When I was in Germany, I went back to go-karting after years of not setting foot in one.
Then I needed to run in every country I traveled.
Once in America again, I didn't say a word to anyone, but I needed to see if my blood was pumping when I did it at home.
I went there every day.
I got pretty serious about go-karting, and step by step fell in love with the sport all over again.
I took a racing class and touched my father's inheritance for the first time doing so.
I also contacted Dereck.
It's the first email that was ignored.
I found someone else and didn't give up on my father's old friend, but I never used my birth name.
Not once.
I continued on my way and practiced in my car, and joined the SCCA.
When I decided it was time to buy a racing car and gears, that's when I started to etch a plan to tell Quinn.
I wanted him to know I was serious about this.
That it wasn't insanity.
But I know it's not fair to him as he doesn't know who my father was or that I used to race when I was a kid.
Getting behind the wheel, my adrenaline is already high. I love the smell of cars, the feeling I have when I put the helmet on, and touch the steering wheel.
Once the gear is on, you can't tell who I am.
You don't know if I'm a man, or if I wear lipstick.
You can't know people I love died and ones I like less stay alive.
I'm not Tessa Fitzpatrick.
I'm not Tessa VanHorn either.
I'm just someone who wants to speed and win.
And once on the tracks, there is no margin to fail.
There is only the speed and your guts telling you what your next move should be.
So I give Dereck all I have.
In a way, I want him to see I'm my father’s daughter, and that it’s in my blood. Not that I will ever become a NASCAR driver, it's too late in my life for it.
But local racer, yes.
I want to be the best at it.
I want to feel alive.
The way my father died.
Driving.
Doing what I like.
Living the life he never had.
Once I've done the last lap, and I finally slow the car down, I'm ecstatic.
High on hormones and happy, I applied everything I've learned during my childhood.
That's the feeling I love the most. Being close to the legend my dad was.
Hearing his voice when he was debriefing with his team. Something I didn't pay attention to when I was a kid, but that had a significant impact on me if I can remember each of his words almost twenty years later.
I took the curb the way I was supposed to.
I sped up when I needed to.
I didn't flinch.
I took the heat.
I did great, and seeing the smile on Dereck's face, he agrees.
"You really are your father’s daughter. Isn’t she?" He says with a little tear in his eyes to the guy standing beside him. I look at the stranger with mixed feelings. He looks a lot like Dereck and I wonder if he knew my father.
“Sure does,” the stranger answers. Instead of making me sad or crushing my soul, the way it does when people speak about King, it makes me proud.
Because no one talks about my dad and the horrific accident that happened the day he tried to break a speed record just for the fun of it.
No one discusses the day they lost one of the best race car drivers of his generation without a good explanation.
We moved away, and things calmed down while we weren't in the tornado the racing world was in.
I was protected from the media, thanks to Andre's job and my stepfather adopted me so I could live a happy life, and forget.
And it was easier to do so.
When we came back to Virginia because Andre got a higher position at the CIA, I was someone else.
I got my license, still loved cars but Tessa Fitzpatrick was no more.
And Garett Fitzpatrick was a name I was told to forget.
It took King's death for me to remember who I really was.
That's maybe the only good thing that came from losing him.
“Dad, I’m going.” The stranger says not wanting to impose.
“Wait, I wanted to introduce you. Patrick, this is Tessa. Tessa, this is Patrick.” I get uncomfortable thinking Dereck is trying to set me up with his son. Something in the twinkle in his eyes tells me he would love it.
“Nice to meet you,” I say politely.
“Same.” And we’re more awkward than anything. “Sorry I need to leave. Maybe I’ll see you soon.” Patrick hugs his dad and leaves.
“That’s my son.” Dereck says proudly.
“Cool,” I answer looking at him but not knowing what to say. Dereck chuckles and sits.
"How do you feel?" Dereck asks as I sit next to him.
"Alive," I answer with a sigh.
Dereck chuckles. "That's what your dad used to say." He mumbles, still not sure he can talk about my old man in front of me. I stay sitting, allowing my heartbeat to slow down and my body to rest while Dereck's staff is taking care of everything.
"When did you move to Virginia?" I ask.
"Around the time your father died. I couldn't do it without him. At the same time my kid started working here and I thought, why not. So here I came." His words are filled with sadness and it hits me. I won't be able to work with him if he’s sappy about the sport I love. I need someone who has more passion than nostalgia, someone who can kick my ass the days I'm sad, not someone who would cry with me.
"Dereck, if we're to work together, you can't be sad about my father. I don't use his name for a reason. Garett Fitzpatrick was a legend, and he's missed, but I need to do this to live, to remember him, to be able to breathe. I can't have you on my team if you are going to
