That is All I Ask For: Chapter 3: A Day Never Forgotten
Within thirty minutes, Dante
pulled up to the track with a car that looked worn yet powerful—his first
racing car. It had an aged but well-maintained body, the kind that held a
thousand memories in its metal bones. Micah stood silently, staring at it with
a reverence usually reserved for monuments or memories long lost.
“Micah.” Dante called, tossing
him the keys.
Micah caught them mid-air, still
too stunned to speak.
“Get in. Try a few laps. Slowly.”
Dante said, leaning against the frame like a protective older brother watching
a younger sibling take their first steps.
Micah nodded and slipped into the
seat. The interior was stripped down to the essentials—bare, tight, and humming
with the weight of history. He adjusted the harness and took a deep breath.
For the next few laps, he kept it
conservative. His hands moved with mechanical precision, following every
textbook rule of racing. No flashy overtakes, no aggressive throttle play, no
sharp braking. Everything about his driving screamed “manual-trained,
first-time racer.” Yet beneath that perfectly controlled surface was a
simmering urge to push. To fly.
“How does it feel?” Dante asked,
walking up as Micah pulled over briefly.
“A little tough, I’ll admit.”
Micah replied, still catching his breath. “But the control is excellent. Tight
steering. Great balance.”
Dante nodded approvingly. “It
takes a while to get used to. Keep practicing, and by the end of the week, you
won’t even notice the stiffness.”
Micah smiled, but his hands
remained on the steering wheel, knuckles subtly white. He wasn’t afraid. He was
holding back everything that made him who he truly was.
Before he could speak again,
Daniel approached, full of energy.
“Want to race for real, Micah?”
He asked, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
“Daniel!” Dante scowled. “He
needs time to adjust. Don't push him.”
“He’ll be fine.” Daniel insisted.
“Let him feel the pace. Besides, it’ll help him measure how far he needs to go.
We’re a team—we move together. He needs to know how close he has to be behind
us.”
Micah tried to hide the hopeful
sparkle in his eyes, but Dante saw it.
With a sigh of surrender, Dante
relented. “Fine. But be careful. If you feel like you’re losing control, slow
down. It's okay to lose a race—just don’t lose your life.”
Micah nodded. “Understood.”
His heart thundered with a rush
of excitement, but his mind stayed clear. He had to hold back. This wasn’t
about winning; it was about blending in.
Silas raised the flag while
Meredith stood off to the side, arms folded, quietly observing. She knew Micah
wanted to win. His real instincts would be impossible to miss—unless he buried
them deep, and that’s exactly what he planned to do.
As the signal turned green, both
cars launched off the line.
Daniel surged forward with a
confident roar of the engine. Micah followed with equal flair, but from the
very first turn, he controlled himself with ruthless discipline. His movements
were crisp but clinical, downshifting just a beat early, braking before the
apex, and never cutting a turn tighter than he had to.
Anyone who didn’t know Micah
would think he was simply new to the car, testing boundaries carefully.
But Meredith saw through it. His
posture, his grip on the wheel, the angle of his eyes, they told a different
story. He wasn’t struggling; he was restraining. And hard.
Daniel, for his part, pushed just
enough to maintain the lead but glanced in his rearview now and then, slightly
suspicious. Micah’s lines were too clean, too by-the-book. But he didn’t press.
Not yet.
After five laps, they came to a
stop. Daniel got out, sweat on his brow, a grin on his face. “Not bad.” He
said. “You just need to pick up the speed. The rhythm’s there.”
Micah stepped out, returning the
smile with calculated humility. “I’ll work on it. I want to meet your
expectations.”
Dante, who had been standing by
Meredith, gave a small nod. He remembered when Daniel had first raced him years
ago, struggling to find his footing. Micah was doing better than Daniel did on
his first go. But still—something didn’t add up.
“Juno wants to speak with you.”
Silas said, stepping up.
Dante followed him inside, while
Daniel and Micah geared up for another mock race. Silas oversaw the prep but
kept glancing at the duo, aware of the silent tension brewing beneath the
engine sounds.
Inside the observation room, Juno
waited, arms crossed.
“Dante.” He began, “I want you to
sit beside him for the next race.”
Dante raised a brow. “Why?”
“He’s holding back. Completely
orthodox. I saw how he drove his own car—it was electric. Here, it’s almost too
perfect. Like he’s checking boxes.”
Meredith, who had followed them
in, exhaled deeply in silent relief. So that’s what he noticed. Not the truth,
but enough to cause a stir.
Dante nodded. “Alright. I’ll ride
with him.”
As the second race wrapped up,
Silas raised a hand. “Switching it up. Dante’s riding shotgun.”
Daniel looked surprised, but
Micah froze for half a second before hiding it with a nod.
Dante stepped into the passenger
seat with practiced ease. “Just drive. I’m here to observe.”
Micah adjusted his gloves. He was
about to perform the most difficult race of his life—not in skill, but in
deception.
The lights turned red.
Then yellow.
Then green.
Micah hit the throttle and
launched forward—not too aggressively, but just enough to feel competitive.
Every gear shift was crisp, every turn taken with surgical accuracy. He kept
his eyes on the road, never letting them drift toward Dante.
But he could feel the man
watching.
They circled the track, lap after
lap, with Dante silently observing everything—braking points, turn-ins, gear
shifts, weight distribution.
Micah stayed the course. He
mirrored Daniel’s speed from the last race, never once giving in to the urge to
floor the accelerator or drifting into a corner with flair. It was as if he had
read a manual on “How to Be a Cautious Racer” and memorized it.
Halfway through the fourth lap,
Dante finally spoke.
“You’re textbook-perfect.” He
said.
“Is that a bad thing?” Micah
asked, voice neutral.
“It’s rare. Most racers either go
too hard or too soft at the start.”
Micah offered a practiced laugh.
“I spent a lot of time watching old footage. I guess it got ingrained.”
Dante didn’t respond immediately.
Then he leaned back slightly, gaze fixed ahead.
Micah couldn’t stop the tiny
smile from curling his lips.
As they crossed the finish line,
Silas waved the flag. They returned to the pit, and Dante stepped out first. He
glanced at Juno and gave a thumbs-up.
“He’s in control.” Dante
confirmed as he stepped out of the car, brushing invisible dust from his hands.
Micah let out a long, silent
breath as he unbuckled himself, chest rising and falling in relief. That had
been dangerously close.
Meredith walked over, her
expression unreadable. “Are you okay?” She asked, voice quiet.
“Yeah.” Micah replied, forcing
his voice to stay steady. “Was I convincing?”
“Very.” She said with a nod.
“Even Juno bought it.”
Daniel joined them, glancing at
Dante and Micah. “He didn’t push too hard, did he?”
Dante shook his head. “No. But…”
He paused, thoughtful, “He still needs time. He’s not letting go yet. I can see
that.”
Micah’s fingers twitched at his
side, but he kept his face neutral.
Juno raised an eyebrow. “You
think he’s holding back?”
“Not intentionally.” Dante said,
crossing his arms. “He’s playing it safe—maybe too safe. But with the right
exposure, the right challenge, he might finally show us what he’s really
capable of.”
Juno nodded slowly. “So, what
next?”
“I’ll race him myself next week.”
Dante said without hesitation. “If he gets used to seeing how we handle the
track, he might start revealing his own style.”
Micah’s breath caught for just a
second. But Meredith—always quick—cut in before anyone could notice.
“We’ll watch from the stands.”
she offered casually. “So, he can study your dynamic with Daniel better.”
Daniel grinned. “Good idea. It’s
one thing to race with someone, it’s another to know how they think.”
“Exactly.” Dante said, nodding.
“Micah, come observe our next run. Take mental notes—where we brake, where we
risk speed, how we trust each other on overtakes. It’s not just about skill.
It’s about rhythm.”
Micah exhaled, his heart easing
slightly. “Alright. I’ll keep my eyes open.”
As the others prepared for the
next race, Meredith lingered beside Micah.
“That was close.” she muttered,
pretending to adjust her ponytail.
“Too close.” Micah whispered
back. “He almost called my bluff.”
“But he didn’t.” she replied.
“You bought yourself time.”
Micah nodded. “Enough time to
figure out if he’s worth the truth.”
Later that day, as the golden
light of evening painted long shadows over the track, Dante found Micah near
the pit, gently wiping down the old car.
“You handled it well today.”
Dante said, stopping a short distance away.
Micah didn’t look up. “Thanks for
trusting me with it.”
Dante smiled faintly. “I remember
my first race in that car. I could barely keep my hands from shaking.”
Micah finally looked at him. “You
didn’t seem nervous.”
“I was.” Dante said. “But you—you
didn’t look like you were fazed at all.”
Micah gave a faint smile. “I’ve
waited a long time for a moment like this. I couldn’t let fear ruin the
moment.”
Dante looked at him more closely
now, something thoughtful flickering in his gaze. “You’re doing good, Micah.
Don’t rush it. You don’t need to prove everything right away.”
Micah nodded, but inside, his
heart was screaming. If only you knew.
“I won’t.” He said quietly.
Dante offered a rare, soft smile,
then turned and walked back toward the others.
As he disappeared around the
corner, Meredith appeared, arms folded, and one eyebrow raised. “You’re a
magician.”
Micah gave a hollow laugh. “I’m a
liar.”
Meredith leaned in. “A liar who
still has a shot. Don’t mess it up.”
“I’m trying not to.”
She looked up at the deepening
sky, stars beginning to glimmer in the purpling dusk. “You’ll have to race him
next week. Are you ready?”
Micah followed her gaze skyward.
“Not ready to lose him.”
Meredith sighed. “Then make sure
he never sees the side of you you’re afraid to show. At least, not yet.”
Micah said nothing.
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