Page 33 of Off the Grid

“Get home. I’d say pack, but I’m not sure if you need to pack yet. So maybe go home and clear your head and manifest or some shit like that.”

“You’re a regular comedian,” I say as I slide behind the wheel of my car.

“Always. They’re sending over a contract. Once I look it over and make any necessary changes, I’ll get it to you. For now, all I know is it’s a temporary spot. Race to race, but if it’s determined that Maxim is out for an extended period of time, there’s room for revision and adjustments.”

“I’ll take whatever.”

“It’s more money. A lot more. More perks. Top-of-the-line travel accommodations—”

“None of that matters, Ari.” The more is the opportunity. “This is the chance I’ve been waiting for. It’s everything.”

“It is.”

“That’s all that matters.” Holy shit. This is really real. “Talk to you in a bit.”

“Sounds good.” I’m just about to end the call when he says, “Hey, Riggs?”

“Yeah?”

“Congrats, man. You deserve this more than anyone.”

The call ends. I sit in my car, hands gripping my steering wheel, head against the headrest, and emotions rioting through me faster than I can process them.

I squeeze my eyes shut. The rush of my pulse the only thing I can hear. The thumping of my heart making my body feel like it’s jumping with each beat.

This is it, Riggs. This is the chance you’ve worked toward your whole life.

My shout reverberates around the closed confines of my car. I belt it out until it falls hoarse and morphs into a disbelieving laugh.

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

My cheeks hurt from smiling and my head dizzies with excitement.

This is happening. This is really happening.

Did you hear that, Dad? I did it. I finally made it.

I wipe away the tear as quickly as it falls.

My thoughts race with the things I need to do. With the things that are probably going to happen next. With the possibilities that are finally at my fingertips. With how I’m the only person who can make the most of it.

But there’s one thing I need to do more than anything.

“Mum,” I say when she answers the phone.

“I knew it. I knew it. I knew it!” she shouts, the phone making all kinds of fuzzy static noises from what I can assume is her jumping around. “Oh God. You’re not saying anything. Please tell me I’m right.”

I laugh and it feels like a pressure valve releasing steam as I do. “You’re right.” I almost whisper the words, the gravity of it all hitting me. “All of it finally paid off.”

Memories flash through my mind like a slide show.

Kart races where I was the kid who showed up with a kart built by scrap parts, a mum who taught herself how to work on them so she could help her son—so she could be the dad he needed because he didn’t have one, and a race suit she sewed herself so I could look like everyone else.

Sure, I was Ethan Riggs’s son, but Ethan Riggs’s money had been eaten up by a shitty agent demanding more than his fifteen percent, greedy lawyers taking their cut, and the penalties on income taxes that were never paid.

All lessons learned the hard way.