It took weeks for things to return to normal.
Upon arriving home from the factory, Strip found Lynda in such an emotional mess it brought him to the brink of a meltdown. It took a couple of days for him to work up the nerve to tell her what had happened, both everything that he'd learned and the tragedy he witnessed. Sometimes he'd get through a whole piece of the story without getting worked up, other times he'd have to stop halfway through and collect himself. Some things he couldn't bring himself to talk about at all. Lynda could do no more to help him than stay by his side, and comfort him when the nightmares became too intense. It was all he could ask for.
As the off-season progressed, the flashbacks and nightmares slacked off. Shock turned to brittle acceptance, and Strip had to force himself to move on. What was in the past was past. There was only the present and the future to consider.
Up north, the attacks stopped. Chrysler turned its focus toward rebuilding and repairing damages, while Ford's only remaining contender seemed to disappear. The citizens of Detroit rioted outside the Renaissance Center on and off for nearly a month after the fire was extinguished, protesting the violence and sparking protests across the country.
Aside from the public uproar, things grew quiet, or rather, remained quiet in the small town the Weathers' called home. As the new racing season grew near, Tex rallied Strip and Wayne to meet at their usual hangout to talk business.
Strip pushed through the Slim Trim's front door and drove past the bar to their usual back table, ignoring the countless stares he received as he passed. He wasn't a rare sight around town, and he truly appreciated not being treated like a celebrity there. Cars would look at him, and maybe in passing say hello, but he was rarely approached. Occasionally a little kid or a newcomer would come to him for an autograph, and he'd oblige, but for the most part he was treated like any other car. It allowed him to truly relax.
"Fashionably late, as always." Wayne commented from behind three empty glasses of brew.
"No, I'm on time." Strip argued, parking in what he'd designated to be 'his spot' at the table. "You guys just always get here early."
It wasn't that he thought he was important enough to have his own place at the table, it was just that one time he'd been parked with his tail toward the aisle and Aimee accidentally caught her serving tray on his spoiler, spilling everything she'd been carrying all over him. From that point on, he preferred to park with his fin toward the wall.
"Glad to see that new coat of paint turned out like it should," Tex complimented him. "I was wonderin' when you were gonna get it done."
Strip looked down at the freshly painted Dinoco logo on his hood. He couldn't deny it felt good to be back in his livery again.
"Yeah, shoulda done it sooner, Tex," he admitted. "Feels good to be back."
Tex nodded and looked over at Wayne. "Weren't you supposed to make a new commercial or somethin' this winter? I thought I put you in charge of publicity."
"You put me in charge of him." Wayne pointed to Strip with his tire.
"Who's our publicity model," Tex finished.
"If you want a commercial, just splice a couple racin' videos together," Strip said. "I'll say a few words. I don't mind."
"No, no. I got it." Wayne shoved his drink back on the table to keep from knocking it over. "I got an idea. Listen to this. 'What's better than one Piston Cup?' Cut to you winning the Dinoco 400. 'Two Piston Cups.' Cut in some old commercial footage. 'Use Dinoco products and you too can become king of the track!' End with more racing footage. Endorsement. The end."
Strip blinked. "That just might be the stupidest thing you've ever said."
"Stupid sells," Wayne proclaimed.
"Not in my company, it don't," Tex muttered.
"Besides," Strip continued, "there's been lots of other racers that've won more than two championships. It's nothin' to brag about, let alone be throwing titles around."
"I thought you'd like the 'king of the track' bit." Wayne mused, thinking deeply.
"I'm not the oldest or the best," Strip pointed out. "It don't fit. Also, I have dignity that I'd like to keep. Tori'd ride me on somethin' like that all season."
"I think I could argue against a point or two there, boy," Tex chimed in. "But no matter, I reckon. We'll throw somethin' together. It ain't a big deal. But my question to you – are you ready to race?"
"Yeah." Strip answered flatly. "I'm always ready, what kind of a question is that?"
He looked back and forth between his friends. Wayne avoided eye contact and started absentmindedly tracing the water rings on the table. Tex looked at his racer with deep empathy. They both knew about what had happened that week he disappeared to the factory. They'd been the ones who tried to comfort Lynda while he was gone. Maybe they didn't know every little detail about that week, but they knew enough to realize the losses had cut deep, and that his own life had been jeopardized.
"You've raced fifteen seasons for me without a break." Tex phrased his words carefully. "If you still need some time off, we can arrange that. I don't want you bitin' off more than you can chew."
"What?" Strip was confused. "Why would I need more time off?"
Wayne sighed and grew serious. "As both your agent and your friend, Strip, I don't want you to push yourself too hard. If you need more time to cope with what happened, then – "
"I'm gonna stop you right there," Strip cut in, slightly agitated. "Just 'cause I don't wanna talk about somethin' doesn't mean I've havin' a crisis. I'm fine. Really. If anythin' at all, I need things to get back to normal. And normal for me is racin'."
Tex nodded in understanding. "Alright. If you say so. But I want you to know that if the time ever comes you need to take a month or two off, I'm more than willing to oblige. You've earned it."
"Noted," Strip stated. "Now, you wanted to talk business, right? Expectations for this season?"
"Yup." Wayne said as he finished his fourth drink. "As defending champion, you're gonna have to keep winning. That's it. That's the plan. You win, we profit."
Tex chuckled quietly at Wayne's inebriation. "Eh, well, more or less. Just keep doin' what you've been doin', Strip. We'll back you the whole way."
Two weekends later, the circuit was vibrant with excitement. Florida was nice that time of year, a balmy seventy degrees without a cloud in the sky. Antsy race fans packed the stadium to near capacity, ready to get the season started.
The racers milled around the track that last half hour before the race, completing final checks, doing interviews, and catching up with each other. Strip sat in front of the Dinoco tent, trying to satisfy a whole slew of reporters who were all interested in the defending champion's ambitions for the upcoming season.
"Team Dinoco's not slowin' down," he answered vaguely, as he had no real strategy. "We're gonna keep winnin'. It's what we do."
"There're nearly half a dozen new rookies this year," one reporter, a white Chevy pickup, stated. "Does the new competition pose any threat to old racing techniques?"
"What, those guys?" A voice broke into the conversation from behind Strip as Tori rolled up beside his friend. "Look at 'em. They have the aerodynamics of their trailers."
Tori gestured to one of the rookies as they passed in the distance. He had a point. The new LeakLess racer looked like he'd been modelled off a landscaping block.
"And that ain't even the worst one I seen." Tori said in a hushed tone to Strip. "There's one guy over there that looks like he's got a locomotive pilot for a grille."
"Yeah, well, we don't know what they're capable of yet." Strip said as the cameras turned toward him again. "They might be fast, they might not be. Time'll tell."
The speakers around them crackled to life, calling the racers to the track before the reporters could ask another question. As the cars with cameras and microphones retreated to their designated areas, Strip and Tori turned toward the pits.
"You tryin' to steal my thunder before races now, Tor?" Strip initiated their usual pre-race banter.
"Yeah, well, I saw an opportunity and took it." Tori replied, a hint of humor in his voice.
"Good, 'cause that's the only one you're gonna get today," Strip reciprocated the sentiment. "You know, you should try it more often. You might win every now and then."
"Oh! Oh, okay. I see how it is." Tori fired back. "Remember now, I have just as many championships on my résumé as you."
A familiar voice shouted at them from beside the neighboring Hurst Shifters tent as they came into view. "Go, go, Dinoco!"
Jake came revving over to them with a huge smile on his face. "Ready to beat my old man today, Strip?"
"Hey." Tori seemed offended.
"That's what I get paid to do, ain't it?" Strip smiled at him.
Jake grinned and gave his father an impertinent look. "You're goin' down, dad."
Before Tori had time to respond, Jake sped off behind the Hurst tent to join his mother and Tori's sponsor up in the suites. Strip watched him go. He tensed as an uncomfortable emotion reared itself in the back of his mind.
"Where did I go wrong with him?" Tori asked as if he were questioning the universe itself.
To Strip's left, he caught a flash of blue as Lynda approached him. He stopped and turned to face her as Tori continued on.
"Hey, good luck out there today," she smiled softly.
"Thanks, hun," he returned.
Lynda noticed something in his voice seemed off. She looked past him toward the Hurst tent and saw Jake following Tori's wife out of the infield.
"You okay?" she asked.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," Strip shook himself in an attempt to clear his mind again.
She could see straight through him. Not only was he a terrible liar, she knew him well enough to have developed a sixth sense of sorts when it came to the inner workings of his mind. The events of the past off-season had only made this more apparent.
"Listen, Strip," she said quietly, with an empathetic tone. "You just need to focus on the race. It'll make you feel better and help clear things up."
"I know," he responded even quieter. "I just wasn't prepared for that."
Lynda gave him a soft kiss on the fender. "Give that kid the win he wants, but be careful now, you hear?"
"Yeah, ma'am."
Strip rejoined Tori on the other side of the Hurst tent, who was still caught up on their run-in with his son.
"You wanna know somethin' real embarrassing?" Tori asked, but then left no room for Strip to answer. "Jake collects those little diecast models they make of us, and he's got one of almost everyone. But you? No, he's got two of you."
"Seems like he's matured a bit since last season," Strip replied, unfazed. He'd heard weirder things.
Tori shook himself in disbelief as they rounded the garages. "They grow up way too fast, man. If you and Lynda ever decide you wanna have one, I'm warnin' you now, it don't seem like they stay young long. Maybe a year?"
The two came to a halt as a yellow and black Chevelle backed out of a garage bay. It was Sammy Fireline, the racer for team Caterpillar, a close friend and an even fiercer competitor.
"You ready to lose, boys?" Sammy joined in with them, overconfident as usual.
"Are you ready to be penalized?" Tori bit back. "My only goal this year is to not let you push me around."
"Aw, see you shouldn't've told me that." Sammy smirked. "Now I'm gonna try and do it on purpose."
Sammy's claim to fame wasn't a championship title, but his ruthless racing style. Despite his amiable and caring personality, he didn't budge for anyone out on the track. Nearly everyone who'd raced with him for a significant amount of time had been subtly pushed into a wall or another nearby racer. The Chevy claimed that his sponsor appreciated him paving his own path.
"You know, you wouldn't need to shove us around if you could stay at the front of the field." Strip mocked him as they entered pit row.
"Oh, I'm comin' for you, Weathers," Sammy told him, stopping off at his pit box halfway down the row. "This is my year!"
"We'll see about that," Strip called behind him as he headed down to the Dinoco box at the front of the pack.
He passed several of the rookies before he reached his team, and couldn't deny his surprise at how they'd placed during qualifying. Four of them were in the top half of the field, and one was even in the top ten, that new LeakLess racer Tori pointed out earlier. Strip thought that maybe he should keep a watch on them.
"You ready to roll?" Strip's crew chief asked him as he waited for the pace car.
"You bet," he answered, taking a breath and relaxing.
"You got the pole position this time around. All you gotta do is keep it," the blue truck said.
"I intend to."
As the racers followed the pace car to the track, Strip took a moment to look up at the sponsor and VIP suites around the top of the track. Up there, Lynda and Tex were cheering him on. In another, Jake was undoubtedly the odd one out among Team Hurst. Somewhere hundreds of miles away, Izzy might even be watching.
Strangely enough, as the pace car led them around turns three and four, Strip found himself unafraid of his own thoughts. For the first time in months, he brought his last memories of the brigade and Jason to the forefront. If they were still around, they'd be watching from somewhere too.
The green flag dropped as the pace car left the track. Strip floored it.
For them.