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Chapter Text

“One lap to go.”

“One time around.”

“One mile.”

“Lightning McQueen has done it! He won his way into his first championship!”

“That is a huge win! Mistake in Texas put him in a bad spot. But he fought his way back!”

“That is a win of a future champion!”

With a huge grin on his face and full of joy, he stood there and looked at the race track. He jumped up and down in front of his seat and called out Lightning’s name. His idol had won and the little one was happier than he had been in a long time. 

Then he shook his father’s sleeve. His father who was sitting next to him didn’t react. “Dad! Dad! He won! Lightning McQueen won!” the boy called out full of joy, but of course, he hadn’t expected a strong reaction from his father. Nevertheless, he was overjoyed. He had been waiting for this for so long. 

“Whatever,” his father answered and continued to look at his cell phone, on which he was doing who knows what.

"Uncle, look," he said and tried his luck with his uncle who was sitting on the other side of him. And he had really watched every second of the race. But now he sat there, arms crossed in front of his chest, and sulking. 

"I saw it," he mumbled, upset about the win. 

"Isn't that great?" the five-year-old asked his uncle. 

"Great? That's not great. A wannabe racer. A brazen thief of publicity!" his uncle hissed and clenched his fist. 

Of course, his uncle was still angry with Lightning McQueen. 

Little Jackson couldn't understand it. He thought that Lightning had pulled off the coolest move possible in the tiebreaker race. But his uncle disagreed. 

"Dad? Can we try to meet him? Please, please, please," Jackson begged his father, who then sighed. He knew Jackson wouldn't give up, so they set off. Jackson watched as Lightning received the trophy and was interviewed and then they left. 

"You go. I'll wait here," his uncle said and stayed seated. He would never have admitted that he didn't want to meet McQueen but they could see it. 

Jackson ran ahead, skipped while walking happily, and tried to figure out where to go. 

The crowd was so loud but Jackson was determined to meet his idol. Full of excitement like never before in his life, he snaked his way through the thousands of people. Being small had its advantages and disadvantages. He couldn't see exactly where he had to go but he fit through everywhere. He didn't pay attention to where his father was or whether he was coming with him. 

Finally, after so long of anticipation, he found him. Lightning McQueen was not too far away with Doc Hudson and the bodyguards who were leading Lightning away. His steps were hurried. 

"Lightning McQueen!" Jackson called and tried to come closer but people pushed him away because he was easily overlooked. He came closer but not close enough. 

Lightning looked briefly in his direction, but he was looking over him and did not see Jackson. His little heart skipped a beat as his idol turned around and started to go away. 

"Lightning! Lightning McQueen!" Jackson called again but no one noticed him. 

The boy was standing there and the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity walked away. He didn't meet his idol. He stared at the drawing he was holding. It took him a long time to draw Lightning McQueen with his car. He had used red and all the other colors because he loved colors. 

A frown appeared on his face. The disappointment turned to despair and finally anger. 

He took the picture and crumpled it up, then threw it in the nearest trash can. 

He had waited months for this day. He wanted to meet Lightning so badly. 

He looked one more time to Lightning who was almost out of sight. Without further hesitation he ran back to his father, trying to find him in the crowd. He had remembered where he had last seen him and using the posters that were hanging everywhere he found his way back. 

His dad was busy talking to others. He didn’t even notice his kid was gone for a moment. But that was nothing new for Jackson. His mother had often been interested in him. However, Jackson had only had her for three of his years. 

“Who’s that?” one of the strangers asks. 

“Jackson.”

Jackson pulled off his cap with the lightning bolt on it. He shoved it in his father’s hands and crossed his arms in front of his chest. 

“Didn’t go well?” his father asked, showing a small spark of interest. But Jackson just shook his head.

He felt torn. A storm raged inside of him. A mix of thunder and lightning which made a huge storm. He was thunder by blood. Almost. But that was what his uncle always told him. 

"Told you he's an idiot," his uncle, who had just come over, said. He was now wearing a jacket and a cap on his head. Of course, he had to hide because as Chick Hicks he would have received a lot of hate if anyone had seen him here. 

He was six years old. 
The desire to become a racing driver was already very strong. He had seen all the Piston Cup races of recent times. Despite the disappointment on that one day, he also wanted to become a racing driver. Maybe even because of the disappointment. The urge to prove that he could be better than others grew a little bit stronger. Better than McQueen. 

Jackson asked his uncle about it one day. 

His uncle raised his eyebrows but let the idea sink. The longer he thought about it, the more pleased he seemed. Jackson saw a hint of a contentment in his eyes. 

"You want to become a racer?" he asked. 

"Yes, I do," Jackson said. "Please, can you show me how to do it?"

"Only if you want to be a world champion. I won't settle for anything less."

Jackson was young. How could he have known what that meant? But he said yes and nodded happily. 

"And if you don't do what I tell you, then that's it for you as a racer. Got it?" Uncle said sternly, but Jackson nodded. Of course. He wanted to be a world champion. What little boy doesn't want that? 

"Got it." He was sure that was the start of something big. 

Jackson had a best friend. They did everything together after school and she was really cool. He could even talk to her about cars. Her name was Charlotte. He called her Charlie. 

“One day we'll have our own cars and we can go on a road trip,” Charlie said as they sat on the branch of their favorite tree. 

“That'll be amazing,” Jackson replied with a grin. “And one day I'll be a race car driver.”

“Really?” Charlie looked at him. 

Jackson nodded. “My uncle says I can be a world champion.” 

“That's cool.”

Charlie thought for a while. She was always the thoughtful one. “You won't forget me when you're famous, will you?” 

“Never.”

He was seven years old. Slowly he got better and better at karting. The group leader called him a natural. His uncle said there was still a lot of room for improvement and he was nowhere near good enough. Jackson drove three times a week. 

His father didn't really care what he did as long as he had peace and quiet. He had a new girlfriend. Jackson didn't like her. He didn't want anyone else to take his mother's place. He didn't like that his father forgot about Jackson's mother so quickly. Even though his father had often told him that she had left voluntarily. Jackson had never understood why she didn't come back. After all, he was still there and he was important.  How could she just abandon him like that? He never did anything wrong. 

Every day late in the evening he went outside with Charlie to a certain place where they met a small stray dog. They brought him something to eat even though they knew others seemed to give him something from time to time. They called him Bear. 

Charlie taught Jackson to play the piano. Jackson spent many afternoons in her house. She called him a natural. 
Her mother often baked cakes.
It was just Charlie and her mother. She never mentioned her father. They had a small house but how Jackson found a perfect life. 

He could talk to Charlie about everything. They climbed trees in the forest, threw stones into rivers, built tents out of sticks, and made kites that flew so high. 

Charlie called him the best friend in the whole world. 

He gave her a gift one evening as they were sitting on a couch at her home. 

"What is it?" Charlie asked excitedly. Her eyes always lit up when she was happy. 

"Open it," Jackson said and Charlie ripped the gift paper off a small box. 

Her eyes lit up even more as she saw what was in there. "That's my favorite," she exclaimed and hugged Jackson. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Jackson smiled. He knew it was her favorite car and they wanted to go on a road trip together in it. It was small and yellow. Now she had a die-cast version.

Without hesitation, Charlie took a bracelet off her wrist. She always wore bracelets, handmade ones. "For you," she said, holding it out to Jackson. 

He put it on his wrist and kept it there day and night for a long time. 

They swore to remain best friends forever. 

Jackson was eight years old. He went to school normally, but after that, his uncle sent him go-karting every day. Jackson would have loved to have a Saturday off, to play soccer with the other kids or go fishing with someone on Sunday. He couldn't even see Charlie that often anymore. They met at school, but after that, he hardly had any time. 

But his uncle turned him into a machine. He was only functioning but was it living? He was the best at go-karting in his age group. He was the best even in the next age groups. 

He didn't even know if Bear was still alive. 

He had a fight with Charlie. 

"You don't have time for me anymore. Is racing more important to you than I am?" she said one afternoon when Jackson visited her. She was standing in the doorway. It was Jackson's only day off in a long time because his uncle was busy. 

"It's not," Jackson said. "You don't understand. I don't have a choice!"

"You chose to become a racer, didn't you?" she said and glared at him. 

She was right but it was complicated. "I never wanted it to be like this," Jackson said quietly but Charlie slammed the door shut. 

That evening Jackson lay awake in bed and stared at the ceiling. He heard something from outside and looked out the window. His room was on the ground floor. The first thing he saw was the little yellow car he had given Charlie. Shortly afterwards Charlie stuck her head up and looked through the closed window with a sheepish smile. 

Since then, every evening when Jackson was in bed and not allowed out, Charlie came to his room at a certain time. They talked about everything and nothing. They watched the stars. He told her about go-karting. She told him about the animals and other things she had encountered that day. She told him about Bear and still fed him daily. She was a special kind of girl. 

Jackson was nine years old when his uncle picked him up after school to go go-karting. All the other kids had arranged to go swimming today. It was a hot day. Jackson begged to be allowed to go too. Uncle Chick wouldn't let him. 

After the race at home, they started arguing. "You can't always force me to do this! I want to do other things too. This isn't a life!" he screamed and threw his school backpack on the floor in the hallway. 

"This is your life!" Chick yelled back. "Don't be so ungrateful! This costs a fortune and takes up so much of my time!"

"I just want a little free time! Why don't you understand that?"

"I understand," his uncle said suddenly calmly. “You wanna quit.”

“No, I don’t!”

“It’s your choice. Do what I say or never drive again.”

Jackson liked go-karting. It made him feel free. His life was anything but easy and the adrenaline rush made him forget everything else. So maybe it wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe he had to accept making sacrifices. He didn’t ask again for more free time. 

One day, Charlie didn’t show up at his window anymore. She suddenly didn’t come to school anymore. 

Jackson came to her house. The familiar entrance looked different, so lifeless. The decorations that her mother always had there were gone. Jackson rang the bell, but no one answered. 

He looked inside through a window and the furniture was gone. They had moved away without telling anyone. It broke his heart. There were so many things he didn’t understand. But most of all it told him he wasn't enough, not good enough to be loved, not good enough for anyone to stay.

That evening he went to their favorite tree. He sat on the branch for a long time until he noticed that there was something engraved in the bark of the tree with a knife. 

J + C  =  BFF

It was fresh, maybe just a few days old. Best friends forever. 

He kept her bracelet on his wrist. 

Jackson was ten years old when he sprained his hand while driving a go-kart. His uncle was angry and didn't say a word to him until he was fit enough to race again. Because his father was often away at work he didn't have anyone to talk to for a long time. 

He sneaked out at night to see Bear. One day Bear never showed up again. Jackson knew he wouldn't come back. 

Jackson started to make up an imaginary friend. He called him Storm because he felt like a storm was raging inside of him. Anger began to be his constant companion. 

He told his friend everything. He told him how much he missed his mom and Charlie. 

He was eleven years old. It was a rainy day and the race track was slippery. "It wasn't my fault. Uncle, please," Jackson said and ran after Chick Hicks. 

"Don't talk to me. You know I'm mad," his uncle said sternly. Jackson had done well in every kart race. He lost one race. He was eleven. It wasn't like it was a big deal. 

They were sitting in the car on the way home. The silence was getting to Jackson and he just wanted to explain what had happened. He just wanted advice on what he could have done better and not this silence that seemed to be a lesson to him. But he couldn't understand what it was supposed to teach him. 

"Uncle, I..." he started but was interrupted. 

"I told you not to talk to me," Chick said loudly, and shortly afterward he stopped at a gas station. 

"Get out!" he yelled and Jackson frowned. He looked at his angry uncle in confusion. 

"What?" 

"I said get out of my car, now!" he shouted and Jackson quickly unbuckled, his hands started to tremble and he opened the door. As he got outside his uncle reached over and closed the door from the inside. The next moment he drove away. 

Never before had Jackson felt so alone. He didn't know what to do. Alone at a gas station, still many miles from home. But he knew his uncle wouldn't come back. 

He had to walk. 

He didn't like the dark. 

His feet hurt from the long way. 

He clutched the bracelet the whole time. 

And he didn't understand what he had done wrong. It was supposed to be a lesson but Jackson wasn't sure what for. How could he improve if nobody told him how? Desperately he tried to replay the last few hours in his head but it was as if he was going in circles. How was he supposed to know that his uncle meant that he wasn't allowed to say anything at all, even briefly? He should have known. 

Since then, he always took everything his uncle said literally. 

When he got home, it was already dark. He went straight to his room and hid under the covers. He didn't cry. He never cried. But he scribbled. He drew things in a sketchbook that he would like to do. He drew a life that he would have swapped with his life in a heartbeat. 

Jackson was twelve years old when his imaginary friend disappeared and never came back. He could no longer imagine him after his imagination died. Something inside him died the day he argued with his father. 

"It's much too expensive!" his father complained, holding the bill for new equipment. 

He realized his uncle probably never paid anything like he told him he did. His father paid it all. 

“I’m sorry, Dad, I didn’t know…,” Jackson started but wasn’t allowed to finish. 

“What are you thinking? Does that even make sense?” he yelled. “Chick is trying to get into the racing business with you but nobody knows if it will work out!”

“I’m trying my best,” Jackson said quietly. 

“And maybe that’s not enough!”

Jackson frowned. It hurt. More than expected. “Mom would never have said something like that to me,” he said quietly. 

“Your Mother?!” his father yelled, not happy about it. “Now you’re bringing her up?”

"She's out there somewhere. One day I'll find her," Jackson said with a trembling voice and finally, his father sighed. His voice now quiet and calm. 

"You won't," he said quietly. "She died when you were young."

Jackson's face turned pale. His hands trembled as he realized he had been lied to his entire life. Even after taking a deep breath, he still felt terrible. 

His father said a few more things, talking about cancer and how he himself was unable to come to terms with it and made up the lie to make it easier to bear. 

Jackson broke down. It was the first time he had learned that his mother had died back then. He thought she was only gone temporarily. He thought she could come back at some point. 

The thought of never seeing her again made something die inside him. 

But there was one small positive thing. Jackson knew she hadn't left him. He knew she had never wanted to abandon her little boy. He ran to his room and slammed the door shut. His father didn’t follow. He was never the comforting type. 

Jackson was thirteen years old when his father married the new woman. She hadn’t played a big role in Jackson’s life over the years and he hadn’t seen her much. That’s why it was such a shock when he heard the news. Jackson had to be at the wedding. He didn’t smile. There is no photo of him from that day when he looked happy. 

The woman didn’t care much for Jackson. But he didn’t need a mother substitute anyway. She moved into their home. Jackson only came out of his room when his uncle wanted to drag him somewhere. 

Jackson often remembered one evening when the woman knocked on his room with dinner on a plate. 

“Yes?” he asked. 

She came in, smiled gently, and placed the plate on his desk. “You didn’t eat dinner today,” she said, a little concerned, and Jackson was confused by the sudden interest in his well-being. 

"Thanks," he just said and nothing more. She stood there a moment longer, perhaps expecting Jackson to say more, but nothing came. 

She nodded, smiled, and left. And maybe Jackson should have tried harder because apparently, she was trying. It was one of the many times she brought him food and tried, but Jackson didn't let anyone into his heart. 

Jackson was fourteen when his uncle started dragging him to the gym three times a week. He was still just a kid. He felt small. But his uncle said he had to be in top shape. 

He struggled. The beginning was hard. Pushups every day until his chest hurt from breathlessness. 

"You wanna become a racer or not?!" His uncle said and stood next to him, arms crossed, and a stern look on his face. Jackson kept pushing. Now it was too late to stop if he had wanted to. He didn't know what he wanted, though. When he was little he wanted to be a racing driver and since then they had decided for him. He hadn't been able to make any decisions for a long time. 

He kept pushing. He didn't want to appear weak. 

One day Charlie's bracelet disappeared in his drawer. It was inconvenient during workouts. 

Jackson was fifteen when he stopped drawing. He didn't have the time and the notebook disappeared deep in a drawer under other books. He forgot what it was like to dream. He forgot to pay attention to the small, beautiful things in life. But every time he heard piano music somewhere, he thought of Charlie and how she had so often called him an animal lover, a nice person, and a best friend.

One day a letter arrived. It had no return address. Charlie had sent it to him. 

It took him three days to open it. There was a photo of Charlie showing how she looked then. With a little note. 

"I'm sorry Jackson. We had our reasons. I never forgot you. I love you. ~Charlie"

She broke his heart the day she left. But when Jackson stared at the photo, for the first time he felt more than just friendship. And he couldn't even send her a letter too. There was no address.

A month later, the shocking news came that Jackson's father and his wife had decided to move away. It was because of his father's work. Jackson was not allowed to have a say. 

They moved to another State, Jackson had to change schools, racing teams, and knew that any further letters from Charlie would never reach him. 

Jackson was sixteen, drove in bigger leagues. At home, he listened to techno music, as well as in the gym. He went there alone every day. His uncle took care of other things. 

Animal lover - echoed in his head when he kicked a dog on the way home who was just trying to get some of Jackson's sandwich. 

Don't forget the nights when it all felt right. 
Are you not the same as you used to be?

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, regret starting to grow inside of him. He crouched down to the whimpering dog. 

He gave the dog the rest of his sandwich and stroked the dog’s fur until he felt he had made amends. Charlie would have wanted it that way. But Jackson wished she had told him where they were moving. She didn’t have a phone. 

Jackson was seventeen. It was easier to be cool and arrogant than nice and sensitive. It was easier to make fun of others than to be the one being made fun of. 

One day a man came to his race. He introduced himself as his new crew chief. Jackson tolerated the man but he wasn’t there to make friends anyway. He was there to win. Only functioning, barely living. 

His uncle was happy. Happier than ever. The more Jackson was with him, the more he became like a clone of the man who had almost killed The King. It wasn’t until he was seventeen that Jackson really understood what had happened back then. And sometimes he lay awake in bed at night because of it. The thought of what his own uncle had done and that Jackson was starting to become like his uncle made him feel uncomfortable.

Someone asked him for his name. He introduced himself as Jackson Storm. He thought the last name was fitting. 

Jackson was seventeen and a half when he was accepted into the Piston Cup. It would be six months before he was officially allowed to drive. He wasn't allowed to tell anyone. He watched every single race of McQueen. Analyzing and learning McQueen's strategies was part of it. Jackson knew every weak point. He always had an eye for detail. He could keep the perfect line lap after lap with the new next-gen cars - something McQueen couldn't do. 

He was eighteen. He wasn't nervous. But his uncle was. On the day of his first Piston Cup race, his uncle talked to him about a lot of things that Jackson more or less didn't care about. With headphones and his techno music, he tried to get through the hours until the race. 

He started last. 

He won his first race. 

It felt incredible. Like something he had never felt before. People loved him. Reporters were beside themselves. He was the first person besides Bobby Swift and Cal Weathers to beat McQueen in a while. 

The adrenaline rush from the race was replaced by excitement, brought on by all the people calling his name. 

He knew sooner or later he would have met McQueen. Apparently sooner. 

"Hey, Jackson Storm, right? Great race today," McQueen himself said to him after the race. And of course, McQueen meant it. He stood there in front of him, humble and modest as always. 

"Wow. Thank you, Mr. McQueen," Jackson said and grinned, shaking the hand that McQueen held out to him. "You have no idea what a pleasure it is for me to finally beat you."

"Oh, thanks. Wait. Hang on," McQueen said with a frown appearing on his face. Confusion was written in his eyes. “Did you say meet or beat?”

I wanted to meet you a long time ago. 

But that's in the past. 

"I think you heard me."

“Uh, what?”

Now you know, is it just for show?
Just a foolish game that you hide behind?

A pang of regret hurt in Jackson's chest but before he could think about it too much, reporters were calling his name again. Lights flashed and he turned towards the cameras. 

“Storm! Can we get a picture?”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on. Let’s get a picture,” he said. “You know what? Get a ton of pictures because champ here has been a role model of mine… for years now. And I mean a lot of years. Right? I love this guy.” Grinning, he stood next to McQueen, who had been pretty quiet since Jackson’s comment. McQueen just smiled at the camera and then turned and left.

Jackson watched for a moment. It gave him flashbacks to the day Lightning left too and he hadn't had the chance to talk to him. Today he had the chance. And Lightning already didn't like him. 

His uncle was so proud of him. 

And how his uncle had managed to get his own show was a mystery to Jackson. Since his uncle wanted him around, Jackson had to sit there and listen to the endless chatter. 

"Welcome to Chick's Picks with Chick Hicks. I'm your history, former and forever, Piston Cup champion, Chick Hicks."

But only because McQueen had given up his victory. 

Jackson sat nearby on a chair, out of camera view, not really listening. A certain Natalie Certain was introduced. A statistical analyst. 

"So, who is this mysterious newcomer, Jackson Storm? And why is he so darn fast?" Chick said and Jackson rolled his eyes. The press didn't really know that Jackson was Chick Hicks' nephew and his uncle acted surprised by Jackson's achievements as if he hadn't been with him for most of his life.

"It's no mystery if you study the data, Mr. Hicks," Certain explained. Then they talked about the next generation of high-tech cars, and how Jackson archives his top speeds by exploiting the numbers. "I refer, of course, to racing data. Tire pressure, downforce, weight distribution, aerodynamics, and next-gens like Jackson Storm are taking advantage. The racing world is changing."

"And for the better if it means my old pal, Lightning, is down for the count. Am I right, Certain?" Chick laughed. 

"Well, if I'm certain of anything, Chick it's that this season is about to get even more interesting," Natalie added and Jackson was glad the talk show was over. He found it more than boring.

"I'll tell you what, Darrell," Jackson overheard Cutlass say before Jackson's next race on one of the small screens in his pit. "Jackson Storm has certainly made an impact. We've got six more next-generation rookies in the field."

"With six veterans fired to clear the way," Darrell said. 

"He's tougher than I thought," Jackson heard his uncle mutter, who had also been listening to them. 

"Look at me," his uncle said sternly, suddenly holding Jackson firmly by both shoulders. Almost as tight that it hurt. He looked him in the eyes. 

"What do you mean?" Jackson asked and Chick looked at him. 

"More and more racers are being replaced but McQueen is still there. Plant insecurities," Chick said. "That's his weak point. He's no longer the confident guy he used to be. He's soft now."

Jackson wasn't sure if he wanted to do that.

“Can't I just do my thing and stay out of his way?” he asked. 

“No! Remember how he ignored you. Why would you ever be nice to him?” his uncle said. 

“But maybe he didn't see me and…”

“Nonsense! He saw you. He's an ignorant idiot!”

Maybe he saw me. 

Jackson sighed. “I'll try.” And with those words, he felt his uncle release his shoulders. 

His uncle was right. Jackson had to get McQueen off the track at any cost. 

He tried that just before the race when their paths crossed. 

“Morning, champ. How's our living legend today?” he put on his arrogant smile which his uncle liked so much. 

“Uh… still very much alive, thank you,” McQueen said. "And I would appreciate..."

"You know I can't believe I get to race the Lightning McQueen."

Lightning sighed. He didn't like the conversation, that much was clear. 

"In his farewell season," Jackson added, watching with satisfaction as a frown appeared on McQueen's face. 

"What are you talking about? This is not my farewell season!" 

Was it anger Jackson saw in McQueen's face? Whatever it was, it was suppressed as Mister Hudson approached them. 

"Let's go, son. We're late," he said softly. 

"Good luck out there champ. You're gonna need it," Jackson said, less confident than before. Hudson shot him a warning glare and Jackson had to swallow as the two left him standing there alone. 

His father had never called him son. Not even when he introduced him to anyone. Jackson never got acknowledged as anyone's son. And McQueen and Hudson weren't even really related.

Maybe it was envy that flared up in Jackson but it turned into hate. 

It was only the beginning of his winning streak. Little by little he won one race after another. More and more racers were replaced. McQueen stayed. 

"One reason Storm and the next-gen's are more efficient: their ability to hold the optimum racing line every single lap."

His uncle was proud. 

"Win number three for the rookie sensation."

He couldn't even enjoy every moment like he thought he would. 

"They're training on the newest simulators. These machines create a virtual racing experience so real racers never even have to go outside."

He missed the days outside. 

"Storm's ability to hold that line is like nothing we've ever seen."

At night he lay awake in his trailer and stared at the ceiling. He felt numb. 

"Four in a row? Are you kidding me?"

He missed Charlie. 

“2 percent lower drag coefficient.”

He couldn’t even remember the last time he had a hug. 

“Oh, what a finish.”

He had worked for that all his life. That was what he lived for. And somehow it wasn’t as fulfilling as expected. 

“5 percent increase downforce.”

The reporters were thrilled and in no time Jackson had more and more fans. 

“Lucky number seven.”

Seven was Charlie’s favorite number. 

“1.2 percent higher top speed.”

If only someone had honestly told him that he had done well, everything might have been different. But somehow he couldn’t believe the praise from the others. For him, it was all just a show. 

“Amazing! Nine!”

Thank you. 

“Hey McQueen, you alright?” Jackson asked when he met him before the last race of the season. He had never seen McQueen so stressed. He hadn’t smiled for a long time. "Listen, don't you worry pal. You had a good run. Enjoy your retirement."

McQueen didn't even answer. Without hesitation, he walked away quickly and Jackson watched him go to his pit. From a distance, he saw him discussing something with Mister Hudson. Maybe about stress, about the fact that McQueen couldn't keep up anymore, Jackson didn't know. But he had the feeling it had something to do with him. 

He managed to make McQueen insecure. 

He wasn't sure if that was something to celebrate or not. 

His uncle drank champagne that day. 
 
McQueen had crashed. 

His uncle celebrated until late at night. 

But Jackson lay awake. He would never forget the moment even though he had won the championship. 

"Unbelievable! McQueen is fading. Fading fast," he heard in the video which he watched over and over again afterwards. And the more he looked at it, the more worried he became and realized how close Lightning had come to death. 

At night he could still hear the sound of screeching tires, the sound of metal rubbing against the racetrack. 

The oppressive silence that followed after that.

He wasn’t any better than his uncle. And Lightning even had a son. Maybe just four or five years old. Jackson didn’t follow Lightning’s private life but he knew that much. He would never have forgiven himself if he had been responsible for a woman becoming a widow and a child becoming fatherless because of him. 

He found himself looking online after a few days. He saw photos of Lightning in the hospital with his little family. They said he would be alright again. 

The four months that followed flew by. His uncle made him train harder than ever before. He rarely got out during the day. He spent most of his time on the simulator. He hadn’t seen his father in a long time. He had been living with Chick for a while. 

When his uncle felt that the news reports were focusing too much on McQueen, he revealed the secret and said that Jackson was his nephew. The headlines were full of it and pushed McQueen's name into the background. 

Jackson wasn't sure if he was happy that the connection to Chick Hicks was now official. 

In those four months, he even got better. 

When he heard that McQueen would be back at the race in Florida, Jackson had to smile. His uncle was furious the whole day after he heard about it. 

More days passed. 

"Chick Hicks here," his uncle said as Jackson once again had to sit in the same room during the talk show. "Coming to you live from... Chick Hicks Studios, where I'm joined once again by next-gen racing expert, Natalie Certain."

"Thanks, Chick," she said. "Piston Cup champion Jackson Storm set a new record today when he pulled off the fastest lap ever recorded. An unprecedented 213 miles an hour."

No big deal. 

"Wow! So what do you think, Certain? Stormy boy gonna start the season with another win?" his uncle asked and Jackson rolled his eyes. 

"Highly likely, Chick. Based on his recent run times and forecasted track temperatures on race day, Storm's chances of winning... are 95.2 percent."

95? How ironic. 

"That low, huh?" Chick commented. 

Jackson sat on a chair in the corner of Chick's studio, which they kept setting up in different locations depending on where they had the next race. He put on headphones to block out Chick and Certain. A video was playing on his phone. 

"But wait! Here he comes! It's the Fabulous Hudson Hornet knocking at their door. What's he got up his sleeve today? And there it is! With one incredible move, he's past them. The Hornet takes a decisive lead. He's left the pack behind. His crew chief, Smokey, is loving it! It's unbelievable!… Oh, no! He's in trouble! The Hudson Hornet has lost control! The Hudson Hornet has lost control! What should have been a scene of jubilation has turned tragic here today, folks. As we await news on the Hudson Hornet's condition. After such a devastating crash we can only hope that this race wasn't his last.“

Jackson watched it over and over again, analyzing the historic crash and his gaze fell on the people, the spectators, friends, family. 

He held his breath for a second as he started to realize something. 

Without searching for long, he found the video he was looking for on the Internet. McQueen's crash. He had watched it several times before, but this time he was paying attention to something else. The people. 

After the crash, the image was focused on other things in case Lightning hadn't made it. They could see the spectators, the fans, the other teams, McQueen's pit, his wife, his child, his friends, his mentor. 

His kid started to cry. His wife took him in her arms and held him tightly, a desperate attempt to shield their son from the view of his father's wreck. The little hands clung to the mother. She tried to be strong for their child but Jackson could see the fear in her eyes. 

Mister Hudson ran without hesitation across the race track to the wreck, ignoring every possible rule. Just to get to his protégé. 

Without hesitation. 

Jackson asked himself who would have run to him if he had been in the car. 

Who would have cried for him? 

Who would have run to him to desperately try to save what could still be saved?

Who?

Not his father nor his father’s wife, neither of them came to Jackson's race. 

And certainly not his uncle. The only thing that would have happened is Chick would have cursed in the pits, upset that the race was over. 

It wasn’t even envy anymore. It was loneliness. 

“Oh and in case you missed it,” his uncle said into the camera, bringing Jackson back to the now. “Talk of the track tonight is Lightning McQueen finding yet another way to embarrass himself at a demolition derby. Whoa. Almost makes me feel sorry for the guy. Not really. Here’s what his new sponsor had to say.”

“Everyone, relax,” the sponsor came into frame from a recording earlier that day. “The 95’s gonna race. Lightning’s just taking a somewhat unconventional approach to this race. It’s one of the things his fans love about him.”

“Yeah right!” Chick said when the video was over. “Talk about humiliating. If I were old Ka-chow… I wouldn’t even bother to show up in Florida.”

“That could be for the best, Chick,” Certain said. “Even if he does race McQueen’s probability of winning is 1.2 percent.”

“Wow.”

“Numbers never lie,” she added. “I’m willing to predict tonight that Lightning McQueen’s racing career will be over within the week. It might even be over now.”

“I mean, I knew his career was stuck in the mud but…,” his uncle started, but Jackson could no longer listen to this disgusting talk. He stood up and left the room, only the images of Lightning’s family after the accident in his head.

The week flew by.

A few interviews were squeezed in. Including one where Jackson was on his uncle’s show.

"I am happy to present to you today the one who wins race after race. My nephew, Jackson Storm."

Jackson came into the camera view and sat down on a chair next to Chick. "Hi," he simply said but noticed how Chick looked at him. "Uh... thanks for having me," he added and his uncle was satisfied. 

They talked for a while, Jackson trying to keep it as short as possible, as he always does in interviews. 

But he still remembered one question. "What are your plans for the upcoming race?"

"I'll try my best," was his answer for which he got in trouble with his uncle after the interview. The answer apparently should have been that he would win the race. 

The day of the race came. 

For Jackson, it was a normal race but he knew what was at stake for McQueen. 

As he put on his helmet his uncle took him aside. 

"You're gonna win this race," he said sternly.

"I'll see what I can do," Jackson answered casually. 

"No, listen! Whatever you do... don't let McQueen get ahead of you." 

"Sure," he said casually. 

"I don't think you've realized the seriousness of the situation. If McQueen wins this race, he's still in the race. If not, he's out of the race forever. We can't let him win."

"Forever?"

"Yes, we're finally rid of him." Chick grinned. "Great news, I know. But we have to be prepared for anything. Whatever he did last week."

Jackson nodded. 

"Don't disappoint me," his uncle said and as Jackson met his gaze he saw how serious he was. He didn't like that gaze. It made him feel small. 

And maybe if he won this race he would finally get some recognition. Maybe his uncle would have told him how proud he was of him. Not just in front of the cameras. But in private, only his uncle and him; his uncle looking him in his eyes and saying he did something good, he’s enough. 

“Welcome to racing’s greatest day! We’re beach-side at the Florida International Speedway to kick off a new season of Piston Cup racing. It’s the Florida 500,” Jackson heard Cutlass say. He stood at one of the small screens in his pit and watched him and Darrell for a while. 

“Forty-three racers and a quarter million fans await today’s intense contest of strategy, skill, but most of all, speed,” Darrell said. “This crowd is in for one great day of racing.”

Just a usual racing day. Jackson wasn't nervous. 

“I’m Bob Cutlass, joined as always by my broadcasting partner Darrell Cartrip and stat sensation Natalie Certain.”

Everything as always. Jackson’s hands were trembling a little bit.  

She spoke up. “I’ve never seen the numbers line up for Storm like they do today, Bob. Storm should be 96.8 percent unstoppable."

Which would mean Lightning's end. 

"Well, don't overlook Lightning McQueen," Darrell said. 

Never. 

Certain nodded. "We've heard stories of the unusual way McQueen trained to get here. Now the question is did it work?"

Jackson then looked for his crew chief. He saw him talking to Chick. By now the two had probably been asked for an interview by reporters and were therefore still somewhere else on the pit lane. 

Ironically, he had to pass McQueen's pit to get to them. 

"Speed," he heard McQueen say, sitting on a chair in his pit, his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. "I am... speed?" Jackson had never seen him so unsure. He stopped and looked at him. McQueen looked up and looked at him but said nothing.

Jackson's attention shifted to a girl, maybe about Jackson's age, in a yellow jacket. The jacket had Jackson's racing number and his design painted on it. 

"Oh wow! Nice costume," he said. "Come here, let's get a picture. It's so great to meet my number-one fan." He grinned. He didn't even mean it in a bad way. He was sure she was a fan and thrilled to take a photo with him. 

"What a jerk," he heard McQueen's wife say. Confused and a little hurt, he looked at McQueen who then stood up and approached them. He looked exhausted. 

"She's not a fan, Storm," McQueen explained. 

"Oh, hey there, champ," Jackson said, remembering his uncle's words. He had to win the race to get recognition from his uncle. And maybe even from his father. "I heard you're selling mudflaps after today. Is that true? Hey, you put me down for the first case, okay?" After another grin, he walked on, leaving the others standing there. Only when he was further away from his crew chief did he turn around and see Sally giving Lightning a kiss. And their little boy held up his arms to get picked up. Lucky him - McQueen picked him up and held him close. Mister Hudson put a hand on McQueen's shoulder.

And maybe that was all that mattered. Family. 

It hurt. 

"Lightning! Lightning McQueen!" a young fan shouted and McQueen waved. 

The race went well. McQueen had started far back, in last place. 

"McQueen makes steady progress," his uncle said. Both he and his crew chief had access to communicate with Jackson. 

"Wreck in two! Wreck in turn two!" his crew chief said. Clouds of dust could be seen, but because Jackson was right at the front he was not affected. 

"Is the car okay?" Chick asked. Of course, only worried about the car and not about Jackson. 

"Yes," he simply answered. 

"The yellow flag still out. Wrecked cars everywhere," his crew chief said. Jackson nodded. No one could see him but maybe he nodded to himself. Apparently, he was the only one who understood him. 

"The green light's on, pit road is open. Come in.”

He followed his crew chief's order. 

“Man, I don’t understand it! McQueen's just sitting there. Something’s got to be wrong,” his uncle said as the tires on Jackson’s car got changed. 

“Lightning McQueen’s team has entered a different racer sporting the 95,” his crew chief informed him. 

A different racer?

“You’re watching this, right?” his crew chief asked and he was indeed watching. He glanced at the big monitors. 

“What, the girl in the costume?” Jackson asked confused. “You’re kidding me. He put her in the race?”

"We're just learning that the racer replacing McQueen is Cruz Ramirez," the commenter said. His crew chief had given him the line on his headset. 

“This is her very first race!”

“Actually, Darrell,” Certain said. “It says here she does have one win under her belt. “At a place called Thunder Hollow?”

The race continued. Jackson kept his place up the front. 

“Just wanted to let you know Ramirez is moving up toward you,” his crew chief said after more laps. Jackson's concentration started to fade. 

“Why should I care?”

“Because now she’s in the top 10!”

Still far away. 

More laps. 

“Ramirez up to fourth.”

“In fourth? Huh.”

She's not as bad as I thought. 

"Ramirez is in third," his crew chief said. It unsettled Jackson and he slowed down, got in front of her, and started to try to distract her by blocking the way and swerving more than necessary. 

She got in my head. 

It seemed to work. She fell behind a bit and Jackson took his first place back. 

But not for long. “Look behind you,” his crew chief said and Jackson looked in the mirror. Ramirez had caught up and was now right behind him. 

"What?" He hadn't expected this and sweat appeared on his face. For the first time in a long time, he seemed to have to fight for first place instead of winning easily. 

"She's drafting on your car," his uncle yelled. 

He tried to shake her off. 

"Stop that!" Jackson shouted when Ramirez wouldn't shake him off, no matter how hard he tried. Of course, she couldn’t hear him. "She's taking me off my line."

Last lap. 

She's not winning this. 

She tried to overtake him but Jackson blocked him. 

When she tried to overtake him again he slammed the red 95 into the wall. 

Metal screeched as he kept pushing her into the wall. 

Sparks flew through the air. 

Adrenaline shot into Jackson's head when suddenly images shot into his head. 

The tiebreaker race. 

His uncle. 

The King. 

The accident. 

It wasn’t an accident. 

It was on purpose. 

Jackson didn’t want to end up like his uncle. He wanted his recognition and praise, he wanted someone to be able to give him what he needed. But more than that, he didn’t want to hurt anyone. 

He stopped pushing the red car into the wall, drove a bit to the side to give her space, and watched as she took off and won the race. 

Fireworks lit up the sky. 

People cheered her name. 

His crew chief was silent. 

His uncle cursed. 

Ramirez burned some rubber and drove some donuts. 

Jackson felt numb. But he also felt a little bit relieved. It was the right decision. 

He stopped his car in his pit and watched Ramirez. The winner climbed out of the car and was immediately hugged and praised by McQueen. She beamed with joy and Jackson had to smile a little. It wasn’t envy. He was happy that someone could have what he couldn’t. 

He got out of his car and his uncle’s yelling greeted him. 

"How could you? You are such a disappointment!" he shouted. "Second place is the first loser!" 

Jackson was silent. His gaze fell on one of the large screens as more and more people looked up. 

"What?" his uncle yelled, shocked. "Why is his name up there?" 

Both McQueen's and Ramirez' names were up there on the screens. 

"He started the race," his crew chief said. "That's how it works."

He decides when he's done racing. 

"Wait... wait a minute! No!" Chick shouted, grabbed Jackson's arm, and pulled him behind him to a quiet corner. 

They walked passed a mirror. Jackson saw himself, he saw his eyes in which he could see his own pain. But he also saw the smile on his own lips which disappeared the further they went. 

"Do you know what you did? You could have knocked McQueen out of the race!" his uncle yelled as they reached a quiet corner. 

"What did you expect?" Jackson yelled back. "That I would cause an accident like you did back then?"

"How dare you..."

"I don't care anymore," Jackson said. "You're my uncle and I respect you but you're fired. I don't want your help anymore." He crossed his arms to steady them and hide his trembling hands. 

"You don't know what you're talking about," Chick replied. 

"I do. You're fired."

His uncle huffed. "As what? I was never hired at all?"

"Even better. It's not working anymore."

"Ungrateful. I've done so much for you," his uncle said, not quite so loudly anymore. 

"And I'm grateful for that. But it's over now," Jackson said. 

There was silence for a while. 

"Then you're no longer family. I don't know you," his uncle said and walked away, leaving Jackson behind. Now he had pushed away the only person he had. He wasn't sure if he liked it. 

Jackson bit his lip and went away, out of the pit and further away. 

"Kid's got a lot of stuff, eh, Doc?" he heard McQueen say as he briskly passed his pit. 

"Well, she had a great teacher," Hudson said and put an arm around his protégé.

Jackson ran further and further until he found a place where there were a few boxes and no reporters nearby. He hid behind a box, sat down on the ground and hugged his legs, buried his face in his knees while he trembled. 

He didn't know how long he sat there but it was long enough that every person on earth had forgotten him, forgotten that he had ever existed. 

He only sat there half an hour. 

He was still aware that he had done the right thing. Letting Ramirez pass, distancing himself from his uncle had been important. But it hurt. It hurt so much to be alone that his chest physically hurt as he tried to take a deep breath. 

His hands didn't stop trembling and he wished in that moment that he could turn back time. Maybe he would never have asked his uncle to help him get into the racing business. Even though he loved racing. 

A kid called his name. Jackson looked up and saw a little boy running towards him. He was about five years old. He reminded him of himself. 

Jackson hadn't expected anyone to find him here in the last dirty corner. Especially not a small child. 

"Jackson! Jackson!" the little boy called. "My daddy says I can ask you if you want to go out to eat with us." 

Jackson frowned. He hadn't expected that. It was a strange thing. Why would he agree to strangers? Let alone a kid?

Jackson looked into the distance to find his father. And there he was, approaching Jackson while smiling a little. 

Jackson had expected a lot. A lot, but not a second chance. The man was now standing in front of Jackson and holding out his hand. "I know a good restaurant, not too far from here," he said and Jackson stared at his hand. 

His gaze wandered to the man. He was wearing a dark blue jacket that didn't even belong to him and was a bit too big. A yellow 51 was on it. The man looked good in blue, although he looked better in his usual red. 

Jackson hesitated. 

But finally, he took his hand and Lightning McQueen helped him to stand. "Ready?" Lightning asked, letting go of his hand and taking his son's hand instead, who was smiling like he was the happiest boy on earth. And maybe he was. 

"Ready," Jackson said and smiled too. A real smile for the first time in a long time. It felt good. He was relieved. He could finally breathe. 

The storm inside of him grew smaller. 

A week later he found a letter from Charlie among his fan letters. Her cell phone number was written there. 

The storm inside of him disappeared.

Chapter Text

“Jackson?”

Jackson looked up from staring at his plate.

“Yes?”

“Aren’t you hungry?” McQueen asked, and Jackson flinched, not hard enough to notice.

“What? Oh… I… no, I’m good,” Jackson said, but realized it wasn’t enough for McQueen. He eyed him with that gaze, which was saying more than a thousand words.

“Are you sure?” McQueen raised his eyebrows.

“Yes,” Jackson answered, even though that wasn’t entirely true. Maybe it was. He wasn’t sure if he was sure. 

It was already more than enough that McQueen had practically invited him to join them for dinner. But here Jackson sat, feeling completely out of place. He didn’t belong here. They had chosen a good restaurant. McQueen knew his way around this sort of things.

They were all sitting at a large table, McQueen's crew, his wife, his kid, Mr. Hudson, Cruz, and a few others Jackson didn't know. Jackson's seat was between an Italian guy from McQueen's crew and a lady sitting next to her husband. The look her husband had made Jackson wonder if he was a hairstylist.

Jackson didn't belong here. He felt it. McQueen was sitting a few seats away but seemed to notice it too. It was obvious. And goodness, it was embarrassing that he'd seen it. 

Cruz was talking—talking about the race and how great they thought it had been. The others laughed because she told it quite funny.

Jackson didn't laugh. He started to wonder why he had agreed to go with them in the first place. They gave him another chance and were very nice to him. That wasn't even the problem.

Maybe he was the problem. Or the belief that maybe he wasn't a person who belonged with others. Maybe he was meant to be alone.

He was already moving a potato back and forth on his plate with his fork and just wished he could disappear.

He didn’t leave. That would have been pretty rude and even more embarrassing.

"You should eat something," the lady next to him said. "Racing can make you hungry."

Jackson only shrugged. They were so nice to him but he didn't know what to do with it.

McQueen was still wearing Mister Hudson's dark blue racing jacket. Why exactly, Jackson wasn't quite sure. Though it was nice. Having someone there for you and borrowing you a jacket.

"Food is-a good," the Italian mechanic said. Or at least Jackson assumed it was one of McQueen's mechanics. He knew some of McQueen's crew, saw them on TV. But he didn't know all of them. And not this... close. "You should-a try that bread."

He didn't belong.

He nodded to end the conversation he was never a part of, and took a piece of the special bread, pretending to eat something. A thumbs-up also helped to make the man happy.

Lightning owned this place. Not the restaurant. But the right to be here. With his friends and family, he wasn't small. He was big, like the sun. He didn't even have to say anything, he just had to be there, and people gave him respect.

Jackson was small here because he had made himself big with his ego, but that had somehow burst in the last few hours. It was the only thing he’d had. Well, there had also been his uncle, but he had lost him for good, too. Maybe if he went back and apologized to his uncle...

Maybe he should've just called his father and hoped he gave him something. Even yelling would have been better than indifference. But there was nothing to yell when you rarely spoke to the person and didn’t even know them enough to find a reason to be upset.

Jackson didn't even know where his father was. Could McQueen ever have said that to Mr. Hudson? He always knew where he was. His wife? His kid? Oh, that lucky little kid.

He thanked McQueen for the invitation and left early.

One day after the Florida 500 race, the day after he had lost, he lay in bed in the hotel room for a long time. He didn't like trailers, so he barely used his. He had always used them, but what was the point if he never liked it?

He still couldn't think about anything other than yesterday.

He had lost.

It wasn't just the second place. Technically it was, but not for him. His uncle had always said second place was the first loser because he hadn't won.

Oh, how he tried to block out his uncle's voice in his head.

The last time he had seen him was yesterday after the race. When Jackson had basically fired him. He remembered his uncle's words. "Then you're no longer family. I don't know you."

Jackson could have pretended as much as he wanted that it didn't affect him. It did affect him. It hurt. So much so that when he thought about it, he had to take a deep breath to keep his body from going into panic mode.

His uncle had never been the affectionate, loving type of person, and yet it still hurt. Maybe because he was family. But Jackson was sure it would have hurt even if they hadn't been related. Because he was the only one there. Even though Jackson’s standards were very low.

He also began to think about what had happened after the race. McQueen had invited him. A simple dinner with his friends. His family. Why had he wanted Jackson there? Why after everything that had happened?

Jackson's uncle once said, you should keep your enemies close so you can keep an eye on them. But Jackson doubted that was the reason McQueen wanted him there. Jackson was sure McQueen didn't think the same things as his uncle.

Jackson thought about McQueen's accident. He still had the viral video in his head. His kid started to cry. His wife held the boy tightly, a desperate attempt to shield their son from the view of his father's wreck.

The little hands clung to the mother. She tried to be strong for her child but Jackson could see the fear in her eyes. 

Mister Hudson ran without hesitation across the race track to the wreck, ignoring every possible rule. Just to get to his son. 

Without hesitation. 

Jackson didn’t ask himself anymore who would have run to him if he had been in the car. 

The answer was simple. 

Who would have cried for him? 

Simple. 

Who would have run to him to desperately try to save what could still be saved?

Simple. 

Who?

No one. 

It hurt. 

Neither his father nor his father's wife came to Jackson's races. Who would have been worried? Certainly not his uncle. The only thing that would have happened is that Chick would have cursed in the pits, upset that the race was over. 

Jackson lay on the bed until noon. He had appointments that he didn't even cancel. He just didn't show up, and he didn't care if there had been any consequences.

He ate a sandwich shortly after noon and then went back to bed.

A few days after his loss, the Florida 500, he was back home. He had a small apartment, just big enough for the bare necessities because he didn't know if he even wanted to stay in the area. Back then, he just wanted to move out as soon as possible. He often spent his days and nights with his uncle anyway.

His uncle still hasn't spoken to him. It was the longest he'd hadn't spoken to him since Jackson was ten, when his uncle was mad at him after accidentally spraining his hand while go-karting.

This uncertainty about whether things would ever get better was killing Jackson.

A few days after his loss, he rummaged through his fan mail. He kept receiving letters and pictures, even though he knew he wasn't everyone's favorite.

He usually didn't read the letters, though.

One letter caught his attention.

Charlie.

At first, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him.

Then he thought it was definitely a different Charlie. Just a name on the envelope.

Not his Charlie.

He opened it anyway and automatically held his breath. It was his Charlie. There was a new picture. Oh, how much he had missed her. Oh, how beautiful she was.

His fingers stroked the photo, tracing the outlines of her silhouette, of her blond curls, her sparkling eyes, her happy smile.

"Do you want to go on a road trip with me?" was the only thing on the letter, the only thing on the whole paper. That was so her.

"One day we'll have our own cars and we can go on a road trip," Charlie said as they sat on the branch of their favorite tree. 

"You won't forget me when you're famous, will you?" 

"Never."

Jackson turned the page and there was a phone number.

That same evening his father called.

Charlie's letter was still lying on his bed. He didn't call her number yet.

Jackson was holding his phone when it started ringing. He hadn't expected his father, but he answered. Somehow, he was still on autopilot. Jackson wasn't really living. He was just functioning somehow.

"Can we talk?" His father said. No hello. No how are you. And what kind of strange question was that? He had already called and talked, so a no would have been too late anyway.

"Yeah. What's up?" Jackson asked, a small attempt to sound casual, but he wasn't sure if he could pretend enough.

There was a moment of silence on the other end, and Jackson braced himself for whatever his father had to say to him that evening.

"We're expecting a child," came the answer Jackson had least expected.

Many thoughts ran through his head.

I hope you’ll get the child you can love. "Really? Congrats."

"Yes. Thank you. We're looking forward to it," his father said. Maybe the baby deserves the love I never received.

"I bet. Is your wife alright?" Jackson asked, just to be polite. Did he really care about his father's wife? He cared about her in the way that he wanted her to be healthy, just simply because he didn't wish harm to anybody. But really? He didn't know. He didn't even use her first name.

"She is."

"Good."

"Mhm... How're you doing?" His father asked, but he wasn't really interested. Jackson knew that.

"I'm fine," he said, because that was the answer he had practiced in front of the mirror over the years so he could say it to hide his inner feelings when he wasn't fine.

"That's good."

"Yeah. I'm just at home now."

"Hey, I... I'm sorry you didn't win that thing. It was important if I remember right."

Huh.

Jackson frowned a little. That was the nicest thing he'd heard from his father in a long time. He didn't know what to say. Why had his father said that?

"Yeah, it was," Jackson replied, and then there was an awkward silence again. He'd never really known what to talk about with his father. They were so different. Jackson hadn't really found anyone he could really talk to. Probably only Charlie. But they were kids. Things have changed. He was afraid of the changes. Of the moment when he could meet Charlie again and they had nothing in common but the past.

After that, he only exchanged a few words with his father, and his father hung up because, of course, he had a lot to do.

But it had been a long time since he'd even called the last time. Jackson couldn't quite figure out why it was suddenly important to him. But maybe the event of having a child was important enough to contact his first child. After all, it was Jackson's half-sibling.

He didn't call Charlie the week after he lost.

The next race was coming up, and Jackson didn't know what to do. He still had his crew chief, with whom he'd barely spoken recently, but his uncle wasn't there. And he'd always been there.

Jackson won the race. Cruz came second.

But he didn't really care.

Fans cheered, Cruz congratulated him, and he even got a thumbs-up from Mister McQueen. But it just felt like the same as always. As if he were just collecting the winnings like loyalty points at the supermarket.

That evening, they invited him to dinner again, and he went, wondering if this was going to be forever, that he would be invited after every race.

He sat between little Hudson and a man they introduced as Guido to him, though Jackson didn't understand a word the mechanic was saying.

But the fact that Mr. McQueen allowed him to sit next to his child was interesting.

"Where's your family?" the child asked him during dinner, and Jackson stopped as he was about to take the next bite.

Why were children so direct?

"They're busy," Jackson said, and the boy tilted his head, thinking about it.

"Busy?"

"Yes."

"They don't like to watch you race?"

"No."

"That's sad."

"Yeah."

"You should ask them why they're busy."

Jackson huffed. If only it had been that simple. "It's complicated."

"Why?"

"Do you know Chick Hicks?" Jackson asked, but wasn't sure why he was even having a conversation with a child.

"Yes. He doesn't like my daddy."

Jackson was silent for a moment. How true that was. And how much he had drilled that thought into Jackson’s mind, into hating him. And now Jackson was sitting here with McQueen's family, talking to his child. "That's right."

"Do you know him?"

"He's my uncle."

"Oh."

Jackson just nodded.

"I'm sorry."

That caught Jackson off guard. "Why?"

"You look like a good guy when you're trying. You deserve some hugs. My daddy always says listening and hugging are some of the importantast…, importantst…, im…, um, most important things. Chicks Hicks doesn't look like a guy who likes hugs." And with that, the little one continued eating, but Jackson leaned back and reconsidered his life.

Why is McQueen's kid so smart? Not even old enough to know every word. 

He didn't call Charlie the second week after he lost. Technically, it was the week after he won, but he felt like losing had a bigger impact.

Jackson came in second. Mister McQueen drove this time and came in third. Jackson's pit neighbor came in first, and somehow, losing wasn't quite so bad for the first time.

It was the second time Jackson hadn't come in first.

Mr. McQueen invited him to have dinner with them again.

Jackson wasn't sure why, but Lightning's son was sitting next to him again. If he hadn't liked him, he would definitely have said something at home. On Jackson's other side sat the woman whose name he now knew. Flo loved to talk about food.

"I thought about it," little Hudson said after a while.

"About what?"

"You should find someone who likes you," he said, mouth full of spaghetti.

"Like who?"

Hudson shrugged. "My daddy says being alone isn't good."

"Some people are better off alone," Jackson replied.

"Daddy says he thought that once, too."

Mister McQueen pulled him aside after dinner. "Are you alright?" he asked, and Jackson realized McQueen was genuinely worried, but he didn't understand why. Jackson had never been nice to him.

"Yes."

“Don’t lie to me,” McQueen said and Jackson gritted his teeth. Why did he notice that? 

"It's complicated. But why do you do that anyway?"

“Do what?”

“Keep inviting me to those dinners and being nice to me.”

“You don’t like the dinners?”

“No, I mean, yes I do.”

"Listen," McQueen said, placing a hand on Jackson's shoulder. A simple gesture but Jackson pulled away. McQueen didn't push and lowered his hand again. Though he didn't leave. "No amount of regret can change what has happened. Things happen. You can't erase the past. No amount of worrying is going to change what's going to happen. You can't predict everything that is going to happen. But both of those things can absolutely destroy what is happening right now."

“Who told you that?”

“Doc did.”

Of course. 

That evening, he arrived at the hotel and he had the phone in his hand again. Charlie’s picture next to him as he was sitting on the bed. He dialed her number and called.

She didn’t pick up.

Maybe she was busy.

Or Jackson was too late.

He found the bracelet Charlie had given him when they were kids and put it on his wrist.

She didn’t call him back, and Jackson began to wonder why. What had he done wrong? Maybe he’d answered too late, maybe something else he didn’t know. But whatever it was, the fact that she didn’t call back kept him awake at night.

Lately, he felt something strange. A lump in his throat. Sometimes he had to blink a lot because his eyes were strangely moist.

“Men don’t cry,” he still heard his uncle saying, and realized that his voice had left a lasting mark on him.

It was the third week after the certain race. By now, his uncle had texted him again. Just “Let’s talk.” But Jackson hadn't answered him and instead muted his chat. He had no right to play with him like that. First basically throwing him out of the family and then wanting to talk. Maybe talking was the right thing to do. Maybe Jackson was too bitter. But he had that little kid at the gas station on his mind. Maybe some things were better left buried. He was afraid that his uncle only wanted something from him so he could get more money.

It was the weekend again. Between all the interviews and appointments, he hardly had any room to breathe.

On the day of qualifying, he was near the garage and headed back to his car.

There were a lot of people around. Fans, team members, reporters, and photographers. Too many. But Jackson tried not to let that bother him and made his way through the crowd.

Before he could reach his car, someone grabbed his hand all of a sudden, and before Jackson could do anything, he was being pulled away. The person held his hand tightly and he pulled back first but stumbled and the person only held on tighter.

For some reason, he didn't say anything. Automatically he followed the person but couldn't yet see the face as they pushed through the crowd.

Jackson glanced down because it caught his attention to see the person walking barefoot.

The person turned around for a second and looked at him but didn't stop walking and pulling him behind... her.

It was Charlie.

She laughed.

"Charlie?" Jackson said, not knowing what to do. Her blonde curls bounced with her every movement. She wore a green bandana on her head. "Wait," he said, and tried to stop her but the fact that she was a few steps ahead in the crowd and he was afraid of losing her if he let go made him follow her further.

"Follow me, Jay," she said with joy.

Oh, how long it's been since he'd heard that nickname.

They reached a quiet corner near Jackson's trailer and she finally stopped and let go of his hand. She laughed while Jackson caught his breath.

Her eyes shone with joy and she beamed like never before. "I can't believe it," she said. "Finally. Oh, I missed you so much. Did you get my letter? My picture? Man, getting here was expensive. Why are races so expensive to watch?" she asked, speaking quickly but then wrapping her arms around him.

It made Jackson flinch because he hadn't expected the sudden closeness and he never got hugs in general. And he was still shocked to see her here.

She chuckled and pulled back a little. "It's a hug, Jackson. You haven't had one lately, have you?" she said and hugged him again. How well she knew him and his situation. This time Jackson hugged her back. "Did you get my letter?" she asked again, still holding him close. She had so much energy. She was like the sun.

"Yes. I called you," Jackson answered, and she pulled back again, holding his shoulders and looking at him.

"Really? I waited. But last week I didn't have cell service. I watched a stream," she said, which confused him a bit.

"A livestream?" he asked. Without an internet connection?

"A real stream. I was hiking," she said, and that made so much sense. "All these years, I watched you on TV."

"You did?"

"Yes. And you're amazing, Jackson. But oh, you lost your spark," she said, her eyebrows turning into a sad frown.

Is that so?

Did he lose his spark?

"So, what I wanted to tell you. We had to disappear Jackson. Back then, when we left. I'm sorry."

"Why?" he asked.

"There was a situation with my stepfather. Though I don't like to call him that. He was just a man who was in our lives for a short time. We had to leave when he... well, he wasn't that good. But it's alright now. He can't follow anymore," she explained, and Jackson didn't ask any further because he could tell it was difficult for her to talk about it. Whether the man was no longer alive, behind bars, or whatever didn't really matter.

"I'm glad you're okay now," Jackson said, and she smiled again.

"I am more than okay. And so is my mom."

Jackson smiled now, too.

"Oh, you still have my bracelet?" she asked, inspecting it around Jackson's wrist.

"Of course," he said, and she beamed with joy. Then she hesitated for a moment before speaking.

"You have a race now, right? Do you really want to drive?" she asked, which caught Jackson a bit off guard.

"What? Why wouldn't I?"

"I could always see straight through you, Jay."

Gosh, he knew why he had never let go of her.

"Come with me," she said. "Don't you need a break?"

Oh, he needed one. He desperately needed it. All those years of powering through had tired him out. Emotionally. In the beginning, it had been what he had wanted. The whole racing thing. But he hadn't known that his uncle wanted to turn him into a machine. He did. He made him into one.

Jackson didn't want to be a machine anymore, and maybe leaving was a stupid, spur-of-the-moment idea. But maybe it was the right thing.

Had she come all the way here to take him with her? The road trip they'd always dreamed about?

"I have to win that race."

"Why?"

Why? As simple as the question was, it made Jackson think.

Why.

Why did he want to win?

Jackson shrugged. He didn't know what to say.

"Is it because you think you're worthless without racing?" she asked, never breaking eye contact.

Maybe that was the reason. Jackson shrugged again.

"Hey, listen," she said a little more gently. "Sometimes your mind plays tricks on you. It can tell you that you’re worthless without winning your races. But that’s not true. You are loved. And important," she said and took his hands in hers. They were warm, unlike Jackson's.

Jackson didn't have to think more about it. He knew what he wanted.

"Okay. I'll go with you," he said and Charlie jumped for joy on the spot, which made him chuckle.

"That's amazing! Oh my word, I can't believe you said yes! This is going to be great. We're going to have the best time. Oh, do you want to tell anyone?"

Jackson hesitated. Would anyone even worry if he just disappeared for no reason? Would anyone miss him? But somehow he also thought it would make sense to tell someone, because otherwise he'd be searched by the police if he suddenly disappeared.

"Yes," he answered. So he held her hand and started to walk to a certain garage.

Somehow, everything was suddenly different. Everything seemed less important as he walked along. The only thing that mattered was Charlie. And she was here. He still could hardly believe it. He squeezed her hand and she smiled at him as she followed.

They headed to the #95 garage. He let go of her hand and she waited nearby as he looked for someone in particular.

He found him.

"Lightning?" he said, and Lightning turned to him, looking a little surprised that he wasn't calling him McQueen anymore. But happily surprised.

"Yes?"

"I'm leaving. I thought... I'd tell someone."

"Leaving?" Lightning frowned.

"Yes. With her," he said, pointing to Charlie. She waved, smiling, as Lightning looked over.

"Oh. Okay. Are you safe?" he asked, proving once again what a good person he was, and probably a good father too.

"I am," he replied, and Lightning nodded.

"Who's that?"

"My childhood best friend," Jackson replied, noticing how Lightning seemed even happier afterward. Was he glad Jackson had a friend?

"Alright. What do you want me to tell folks when they ask?"

Jackson shrugged. "Tell them I won't let regret and worrying keep me here."

"You remembered," Lightning said with a smile on his face.

Jackson nodded, a little embarrassed by the fact that he was actually taking Lightning's advice. "I'll come back though. Maybe. One day. Consider it as a break."

"I will," Lightning replied. “I wish you all the best.”

"Thank you. Maybe you can bring home a few more victories now that I'm taking a break," Jackson teased in a lighthearted tone. 

Lightning let out a laugh. “You’re impossible,” he said, pretending to smack Jackson on his head although it only hit the air. “I hope your girl can fix your attitude,” Lightning teased back. 

My girl. 

That sounds good. 

“I have to go now.” Lightning gestured to the rest of his team. “I guess I’ll see you around then.”

"Yes. Oh and... Lightning?" Jackson said hesitantly.  

“Yeah?”

"Thank you."

Lightning smiled and only nodded once. 

So Jackson walked back to Charlie. 

He turned around one last time and Lightning raised his hand in farewell. Jackson waved back and then left with his girl. 

"Let's get out of here," Jackson said, taking her hand again.

Before anyone noticed, they were gone.

The news was full of Jackson's disappearance, and reporters threw questions at Lightning because he was the only one who knew anything.

It died down after a few weeks, and a new sensation was in the news. Just like always. 

Jackson disappeared from the public eye.

He hadn't thought hiking in the mountains could be so beautiful.

He hadn't known how cold a mountain lake could be.

He hadn't known that sunrises were even more beautiful when you spent them in a flower meadow instead of at the gym.

He hadn't known how much cow manure could stink when he stepped in it. And how much Charlie could laugh about it.

Charlie always wanted to take a road trip on Route 66.

They met many interesting people along the way. Some ended up joining them.

They found a stray dog ​​and took him in. They called him Bear.

After a two-year hiatus, he returned to the racing scene and won his second Piston Cup. His fiancée was always by his side.