Chapter 23 - Theo #2
In the very last corner, I saw a chance.
The tiniest chance. Sebastian was showing a preference for running wide on the left-turn corners, likely because of graining on one side of his tyres.
That meant he had been leaving a sliver of space just wide enough for my car along his left side.
If I could take a wider line before the corner and accelerate past him, I had a chance to win the whole thing, taking it out from under his nose at the very last corner before the finish line.
This was something I liked to call a fifty-fifty.
Not because there was a fifty percent chance it would actually work.
Because there were two options. Either I would succeed, or I completely fucked up and took both Sebastian and I out of the race.
All it would take would be one leftward move from an unsuspecting Sebastian and both of our cars would be totalled, giving Max the win no matter how far back his car sat.
But the chance for glory…I prepared myself as we approached the corner, taking a slightly wider racing line.
I tapped at the brake lightly. For Sebastian to take his line, he’d have to brake pretty heavily, and that would be my chance.
Every part of my body thrummed with anticipation.
The car purred beneath me, ready to pursue. Ready to win.
Sebastian took the corner, and my opening was there. Between the car and the wall of tyres, there was the tiniest space, enough to scrape through without losing any paint if I was incredibly careful. And incredibly reckless.
I couldn’t see Sebastian’s eyes in his tiny mirrors as I pressed down on the accelerator.
I could see his visor though, and I wondered if he was watching me make the move.
I wondered if he’d twitch that wheel to take us both out, or if he’d even noticed the crazy, harebrained move I was about to try and pull off.
I pushed down on the brakes more heavily, stopping just short of his back tyre. Sebastian took the corner ahead of me, and the race was all but over. We passed through the finish line. Sebastian was the winner of the European tour, and I was second.
I waved to the crowd, thankful my helmet hid my tears and would give them a chance to dry before I had to face anyone.
Because there was a complex fight going on between head and heart at my own actions.
Had I done the right thing? Should I have tried to make the move?
Had I put my own future in jeopardy by backing down to Sebastian? How furious would my manager be?
So many questions, so few answers yet. I just let myself take in the roar of the crowd and tried to feel happy for the love of my life.
After a celebratory lap, I pulled into the pit lane and took my spot behind the second place marker. Second place in the race, second place in the whole European tour.
I extracted myself from the tiny cockpit and turned toward Sebastian.
He was stood on top of his car, pumping one fist and waving to the crowd with the other hand.
Under my helmet, I finally allowed myself a real smile.
No doubt the news of Sebastian’s new contract would be breaking all over the internet, and we would be racing against each other in America in a month’s time.
What was the point of winning if there was no Sebastian to race against?
I pulled my helmet off, allowing myself to soak in second place. At the back of my mind I was worried about the bollocking I’d get off the team for not attempting one last risky manoeuvre, but perhaps I could justify it to them somehow.
Sebastian jumped off the car and yanked his helmet off his head. He was flushed and sweaty, but the wide, perfect smile he gave me made my heart want to burst.
“Well done,” I said to him as he pulled me into a tight hug.
“I won’t kiss you here, I don’t want anyone to accuse you of favouring me,” he said, his lips against my ear. “But I will kiss you later. Thank you for a fantastic race. Te quiero, Teodoro.”
“No Spanish now, you’re part of British Racing,” I teased. “But I love you, Sebastian. I need you to know that will never change, no matter the result.”
It was only the little intake of breath on Sebastian’s part that made me realise it was the first time I’d said it back out loud.
It was so obvious in my head that I couldn’t believe it had taken me this long.
Sebastian and I separated, but only barely.
He kept one hand on the small of my back as we headed over to be weighed post-race, and then we walked dutifully behind the wall that backed the podium to prepare for the trophies.
As soon as we were out of sight of the crowd I was being pushed up against the back of that wall.
Sebastian’s hands were tangling in my hair, and I didn’t care that we were both still covered in sweat from the race.
Our kiss was more of a mutual attack, hands grasping at one another, teeth and tongues clashing.
Sebastian desperately groped over the thick quilted layers of clothing to find my cock, and I was already rock hard despite where we were.
“Competition with you makes me so fucking horny,” Sebastian muttered against my mouth.
“Wanna bet?” I managed before going back for more.
Sebastian pulled us apart, holding my face in both of his large hands. “I am serious, Teodoro. You make me a better racer. A better man, too. And I would not be able to do that without you really trying to beat me. I am sure you will continue to give me a run for my money in America.”
“I will,” I said. I wasn’t the best with this kind of emotion, so I did my best to inject some kind of humour. “Even if my arse is too sore to sit in the seat, I’m gonna be doing my best to beat you on track.”
“Wanna bet?” grinned Sebastian. “Because tonight I am going to-”
“STOP!” Brooke had burst into the space, holding her helmet in her hands. “You’re being picked up by the broadcast mics!”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “So everyone just heard…”
“Everything, yes,” smirked Brooke.
“Well, they know we are in love,” said Sebastian pragmatically. “Now they know we are not waiting until marriage.”
At that, I couldn’t help but laugh. And soon, Sebastian and Brooke were laughing along too. Fuck it. I was the second best driver in Europe, I was rich, and I had the best driver in Europe as my arm candy. Who cared if people knew about my sex life?
After the podium, and the interviews, and after watching Sebastian celebrate his Tour win, I crept into the garage to deposit all my kit. As I was stripping out of my champagne-soaked overalls, someone coughed from the corner of the room.
I turned slowly to see Armand sitting in the glow of the lone computer.
Without looking up at me, he crooked one finger toward himself.
Tentatively, I crossed the room toward him.
I looked and probably smelled gross. My thermals were sticking to my skin with rapidly drying champagne.
I had really hoped to have this conversation with Armand the following day, wearing a suit, and having had Sebastian thoroughly fuck the stress out of me beforehand.
As it was, I was nervous. My future was secure for another couple of years, but that wouldn’t stop the team from de-prioritising me or grooming one of the youth academy drivers as my successor.
“Can I have a minute to explain myself?” I asked.
I wanted to tell Armand how I wouldn’t have taken the chance even if it was Max, that a certain second place was better than third or fourth with a reputation as someone who ruins other people’s races.
I wanted to tell him that my loyalty to the team was unshaken, and that my love for Sebastian did not stop me from racing him.
“I think you’re going to want to stay silent,” said Armand. He pointed at the screen. “See those two lines?” he asked.
There were two lines on the screen, overlaid on top of one another.
One green, with a slightly shorter red one.
On the other half of the screen, a short loop of the pivotal moment in the race was playing.
My car approached Sebastian’s, and then the video cut back again a few seconds.
Again and again, I watched the approach.
The red line on one side of the screen pulsed slightly, sometimes growing and sometimes contracting, but never quite reaching the same size as the green.
“What am I looking at?” I asked.
“That green line - that’s the width of your car,” said Armand. “And the red is the gap between Sebastian and the wall.”
It took me a second to process what he was trying to tell me. I watched a couple of times again as that red line stretched toward the very edges of the green, never quite making it.
“So there was never a chance,” I breathed. It was like a weight lifting off my shoulders. “I knew it was too risky.”
“I’d stay off social media for the night if I were you, the fans are out for blood,” said Armand. “But you made the right choice. This puts us in a much better position for the American Tour.”
I finally let myself smile at him. Not only would I be second-favourite to clinch the overall title, my instincts had been right. Those weeks of watching over races with Sebastian had given me an advantage.
Suddenly, I couldn’t wait to be alone with my boyfriend.