Chapter Text
Goes like this, start with the track
Eyes on me, arching my back
Just like this, here for the night
You ain't buying in? Just keep watching.
-Just keep watching (Tate McRae)
—Belcher, you're too far back —her race engineer warned over the radio. —Evert wants to know if you're planning on rejoining the fight or if you're trying to lose us the championship.
Louise gripped the wheel tighter. Ahead of her, Samuel Colombo's McLaren was taking up every useful inch of the track, making sure to buy his teammate some time. Behind her, Jacob Esposito was closing in on much fresher tires.
—Easy for you to say when you're not the one stuck sandwiched between the McLaren twins.
—First of all, why did you let them box you in?
—You told me not to fight my teammate.
—I told you to support Evert, not let the McLarens make a sandwich out of you.
Louise watched the lap counter on her wheel change. Five laps left.
—Ah, shit...
Louise braked for the next corner and dropped two gears. Samuel's car shut the door on her interior line again, forcing her to stay behind and eat the dirty air coming off his rear wing.
—I'll get rid of them.
—Do it soon —the engineer urged. —We need you keeping Esposito behind. If the McLarens get the one-two, we lose the constructors' championship.
—I'm not letting that happen —Louise answered, just as urgently.
Louise took a deep breath. —Focus, Louise —she murmured to herself. —You've got this race in the bag.
Samuel was controlling the pace. He braked just enough to hold her back through the corners and accelerated the moment she tried to close the gap, forcing her to follow him through his dirty air. The McLarens didn't want to pass her yet. First, they were hunting her: Samuel wearing down her tires while Jacob closed in from behind to spring the trap.
The McLarens' trap was simple. If Louise pitted, she'd lose too many positions. If she stayed behind Samuel until her tires were shot, Jacob would eventually get past her. Then Samuel could wave his teammate through, and Jacob would have fresher tires to chase down Evert and take the lead away from him.
She hated that strategy. She hated the McLaren twins and the stupid nickname they'd earned as rookies: the papaya orcas. But she hated her own nickname even more: 4x4. All because during her rookie season she'd had the misfortune of finishing fourth in four races in a row…
This was the last race. On the first weekend of December, Cadillac was holding onto an eleven-point lead over McLaren, barely. A McLaren one-two could snatch away the trophy most fans already pictured sitting in their display case, and Louise wasn't about to become the reason for that loss.
Much less doom Cadillac to second place. The rest of the world could call it a runner-up finish; to Louise's ego, it would still be a loss.
—Louise —her engineer cut in again. —Listen carefully. Samuel's car is losing grip mid-corner and on exit. Use it.
Louise smiled. —Perfect.
In the first corner she confirmed the problem. Samuel missed the apex and the McLaren ran wide. He had to lift off to correct his line and came out slower. The same thing happened in the second corner.
This time, Louise didn't try to latch onto him right away. She braked a fraction earlier and let a small gap open up between them. She needed clean air over her front wing and a line that would let her get on the throttle sooner.
Approaching the third corner, Samuel covered the inside. Louise pretended to follow him but opened her line before braking. She let him reach the apex first and waited. The McLaren drifted wide again.
Then she turned in. Louise straightened her wheel before he did and buried the throttle. The Cadillac shot out of the corner and pulled up alongside him on the right. They ran down the straight side by side, separated by mere inches, until Louise got the inside line for the next braking zone.
Samuel tried to close the door, but she already had half a car alongside him. He had to give her room. Louise braked to the limit, kept the Cadillac inside the white line, and the moment she came out of the corner, straightened her wheel and took the lead.
—That's what I'm talking about! —her engineer shouted, and Louise fought back a smile.
Samuel had fallen behind and Jacob was still stuck behind his teammate. Louise had a clear track, four laps to go, and the constructors' championship within reach. Now all she had to do was keep the orcas behind her.
.
.
.
Five days after the Abu Dhabi finale, Louise was stepping off the company's private jet along with part of the team to attend the FIA's annual gala. Her teammate had traveled on his own private jet, and for Louise, that meant a moment of relief.
Upon arriving at the hotel, she ordered room service and rested for two hours until the two stylists she'd hired arrived to help her with hair and makeup. Last year she'd been lucky that Linda Belcher had come with her to the gala and helped her get ready.
Rossi, the younger stylist, took her dress off the rack. It was a long-skirted black gown that let off silvery glints whenever it turned or caught the light.
The gala, packed with press, was exactly what Louise had expected. She posed for the photographers, gave a handful of short interviews, and as soon as she could, slipped into the event hall.
During the awards ceremony, Cadillac's team principal went up on stage to officially receive the constructors' trophy. The man was dry-humored and rarely smiled, so seeing him nearly cry as he delivered an emotional speech made Louise's throat make a sound somewhere between a gasp and a sob. A large, callused hand settled on her knee, squeezing lightly for "support."
Without turning her head, she already knew the hand belonged to Evert.
...Two years ago, Louise had made the mistake of getting tangled up with him, and it had turned into a chain of mistakes, because they kept seeking each other out without ever agreeing to put a name to whatever it was between them. Still, that turbulent almost-something-more had been wearing her down, draining her mental health, and she didn't want to keep being involved with him.
But it was hard to say no to the habit she'd picked up, especially with the adrenaline of the recent win still running through her veins. Louise was well aware that tonight, one light touch and the right sequence of words would make her fall faster than she accelerated out of a corner.
It was a terrible decision to sleep with him, she thought, trying to reason with herself.
Louise liked to insist she could handle casual relationships without any problems, but she was the type who attached quickly, and her failed track record contradicted her own claims. Hooking up with Evert again after nearly two months of resisting was the equivalent of relapsing into a bad habit. Like drugs, or betting on horses.
But when Evert slid his hand along the length of her leg and pressed deliciously against her hip, Louise knew that tonight she wasn't going to put up any resistance to being seduced by that green-eyed devil.
---
The landing in her hometown was rough thanks to turbulence, but not even the painful bounce of her head against the seatback could dampen her excitement to be back home. Not after so much time away.
Linda and Bob Belcher were waiting for her in a corner of the airport, dressed in matching horrendous caps and sports jackets that Linda had bought on her last trip to Miami. The two of them thought they were well camouflaged to welcome their daughter, since none of the fans seemed to be paying them any attention.
Both of them had no idea it was common knowledge among her fanbase that Louise Belcher despised people who tried to harass her parents, so, for the sake of possible autographs, the fans pretended not to recognize them.
The moment Louise walked out through the international arrivals’ door, a group of fans swarmed around her, holding up jackets, helmets, sheets of paper, and anything else she could sign. A kid wearing a replica of her racing uniform held up a poster of her, and Louise stopped to sign it.
The rest of the fans seized the opportunity. Louise signed most of the things people put in front of her, chatted with fans, and let them take photos with her. Then she told the group to get lost and leave her alone.
Most of them were familiar with the pilot's gruff sense of humor and considered it part of her charm, and even though they didn't leave her entirely alone, they gave her enough space to be welcomed by her parents.
Bob Belcher grabbed Louise's suitcase and they headed out to the parking lot, escorted by Louise's personal bodyguard while her parents tried to remember which letter of the parking section they'd left the car in.
They loaded the bags into their daughter's SUV. Bob got into the driver's seat and the bodyguard took the passenger seat. Linda climbed into the back with her daughter, hugging her while Bob drove carefully to get them away from the airport without running over some fan in the process.
—I'm so glad you're home! —Linda exclaimed, hugging her daughter. —I thought I was going to have to go pick you up myself in Dubai.
—I was in Abu Dhabi, Mom —Louise corrected.
—It's basically the same thing —Linda answered, stroking Louise's face.
Louise decided she had no interest in giving her mother a geography lesson.
They talked about everything that had happened while she was gone as they drove home. Even Jeff, her bodyguard, joined in the conversation at Linda's insistence, who kept asking him what he was planning to do for Christmas.
A year ago, Louise had bought a house for her parents on the outskirts of the city. It was a short fifty-step walk from the beach, sat on a wide plot of land that her dad had turned into a garden, and justified the presence of their pet, Pickles.
Moving out of the apartment had been an incredibly emotional moment for their family, but even more so for Bob and Linda, who were only just starting to adjust to the changes. Now the apartment was occupied by Zeke, the head cook at Bob's Burger. At their kids' request, Bob Belcher had tried to retire.
Now that the Belcher siblings were, to greater or lesser degrees, famous and financially solid, they'd insisted their parents retire and have a more relaxed life.
But Bob, who'd spent his whole life working and suddenly found himself with way too much free time on his hands, didn't know what to do with himself. Despite his best efforts, the garden didn't take up all his time, and traveling didn't appeal to him nearly as much as it did to Linda.
So, two weeks later he came out of retirement to turn the kitchen lights back on. Only now, without the stress of bills to pay and overdue rent, plus the benefit of a head cook handling the chaos of the kitchen.
That freed up Bob's creative mind and his new spare time to fully dive into experimenting with strange ingredients and inventing new recipes, which he started collecting in a leather notebook Tina had given him to celebrate his retirement.
The ironic part of the whole situation was that now that they no longer depended on the restaurant's income to live and pay their bills, the place had become wildly popular. Linda figured it had something to do with the fact that Louise's first jacket from her time as an F1 driver was framed on the wall, right next to the first copy of the books from Tina's hit young-adult series and a bronze disc for Gene's first single.
The wall had turned into a little family museum. Somehow, Bob and Linda Belcher had managed to raise successful adults. Linda was almost tempted to start teaching a parenting course based on her experience, just to annoy the uptight moms over at King's Head Island.
—I thought you were going to flip it last race. —Bob said, walking into Louise's room.
Louise stopped digging through her things looking for her wallet and turned to face her father with a bright smile. —You know I had it all under control.
—Doesn't mean it doesn't scare me that you'll get hurt... I'm your father, and I think that's a pretty rational fear... especially knowing how fast you drive.
—...I know, Dad. Anything new while I was gone?
—They're remodeling the pier. Remember I told you about the guy who flew off the roller coaster? —Bob paused, and Louise nodded. —Well, he won the lawsuit and got a nice settlement from what I heard, so now they're upgrading the safety on the rides.
—Wow, they actually bent the devil's arm —she commented, impressed, as she pulled the empty suitcase off the bed. Then she kicked it toward a corner of the room.
Bob snorted, amused. —Fischoeder says hi.
—Is he still stopping by the restaurant?
Bob nodded. —...You heading out today?
Louise grabbed a small black purse and stuffed in her phone, the wallet she'd found under a shirt, and a few bills in cash in case she needed to bribe her way out of another speeding ticket.
—I'm going to Critter's shop —Louise crouched down to tie her sneakers. —He called me yesterday to let me know my car's ready, so I'm going to go check it out.
Louise said goodbye to her parents and wished her bodyguard a good vacation. She doubted she'd need his protection in Seymour Bay; most people around here already knew her as a reformed childhood troublemaker and ex-delinquent.
She pulled out of the driveway making her tires squeal, just to bother her dad, who was watching her from the front door. The drive into town was nice. One perk of living on the outskirts was the pretty view of the bay running alongside the road.
When she got to the shop, Critter was sitting outside in a couple of beach chairs with a few other guys from the biker gang. Louise parked badly on purpose, wedging the car between a tree and the metal dumpster, because she knew Critter would give her grief about her parking skills.
—They don't teach you how to back into a spot in those fancy races? —Critter asked as soon as Louise was close enough.
—Sponsors would rather watch us race than parallel park —Louise shoved her hands into her jacket pockets. —How's my favorite mechanic been?
—Eh —Critter shrugged. —I'm off house arrest now.
—Congrats, hope you don't end up back on it anytime soon —Louise answered. —So, my car?
Critter jerked his thumb toward the shop's garage and headed off in that direction, whistling. Louise followed him, sidestepping the dark stains on the floor. She found herself curious whether it was motor oil or blood.
Seeing the new state of her car, Louise clapped.
—Holy shit! It doesn't even look like I totaled it six months ago.
Louise ran her hand over the shiny black hood. The big dent from where she'd hit the light post was completely gone. She leaned in to admire the new paint job and smiled, pleased not to find a single scratch. Critter was a magician.
—Would've had it ready two months ago, but doing time set me back a bit... Not bad, huh?
—You're an artist. Your hands should be insured.
—Already got the best insurance in the country —he answered, tapping the one-eyed snake logo with the tip of his pocketknife. —Want to take it for a spin?
Critter tossed the car keys and Louise caught them with one hand. She took her time opening the driver's door and settling into the cold leather seat. The dashboard was exactly as she remembered it. It really was like Critter had turned back time and brought her pre-accident car into the present.
Critter stepped back from the car, leaning against a support column while he listened to Louise start the engine and rev it. The powerful roar caught the attention of the other bikers out front of the shop.
—That's it, girl —Louise praised her car, running a hand over the dashboard. —Let's see you run.
The garage filled with smoke the moment Louise gunned it again and peeled out toward the street. The men coughed and waved their hands in front of their faces to clear the smoke and watch the Mercedes tear off.
Louise kept it at a reasonable speed as she drove through the streets near the shop. It wasn't the prettiest or most touristy part of town, but it was still busy enough that she could cause another accident. And if that happened, she'd never hear the end of Tina's scolding.
But that didn't stop her from braking hard before every corner she came to, letting the back end slide out into a drift. The sound of tires screeching against the pavement pulled an excited laugh out of her. She loved the freedom she felt behind a wheel.
The freedom, the adrenaline, and the false sense of immortality.
People walking along the sidewalks stopped, out of curiosity and caution, as they watched the Mercedes tear down the street and cut through corners with flashy drifts. Among them, a certain blond guy who stopped mid-conversation.
—Logan? —a man's voice spoke through the phone's speaker. —Bro, are you even listening to me?
Louise pulled back into Critter's shop with the Mercedes' tires burning. As she entered the lot, she stomped on the gas and yanked the wheel hard. The back end of the Mercedes broke loose and the car started spinning on its own axis, vanishing into a cloud of tire smoke.
She parked and opened the car door, met by a thick wall of smoke that made her cough. She walked toward where she guessed the bikers were. The smoke gradually cleared and she was greeted by the sight of men holding their phones up to their faces, filming. Louise would've bet more than one of them had ended up recording their own face instead of the car.
—What'd you think? —Critter asked.
—No difference at all —Louise answered with a huge smile, still riding the adrenaline. —I knew you could fix it.
Critter kept a satisfied look on his face and wiggled his eyebrows at the other men. —Well, hope you're more careful this time.
Louise scoffed. —Of course.
Louise followed Critter to pay for the rest of the car's repairs. Behind the counter was Sidecar, reading a magazine with his headphones on, faint echoes of music leaking out of them. When he saw her, the young adult raised a fist toward her and Louise raised hers to bump it.
—Well, it was fun fixing your mess —Critter said, handing her a handwritten, barely legible invoice. —Thanks to your frequent little accidents, I'm paying for Sidecar's college.
—Glad to be of use —Louise answered, pulling out her credit card. —Is he studying engineering?
Critter nodded, swiping her card through the payment machine. —Top of his class. Who would've thought, huh? I've got a smart kid.
Sidecar turned red, giving away the fact that he'd been listening the whole time. Sidecar got up from his chair behind the counter and disappeared through the door connecting the shop to the private office.
—I see you're still itching to race —Critter commented. —There are a few races tonight, out by the old port.
—Are you inviting me to join? I doubt I made the entry list.
—It's an open race. If you've got a car and you want to run, you can run.
—...Sounds interesting.
—It is. I'd compete, but bikes are more my thing. —Critter said. —Alright, hang on, I've got a box in the back with the stuff I found inside your car.
Critter headed into the back room without waiting for an answer, and Louise wandered the place while she waited for him. Her eyes landed on a painting of a woman who looked a lot like Mudflap, wearing nothing but a pair of extremely short denim shorts, holding a car battery up against her chest. A detail that fit right in with the theme.
An engine roared from the parking lot and Louise turned her head. A silver sports Corvette pulled up in front of the shop. A blond guy stepped out of it, greeted the men out front, and walked in, staring straight at her.
Louise figured he was just another racing fan who'd recognized her, and smiled.
She still marveled sometimes at how drastically her behavior had turned around once she'd signed her F1 contract. It was common knowledge that the organization had strict rules about how its drivers were supposed to conduct themselves.
So much so that Louise couldn't even remember the last time she'd gotten into a fight with someone. Sometimes she wondered what would've happened if, instead of signing with F1, she'd signed with NASCAR. Drivers there tended to let their impulses run a little wilder.
—Louise Smellcher —the man announced once he was standing in front of her.
Louise's polite smile vanished instantly.
Who did this idiot think he was, calling her that? The old Louise would've thrown a right hook without a second thought, but after so much time under F1's no-insults, no-fighting rules, she settled for crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes.
And when she didn't react, the idiot leaned back against the counter and swept his eyes over her, lingering briefly on her shoes. On instinct, Louise glanced down at the floor to see what he was looking at.
Her sneakers were clean and definitely matched the jacket she had on, so what the hell was he—?
The man snorted again and that was it, she'd had enough.
—What's so funny, Bart Simpson hair?
Despite the insult, he kept right on smiling. —Your face, four ears.
...That nickname.
—Logan? —she said, unsure.
—The one and only —he answered with a wide, winning smile.
Louise clicked her tongue.
—So much money wasted on your education. Shame you never learned how to say hi like a normal human being.
—For your information—
—I don't care what you're about to say —Louise cut in.
Now it was Louise's turn to sweep her eyes over Logan. It had been two or three years since she'd last seen him, at some holiday event downtown.
Louise had one fleeting memory (one of the few she still held onto. She'd had way too much wine that night) of seeing him with a strange haircut that did absolutely nothing for his face, not to mention how he'd styled it. Like a cow had licked it violently in one direction.
—What are you doing here? The mall's on the other side of town.
—I'm a regular customer —Logan answered, picking up the magazine Sidecar had left on the counter.
—You ride a motorcycle? —Louise asked, surprised.
Logan scoffed. —No, of course not. I value my life. —He walked over and stopped beside her. —You do know an auto shop works on more than just one kind of vehicle, right?
Louise waved a hand. —Take your sarcasm somewhere else.
—You're the one who asked, Belcher.
—God, I forgot how annoying your voice is —Louise said, getting up from her chair. —Critter? —she called out toward the back room. —Critter! You gonna be much longer? I need to go.
—In a hurry? —Logan asked from behind her.
—Yeah, to get away from you... Critter!
The man came out of the storeroom holding a small cardboard box.
—What's with all the yelling? God, this is like lunchtime back in prison.
Louise walked up and took the box out of his hands. —I need to go, thanks for everything.
—Anytime. See you tonight, kid? Promise you'll have fun, the crowd's right up your alley —Critter asked.
Louise glanced back over her shoulder. —Maybe. Tell Mudflap I said hi.
She balanced the box with one hand while digging into her pocket for her car keys. She paused, remembering she'd actually driven there in the truck.
But between the thrill of driving her Mercedes and the dependable SUV, Louise chose the Mercedes and made a mental note to swing back for the truck later.
Louise opened the driver's door and tossed the box onto the passenger seat. Unable and unwilling to hold back, she hit the gas and let the engine roar.
She reversed hard, clipping a small trash can, and pulled out onto the street. In the rearview mirror, she caught sight of Logan Bush standing outside the shop, watching her go.
Logan Bush stayed standing outside the shop until the Mercedes disappeared from view.
—So... what brings you here? —Critter asked. —I did your car's maintenance three days ago.
Logan crossed his arms and studied the tire marks on the pavement.
—Saw the Mercedes you'd been fixing drive by and got curious about whoever caused that much destruction.
Critter snorted, amused, and stroked his mustache with his pinky finger. —You remember her, right? Louise, Bob Burger's daughter.
—Pretty sure it's Belcher —Logan corrected. —And yeah, of course I remember her. Hard to forget the person who talked a gang member into…—Logan cut himself off at Critter's warning look. —Biker —he corrected. —into scaring the hell out of me.
Critter shrugged. —Kid stuff...
Critter dragged a wooden stool over with his foot and sat down in front of a disassembled motorcycle to keep hunting for the problem. Logan stayed standing, pretending to admire the posters on the wall that he already knew by heart.
—...You got plans tonight? —Logan asked, casually.
Critter wasn't about to pretend he didn't understand the sudden interest, and just gave him a deeply unimpressed look. —Wanna know if you'll have more competition?
—...I like staying informed.
—Well, you heard her. Maybe. —Critter shrugged. —Though if I were you, I wouldn't put too much money on my name, not with her in the mix.