" Damon cursed, even as he righted the car. The bobble was just enough for the 24 to slip past him and take the lead. "No," Damon gritted out to himself. "Not today, buddy."
For the next few laps, they raced hard, both oblivious to anything besides each other. Damon's radio stayed quiet, Ric and Stefan making good on their promise to let him drive his race. He looked low, trying to pass. The 24 blocked him. He kept trying, kept getting close, trying to shake him loose, just enough to bobble him. "Come on," Damon muttered. He was going all out, every ounce of grit he had being poured into this race.
With three laps left, everything suddenly slowed down for Damon, even as he continued to drive 200mph. It was like the 24 and everything around him was in slow motion. He suddenly saw clearly what he needed to do. He nodded once to himself as they crossed the start/finish line.
Two laps to go.
All race long, he had been passing on the inside. His car ran better on the low line and passing was easier. But, the 24 knew it. He anticipated Damon trying to pass him low and so, he made sure Damon couldn't. Damon was going to use that anticipation to his advantage.
He blew out a breath, and steered his car low. Just like he thought, the 24 moved down the track to shut him down. It was just what he wanted. In a risky move, he whipped the wheel, sling shoting up high, something he couldn't have done had Stefan not agreed to loosen up his car just a little more. Before the 24 had time to react, Damon was past him and back in the lead.
"Not today," he said again as the 24 rode his rear end. They crossed the start/finish line, a white flag waving to indicate the last lap. Damon gritted his teeth and pushed in on his accelerator, even though he was already going full tilt. He flew through turn one, fending off the 24 as the entered turn two. He cut him off, the 24 having to fall back.
They raced down the front stretch, the 24 managing to creep up alongside him. The crowd was on their feet. Damon's pit box was on pins and needles, his crew lining the wall shoulder-to-shoulder, holding their collective breath.
"Come on, come on, come on," Stefan muttered to himself from his spot at the end of the team's impromptu lineup.
"Please," Elena whispered, urging him on. "Please, Damon, win this thing."
"Come on, son!" Giuseppe cheered, as though Damon could hear him. Standing between her mother and her nonno, holding each of their hands so she wouldn't tumble from the top of the pit box, Molly was jumping up and down.
"Go, Daddy!" she yelled. "Go, Daddy, go Daddy, go Daddy, go!"
The 24 bumped into Damon, causing both cars to bobble. Damon's loose car had made him better prepared to react quickly. He used it to his advantage to pull ahead. Entering turn three, the roar from the crowd was deafening. The 24 tried to pass him again, this time going high. Again, Damon blocked him.
They entered turn four neck and neck. Damon instinctively pressed in on the accelerator even harder. It was already all the way down to the floor. They exited the turn, Damon up high, the 24 in the low line, Damon still in the lead. The 24 made one last attempt to pass on the inside. Without hesitation, Damon steered down the track, cutting him off once more.
He saw the checkered flag up ahead.
He crossed the start/finish line.
First.
He let out a jubilant yell as his headset went crazy with both Ric and Stefan shouting, celebrating.
"'Dega, baby!" Damon cried, hitting his steering wheel in celebration.
"WE BEAT 'DEGA!" Ric was yelling. "That's how you win a race!"
"You did it, Damon!" Stefan said, his voice thick with emotion. "You freaking did it!" Damon laughed.
"I won Talladega!" he exclaimed as he circled the track once more, slowing his card down. He dropped his window net and stuck out an arm, pumping his fist in victory. It was then that he became aware of the crowd.
They were on their feet, screaming, waving, celebrating with him. Whether they were his fans week in and week out or not, they knew his story. They knew they had witnessed something special. He had came back from the bottom, both physically and mentally, and won, sabotaged race car and all.
He had taken back Talladega.
He came to a stop at the start/finish line and reached for both the checkered flag and American flag offered to him. He had celebrated his win at Texas, but he was going to put on a show at Talladega. He took off, spinning his wheels, the flags flying as he drove into the infield. In the same spot he had been pulled from the tangled sheet metal and flames of his wrecked car just seven months earlier, he opened up the car, spinning donuts, his car disappearing in a cloud of smoke, this one of his own creation. The crowd roared even louder.
"Quit showing off and get your ass to Victory Lane," Stefan said over the headset. "We have one hell of party to show up to."
"On my way," Damon said, pulling the car out of the donut. He drove through the infield, once more waving at the crowd, and turned onto pit road. The scene that met him there took his breath away.
Nearly every other team had lined pit road to greet him, to offer him a high five or slap the fender of his car as he crept past. He was overwhelmed, doing his best to mumble thank yous and trade high fives.
"Hell of a race," the 24's crew chief said, reaching through the car window to slap him on the shoulder quickly.
"Back at you," Damon told him as he rolled by. Up ahead, he could see his crew making their way towards Victory Lane, jumping for joy, high fiving one another, hugging, even wiping at tears as they went. He caught a glimpse of his father and Stefan, both jogging ahead to make sure they got there first. His own eyes burned as he held back tears.
He had beaten all the odds. He came back from serious injury, served out the terms of his probation. He overcame his fears of racing at Talladega, managed to overcome sabotage and an engine that brought with it a number of unknowns. He had also cemented his relationship with his brother. This win was as much Stefan's as it was his.
He turned into Victory Lane where a swarm of people waited for him. He tried to spot Molly and Elena, but couldn't, nearly everyone in the thick crowd wearing black and red. He rolled to a stop and removed his helmet. He had just a moment to take a breath before his father was there. It took Damon by surprise to see Giuseppe. It was always his crew chief – Stefan, Mason, or otherwise – who greeted him first.
"You did it," Giuseppe said, his eyes full of unshed tears. "Dammit, Damon, you did it." Damon nodded, choked up.
"I did it," he repeated, understanding why his father was the one to greet him. He wanted just a moment with Damon before he was turned over to the masses. "I would hug you, but I need to get out of this harness first." Giuseppe chuckled.
"Let me help you with that," he said. With Damon's help, he unstrapped his son from the cockpit. They shared a brief look before Giuseppe grinned. "Let's celebrate, son." Damon broke into a grin as Giuseppe stepped aside. He hauled himself out of the car through the window. As soon as he emerged, he was met with cheers. Grinning, he stood on the window frame and pumped his fists.
"'Dega, baby!" he shouted again. The crowd roared even louder. He jumped off the window frame, eyes still peeled for Elena and Molly, but for the moment, Stefan was there. They looked at one another for a moment, grinning like fools, before they lunged at each other, pulling the other into a hug, both laughing to keep from crying.
"That was some beautiful driving," Stefan said, hugging him hard. "I am so proud of you, Damon."
"This win is as much yours as it is mine," Damon said. "Thank you, Stefan. For everything." Stefan nodded and hugged his brother once more. He clapped him on his shoulder as he pulled away. "Let's celebrate."
Laughing, Damon turned to face the crowd full of his family, crewmembers, press, sponsors, and NASCAR representatives. He let out a whoop and lifted his arms in celebration before he was hit with a shower of champagne and Gatorade, right before he found himself on the bottom of a dog pile made up his crewmembers, all whooping and hollering. Damon fought them off, laughing, as confetti flew. As great as it was to celebrate with his team, he was still looking for the two faces he wanted to see more than anything in that moment. As he hugged Ric, he heard a small voice break through the din. He knew he would always hear that little voice above all others, no matter where he was.
"Daddy!"
He spun around and spied Molly, once more tugging on Elena's hand as she strained against her. Elena was looking at him, beaming, happy tears in her eyes. When she knew Damon saw Molly in the sea of people, she let go of her hand. "Daddy!"
"Molly!" Damon exclaimed, squatting down as she raced towards him. He caught her up in his arms and stood, tossing her into the air in celebration. She squealed happily as Damon caught her and kissed her cheek.
"You winned, Daddy!" Molly exclaimed. "You winned! You winned!"
"We won, baby girl," he agreed. "We won!" He hugged her again. Molly giggled.
"You all wet, Daddy!" she exclaimed. Damon laughed. He glanced over Molly's head to meet Elena's eyes. She smiled at him.
"'Lena," he started, suddenly not sure what to say to her. All he really wanted to do was pull her into his arms and not let go of her.
She saved him from having to say anything at all.
She walked right up to him, grabbed his face in her hands, and kissed him soundly.
He would have happily finished dead last if his day still ended with kissing Elena.
With Molly in one arm, he wrapped his other arm soundly around her, and pulled her into him, deepening the kiss. Every broken piece of his heart sealed itself back together, at least for the time his lips were sealed with hers. It was everything he had been missing over the last four years.
Too soon, she pulled away, her hands resting on his shoulders.
"You won," she stated. Damon nodded, his eyes only for her, his arm still around her. With Molly, they were in their own little world.
"I winned," he corrected, making her laugh. He chuckled too. "God, Elena, I won." She understood and nodded her head.
"You won," she agreed. She stood on her tiptoes to kiss Damon's cheek. "Which means you should talk to the press."
"Duty calls," Damon agreed, begrudgingly letting Elena go. He bounced Molly in his arms. "Daddy has to go talk to the press. But when I finish, we will get that ice cream, okay?" Molly cheered, making those around him laugh.
"Daddy, can I sit in you's car?" she asked. Damon nodded.
"In you go," he said, threading Molly through the window. "Just, don't touch any buttons, okay?"
"Kay!" Molly agreed happily, sitting on her knees and pretending to drive. He laughed. Then, with a deep breath, he turned to face the press.
It was just after two in the morning as Damon carried Molly to Elena's SUV. She was sleeping soundly on his shoulder, exhausted from the day's events. He, too, was tired, weary down to his bones. It was a good kind of weary, though, one that came from racing hard, winning, and celebrating. It had also been a day full of personal victories.
It took him a while to work through Victory Lane. Everyone wanted to a moment of his time to congratulate him, interview him, or both. Emma had been by his side the whole time, working the press like the pro she was. The reporters had received yet another good show when his mother and Caroline arrived from the suite. Crying hard, Ginny had pulled him into a tight hug and thanked him for having the good sense to finish in one piece, earning a laugh from all gathered. He had exchanged a few whispered words with her before receiving a hug from Caroline. Other than Elena's kiss, Caroline's hug was the biggest surprise of the day.
He made good on his promise to Molly to celebrate with ice cream, ending the day with what turned into a big ice cream social that encompassed not only Molly and Elena, but his family and crew. From there, it had been a hustle of packing up and getting to the airport for the Salvatore Racing jet's scheduled takeoff. Now, they were home and reality was sinking in as Elena opened the door to the backseat of her car.
"Daddy?" Molly asked sleepily as Damon lowered her into her car seat.
"We're home," he answered. "Go back to sleep, Princess. It's late."
"M'kay," she muttered, eyes already closing. He buckled her in, then kissed the top of her hair.
"Goodnight," he whispered. "I love you." Begrudgingly, he closed the SUV's door and turned to Elena.
"You okay to drive home?" he asked, worried about the late hour. Elena nodded.
"I got some sleep on the plane," she said. "You were sitting next to me, remember? I think we both napped. Besides, it's only a 20 minute drive home."
"Just – text me when you get there?" he asked.
"I will," Elena promised. He looked down at the pavement, his fingers tapping together anxiously.
It was no use. There was no way he could go home tonight without bringing up the kiss. She had kissed him, been with him all evening, but there hadn't been an opportunity to talk to her privately, not with everyone hovering at the ice cream social or on the crowded plane.
"You kissed me," he stated. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against her car. Elena nodded.
"I did," she agreed, crossing her own arms over her chest.
"So, are we going to pretend that you didn't, or…?" Elena hesitated for a moment before she shook her head.
"No," she answered. "We aren't going to pretend it didn't happen." Damon felt a sense of relief. He had felt sure she would try to ignore their kiss and try to keep things business as usual. She sighed. "We have to talk, Damon," she said. "We have been putting it off for months. It's time." Damon nodded in agreement.
"It's time to talk," he stated. "Not tonight, obviously. What about tomorrow? Molly is going to school tomorrow – or, well, today – right?" Elena nodded.
"I'm going to take her a little late, let her sleep in a bit. She slept pretty good on the plane, but it's been a big weekend."
"Why don't we see if Mom can pick her up?" he proposed. "I'll come over in the afternoon, and we can talk." Elena nodded.
"Okay," she agreed. "Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," Damon echoed. Elena rocked back on her heels, suddenly nervous. Damon replied by stepping forward and reaching for her. She let him pull her into his arms. Without thinking about it, she buried her face in his chest, her hands fisting the fabric of his t-shirt, and breathed him in.
She didn't know what tomorrow would hold for them, but for the moment, she was going to hold on to him.
And that, friends, is Talladega.
It's funny, how a story evolves. I always have a plan in mind and I find more often than not, that plan changes. When I started this story, Damon wasn't going to win at Talladega. Not even close. But as I wrote, as I developed his character, it felt like he needed to win this race. A major loss or a crash would have set him back and he doesn't need to be set back, not when he has come so far.
I don't know how many chapters are left, but I do think we are creeping closer to the end. We still have a bit to go though - don't you worry!
I would love to know what you thought of this one!
Thank you a million times over for reading!