Racing Into Your Heart

By Julie Danco and Ella Sciullo

Catalonia Jones is a beaten down graphic designer from Utah, stuck with her highschool sweetheart, Jasper. She's content with her life on the surface, but deep down she longs for more. In a twist of fate, she meets Axel Baker, a hotshot British race car driver, and her boyfriend's number one competitor. She's immediately interested in his bad boy persona, but finds herself trapped between her old and new lives.

 

Will Cat allow herself to get swept up in the drama of the racing world, or will she stick with what she's known her whole life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julie Danco
• Release date: Jun 21, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227662439

Julie Danco

Julie Danco and Ella Sciullo are just two silly girls from Roanoke, Virginia with a passion to create. 

Book preview

To all those who helped us reach the checkered flag

Lap 000

Hi. I’m Catalonia Jones, but my friends—even though I don’t have very many—just call me Cat.

So, here’s the 411 on my life: my dad was a racer, maybe one of the best in the world in his prime. He raced for Mitsubishi, and I don’t think there was a race he ever lost. He was known worldwide, and everyone loved him. Stands at the racetracks were filled to the brim of the fans of good old West Jones. Everyone cheered when he won and threw weeklong parties in his name. Girls held up signs with his name scribbled in between circles of hearts. The world went to the races to catch a glimpse of his blonde hair, blue eyes, and charming smile.

He met my mother at one of these races. She wasn’t there for him, though. She barely even knew who he was, and that’s what drew my father in. That, and my mother had always been incredibly beautiful. People always said that I looked just like her. Long, fiery red hair, and bright, emerald green orbs. I had her long, slightly upturned nose, and her pouty lips. She and I both had pale skin and freckles. Physically, I was my mother’s clone. The only thing I got from my father was his smarts—or lack thereof. He might’ve been the greatest racer, but he wasn’t the smartest.

My dad was head over heels in love with my mother from the first second he saw her, and she followed quickly behind. 8 months into their dating, I was born prematurely. I was in and out of hospitals for most of my childhood. My organs weren’t entirely developed when I was born, and my heart suffered the most, making me high risk for lots of things. Because of that, my parents were incredibly protective of me. My dad was occasionally the racer he once was, but nowhere near the way he had been before I was born. He said he needed to put family first. I used to feel bad about tearing him from what he loved, but I now know that he loved my mother and I more than he could ever love racing.

In the hospital, I didn’t have much to do, so I tried picking up different hobbies until one finally stuck. I found out that I loved to draw. And I was good at it too. Not just little kid scribbles good, but I knew I was actually talented.

Once I started spending time outside the hospital, I tried to branch out. I tried dancing, and thought it was fun until I kicked a girl in the face and broke my ankle. I met my best friend, Amy Gala in kindergarten, and we were immediately inseparable. I knew she was my person from the moment I saw her. One day, we hid under the tables during craft time, and she took the craft scissors to my hair. I had micro-bangs that were incredibly uneven, and my mom was infuriated. I didn’t want Amy to face her wrath, so I blamed it on a boy in our class named Kyle. He didn’t come back to school after that.

That March, I ended up with a gnarly concussion after banging my head a little too hard against the school bus window, and Amy got into our first fight. But it didn’t take long for us to get over it again.

Amy’s birthday rolled around, and we celebrated it with lots of chocolate cake. I gave her a friendship bracelet craft kit—per my mom’s request—and we made bracelets all night.

I watched a lot of 80’s movies I didn’t understand with my mom and played with a lot of cars with my dad. I grew up knowing I was loved and loving the things they did.

That December, I was sitting in class watching The Polar Express when I felt one of the worst pains in my chest I’d ever felt. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, and I fell on the floor. I had a heart attack. The ambulance was called, and then the school called my parents. I had recovered and was lying in a hospital bed when a nurse with a solemn expression walked into the room. It was an icy winter day, she said. And on the way to the hospital, my dad was going 15 miles over the speed limit. I guess it was a mix of his worry for me and the racer in him. He was going through the green light in an intersection, but the car to the right of him ran the red light. He T-boned my parents' car.

Both cars skid on the icy roads, but my parents’ car rolled 3 times before it finally landed in the river, they told me. The person who hit them was fine. Their car was totaled, but they were alive. Not my parents, though. They were dead. All the light in my world was gone.

My grandparents took me in, and we lived as normal of a life as we could. But I knew that nothing would ever be normal again. Amy had always been there for me, and so was her family. For the first few years, I celebrated Christmas with her family instead of my own. My dad was born on Christmas day, and my grandparents couldn’t bother to spend it without him.

During Christmas one year, I met some of Amy’s family from England. She had a cousin named Nick, who I didn’t like very much. He was 2 years older than us, and he had a funny accent and rolled his eyes at the things I said.

In the 7th grade, Amy and I decided to join the art club. She got angry at me when I discreetly laughed at her bad paintings, but I knew she was laughing too. Amy got kicked out of the art club after she called the teacher a creepy chrome dome and I left with her. He deserved it, though.

I was jealous of Amy and her boyfriend, Rian, and it made me realize that I wanted a boyfriend of my own. So, in 9th grade, I started dating a sophomore named Cooper Sanchez who was rich, cute, and funny. I really liked him. We rode around in his BMW convertible—top down, obviously—and he took me all around the city. He was there for me. I visited my parents at their graves for the first time in a while and I cried as I sat with them.

Cooper broke up with me that summer, he told me that his grandma said redheads were bad luck. It didn’t take me long to get over him, though.

When school started, my friend Holden Campus’ half-brother sat next to me in our Algebra 1 class. His name was Jasper, he told me, Jasper Dankworth. He had scruffy, blonde hair, and the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. I could tell that he was taller than me, which wasn’t saying much, but I knew he was shorter than some of the guys in our class, like Mario, one of the more popular, 6’ guys at school. It didn’t bother me though, I’m only 5’1. I liked Jasper immediately, and I could tell he liked me too. Jasper told me that his dad was a race car mechanic, and he had big dreams to be a famous race car driver. Just like my dad. I liked him a little bit more because of that. It felt like I had a piece of my dad with me. I gushed about him to anyone who would listen. I told them about his rough exterior, and I told them how sweet to me he truly was.

In junior year, Jasper stood up on our lunch table and pulled out a guitar in front of the whole school. He asked me to the homecoming dance through a song that he wrote just for me. Looking back, it’s hilarious, but when I was a teenager, it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever seen. He wrote me love songs all the time, and they were beautiful. I told him that he should think about becoming a singer, not a race car driver, but he laughed at me when I mentioned it.

My grandparents always loved Jasper. He was perfect to me and to my family. Always polite, funny, and charming. Even Amy, who was typically suspicious of the boys at our school, didn’t have much to complain about at the time.

When homecoming came around, it was one of the best nights of my life. We danced all night. He twirled me around in my frilly purple dress, and even wore the bright purple bow tie to match.

When I was with Jasper, nothing else mattered. Not my appearance, not my grades, not even the loss of my parents. The whole world stood still when I looked at him. Saturdays were date nights, and Jasper took me places I’d never been before. I had never felt love like that before, and I felt like I was living in a fairy tale. Everything was perfect, we were perfect. I was finally happy.

But nothing lasts forever.

In 11th grade, in our geometry class, the guidance counselor and the principal walked in and asked for Jasper. He left with a furrowed brow, and I watched, concerned. He didn’t come back to school that day. I called him when I got home, but he didn’t pick up.

I called him again, and again, and again, until three days later he finally picked up the phone. His voice was strained, tired, and sad. I asked him what was wrong, and he told me his mother had died in a drunk driving accident. That her car had rolled off the road and into a river after she was hit. Just like my parents had. I know I shouldn’t have, but I sobbed. Jasper’s mom's death brought me back to my 6-year-old self. I was a little girl with watery eyes in the hospital room. The nurses saying that if I didn’t have any living family, I would be sent to an orphanage. I felt as small as I did that fateful winter day. My shaking hands wiped my eyes, and I brought the phone back to my ear.

"Why are you crying, he spat over the phone. My mom died and you’re crying?"

I’m so sorry, Jas. I know how you feel, I get it, I’m here for you, I whispered.

"No, Catalonia, you don’t get it."

Jasper was different after that day. He donated his guitar; he stopped writing songs. He stopped giving gifts and saying thoughtful things. Saturdays became a night he wanted to spend alone. And so did Sundays, Mondays, every day of the week he barely acknowledged me. He became distant. He became angry.

One especially bad day, I said in passing, maybe we should take a break, Jas, just for a little bit, until you feel better. He looked at me, and I immediately regretted mentioning it.

Catalonia, I thought you loved me! I don’t know what I’d do if we weren’t together, I think I would seriously hurt myself. I can’t live without you, and you’re just going to leave me at my worst? Do you want me to hurt myself? Huh? He was raising his voice, and I was getting upset. I dropped the subject.

I did what I loved in my free time, taking art classes during the day, and volunteering teaching lessons to little kids after school. I did it to take my mind off how trapped I felt in my relationship. Every time I thought about leaving, I remembered what he said to me. Do you want me to hurt myself?

I didn’t. I don’t, I told myself over and over again.

I graduated high school, finally, and went to college at the University of Utah’s center for art and design (I was shocked I got accepted, I had Cs in math and science all throughout high school)

Before that, though, Jasper and I fought about college. I really wanted to go to the Savannah College of Art and Design, they had my dream art program. But Jasper wanted me to stay in Utah. He wasn’t going to college, because he was going to be the best racer ever, and he was going to do it starting in Utah. I told him that graphic design was my passion, that SCAD was my passion, but he didn’t give two hoots.

What if racing here in Utah is my passion?! he screamed

Then maybe we want different things, I replied. He was fuming, and the veins popped from his forehead.

Are you saying your nonsense art school is more important than me, than us?! he yelled.

No, I’m saying that I have dreams too! I can’t believe you think your dreams are somehow more important than mine! I yelled.

"You’re just chasing a pipe dream get ahold of yourself, Cat! Even if you get in, you'll never make it doing art, he spat, be realistic, baby!"

And you think becoming a famous race car driver from Ogden, Utah is any more realistic? As soon as those words left my mouth, I could feel what was coming. I looked at the anger in Jaspers eyes and felt it radiating off him. Suddenly, I felt a sharp sting across my cheek, and I knew what had happened.

That was the first time that a man had hit me. It felt like nothing I'd ever felt before. It wasn’t just the physical pain, that I could handle; it was the betrayal. It was him, the man I loved, turning against me. In one of the worst ways possible. I felt the tears in my eyes as I reached my hand up to my face and touched the searing skin. I looked at him with disgust in my eyes, I was going to yell, scream, cry. I was going to tell him we were over. But when it came down to it, I knew I couldn’t do anything, and I was right, I did nothing. Because when I brought my eyes to his and a single tear fell from my cheek, I couldn’t get any sound out of my mouth.

He was crying, Jasper Dankworth was crying. He hit me and he was crying. He fell to the ground and grabbed my legs.

Cat, he said, "Cat, baby, you know I didn’t mean to do that. You just- you make me so angry sometimes baby!

My mouth dropped open, I couldn’t say anything, my hand was still on my cheek.

Baby, don't hate me, you know that was an accident! He wiped a tear from his cheek, and I sat next to him on the ground and brought my knees to my chest.

He threw his arms around me; I was still silent.

I love you, Cat, you know that. I love you and I would never do anything to hurt you on purpose. You know I love you, right?

I nodded, but I didn’t know that. Who would hurt someone they loved?

Look, baby, it's not a big deal. You'll just go to school here, in Utah, and we'll both be here together. I'll be racing, and you'll be doing the art thing you like so much. You can just go to school here. I love you, Cat. I promise I'll never hurt you again, I promise.

I love you too, my voice was quiet, I barely recognized it.

He said he'd never do it again, and I said I loved him.

We both lied that night.

Lap 001

Six Years Later

I stare myself down in the mirror as I gaze into my cold, green eyes. They’ve only grown colder over the years, growing colder with each slap to my face, each number on the scale, each I love you to Jasper. I braid my hair into two Dutch braids and tie each off with a ribbon. I put mascara on my eyelashes then stand up and start dreading what to wear.

I walk to the closet of the apartment that Jasper and I live in and open the doors, looking through my clothes before something laying on the bed catches my eye. It’s a small black dress with a note on the top. Wear this to the race today, Kitty. I scoffed, holding up the short, tight dress.

Who does he think I am? I threw the dress back on the bed and walked back to my closet to pick out a comfortable pair of jeans. I have one leg through my favorite jeans when I hear my ringtone. Drake’s Hotline Bling plays through the apartment, and I quickly pick up my phone to check the caller ID. It says ‘Jasper Dankworth,’ so I sigh and pick up the phone.

Hey Jas, what's up?

Hey Kitty-Cat, did you see the present I left on our bed? Pretty sexy, huh?

I gulp, yeah, I like it. But I was thinking I would wear something a bit more comfortable, you know? It’s just a race, after all.

"Just a race? he growls over the phone, and that’s when I knew I had messed up. It’s the race! The whole season has been leading up to this very moment, and you have the nerve to call it just a race? This race determines if I go on to the world semifinals! If you show up to the quarterfinals in jeans, don’t expect me to act like I know you, Kitty. All I ask is that just this once, you put in a little bit of effort. I don’t ask much of you, do I? How hard is it to show up looking hot and be my arm candy? Seriously Kitty, have you seen some of these girls? It’s going to take more than dressing like some nerdy graphic designer to impress these people."

I suck in a breath, in the eight years Jasper and I have been together, I’ve learned it's better to keep quiet when he goes off like this.

He groans, Kitty, you know I'm just kidding. I love you baby, but I just think you’ll look smokin’ in that dress and you’ll really fit in with those girls.

Okay, Jas, I sigh. Ever since I’ve been going to his races, I’ve never once cared to fit in.

Okay Kitty-Cat, I'll see you there, wearing the dress, right?

Right. I hang up and feel tears collect in my eyes, picking up the little black dress again and taking off my jeans. I never like wearing tight dresses in front of Jasper, he always mentions my stomach, my waist, or my legs. Or he treats me like an object. But even in the lows, there are highs. Sometimes he still gives me butterflies, I find myself craving his attention, wanting him to tell me how gorgeous I look, needing him to hold my hand through the crowds, longing for the soft look in his eyes when he looks at me and tells me he loves me. Those moments of love are worth the times of hate.

I take out the braids in my hair, slip on the tight, black dress, and put on makeup, because if I don’t, Jasper will surely mention it. I was going to leave it at that, I looked pretty in a way that was typical. Nothing that would stand out, but that’s who I was. I didn’t stand out. Yeah, I had red hair, but that was the most abnormal thing about me. Jasper's voice rings through my ears. All I ask is that just this once, you put in a little bit of effort. I frown and open the drawer to my vanity and pulled out my curling iron.

I still remember my 20th Christmas, the year that Jasper’s racing career really started to take off. When he got his first racing contract, he made me write him a formal apology for saying his dream was unrealistic. And I did, I baked him a cake and threw him a small party when he got the contract, but I never heard him say anything remotely like good job or congratulations or even I’m sorry when I got my graphic design job. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever heard Jasper say those two words. I’m sorry.

Anyways, on my 20th Christmas, I visited my parents’ graves, as I usually do, and when I got back that afternoon, Jasper was waiting for me with a big present in bright wrapping paper. Aww, Jas, I had said. I told him he didn’t have to get me anything, that he was enough for me. He told me to open it, and so I did. He had gotten me a nice curling iron and some makeup. I smiled, even though he knew I didn’t care much about makeup, and I barely ever did my hair.

He told me that I should be grateful because I could really work on looking better now that he was making his way up in the racing leagues. I gave him a halfhearted smile, a weak kiss, and I cried about it that night.

Frowning at the sudden memory, I plug the iron into the outlet and curl my hair, crossing my fingers that maybe looking good would result in one of the highs in our relationship that I desperately longed for. I let out a pained gasp as I grabbed part of my hair and put it into the curling iron. I burned the back of my neck, and it was definitely going to leave a mark. I let out a frustrated noise and quickly finish curling my hair.

Once I’m done, I look in the mirror, and staring back at me is a face I barely recognize. I hope that maybe, since I don’t love this version of myself, Jasper will.

I pack a light sweatshirt in one of my tote bags just in case. It’s a canvas bag with Dan & Co, the graphic design company I work for, in big letters on the front of it. Getting in my car, a white Honda Civic, I start to drive to the racetrack, silently praying that Jasper would win. Jasper was always glowing when he won, and his happiness made me happy. But on the flip side, when Jasper was angry, he was angry. My face stung thinking about the minor losses he's had, the times he’d gotten fourth place, and how angry he had been. I couldn’t imagine what would happen to me if he lost the quarterfinals, and I didn’t even want to think about how he’d be if he made it all the way through to the final race, and then lost.

Clutching the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white, I turn into the parking lot and walk into the stadium, holding the VIP passes that Jasper gave me at the beginning of the season. I find my seat, in the front row of the stands and sent Jasper a text for good luck. He doesn’t respond, which is typical, but I understand.

After a little while, the cars pull up and began a warmup lap, then, the race begins. I’m on the edge of my seat, like I always am during races. As expected, Nissan, who Jasper races for, is in first place. Nissan typically hasn’t won in the past, but Jasper says that it’s not the car, it’s the driver. He told me that he’s the driver that would take this team to the finals and win it. And he kind of is. He remained in first for the majority of the laps, somewhere in the middle another car managed to take him over, but not for long.

I let out a stressed breath as he and another car, a Jaguar, are practically neck and neck for first place in the final lap, I grip the edge of my seat, crossing and uncrossing my legs and muttering under my breath. I jump up from my seat as I see who wins, Jasper! I clap for him and scream his name, hoping that maybe he can hear me—or at least feel that I’m here, cheering him on. I grab my bag, leaving to where the drivers meet at the end of every race wearing a huge, cheek pulling smile.

My smile quickly falls when I feel a large, warm hand on the dip in my back right above my butt. I whip my head around and come face to face with a tall man with lust in his eyes. The way he’s looking at me makes me shudder with discomfort, and I suddenly feel sick.

Hey, baby, he says to me. I turn quickly and try to rush away, but his rough hands grab my wrist. Where do you think you’re going, dressed like that?

Nowhere, I snap, trying to pull my hand free from the death grip he has upon me.

Woah, girly, relax. I’m not gonna bite. You know, unless you want me to, he smirks, I scoff. Maybe we can go somewhere together. Somewhere private, away from all these people.

No way, I’m going to go see my boyfriend. He’ll beat you up. I try to sound confident, even though I feel like Jasper would rather beat me up for talking to this guy.

Yeah, sure, what is he, a racer? He laughs out loud, look, all I’m saying is, dress like a whore, get treated like one, you feel me?

God, you’re disgusting! I finally wrestle my hand free from his grasp and run away, feeling the tears fall from my face and letting out a sob. I quickly run into the bathroom, wiping away my smeared makeup with a paper towel, and head where I was originally trying to go to meet up with Jasper.

I’m still sniffling when I finally see him, and he gives me a hug with the brightest smile on his face.

Kitty-Cat! You look great! You’re wearing my dress, he noted with a smile.

Yeah, congratulations, Jas! I sniffle and quickly wipe a tear from my cheek.

What’s wrong? He genuinely looks concerned for me, and if I was any other girl, I would believe it.

"It’s nothing, Jas. Just this gross guy was trying to, like, I don’t know,