Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
?? SAKHIR, BAHRAIN
H is palm pressed against the steering wheel, the obnoxious sound of honking filling the silence and attracting annoyed glances his way. Rowan didn’t care about all those people judging him for disturbing the calmness, because all he could see was red.
“Dude, you’re the worst,” Tate muttered from the passenger’s seat as he put a Primavera Racing cap atop his hair.
“No, she is,” Rowan countered, his gaze settled on the bane of his existence. “She’s the reason why we’re going to be late for the press conference. Best PR officer my ass. She’s an absolute disgrace.”
“That’s rude,” Tate said.
“It’s the truth. Just look at her.”
Avery was standing in front of the hotel’s entrance with a few members of the marketing team, iPad clutched to her chest, bag hanging from her shoulder, and a radiant smile on her face. The glow of the sunlight was illuminating her features, golden streaks creating the outline of a halo above her head—Rowan knew she was no angel, though. Dressed in her work attire, Rowan observed how the red polo and the black skirt hugged her pristine physique. She was annoyingly, effortlessly pretty.
Rowan shook his head when he realised where his thoughts had wandered off to, his palm now absently hovering over the steering wheel.
When he honked again, Avery took a deep intake of air and turned towards the car, lifting two fingers.
“Averyyyyy,” he dragged through the open window. “Come on.”
Hold on, she mouthed, causing Rowan to throw his head back against the seat as a grunt rose from his throat.
“You’re an idiot,” Tate fired at him.
Rowan didn’t argue. Narrowing his eyes, he watched Avery beam brightly as Eliott Dalton lifted his camera to snap a picture. She then waved to her friends and strode towards the car, unhurried and taunting Rowan by taking her sweet time to cross the parking lot.
Shoulder pressed to the seat, he watched her climb into the back.
“That noise was very annoying.” She met his angry gaze whilst pulling the seatbelt across her chest.
“Funny,” he said, “that’s my exact thought whenever you open your mouth.”
“Hilarious,” she bit out. “I’m still surprised you haven’t gone and begged Romano to have another publicist.”
Even though Simon Romano was Primavera Racing’s team principal, he didn’t have that power. He only had control over his team—drivers, car mechanics, rivals on and off the grid, etc. Therefore, he couldn’t assign another press officer to Rowan.
Her gaze followed his hand when he placed his wrist on the top of the steering wheel. “If I ask for you to be replaced, that means I’m letting you win. And I don’t lose, Avery.”
Chocolate eyes meandered over his face. “There’s a first for everything. Might actually be good for your ego to understand you don’t rule the world.”
He smirked. “Not the world, but the paddock, love.”
“Whatever suits your fancy.” She blinked, acting all innocent. “I thought we were going to be late, so maybe you should start driving?”
“I despise you,” he grumbled, shifting in his seat to start the car.
“Feeling’s mutual, honey.”
“You’re lucky you’re forced to ride with me to the circuit, otherwise I would have left you to find a solution on your own.”
She scoffed. “That’s not very gentleman-like of you. Besides, I would have found a ride.”
“Like who? Eliott Dalton?”
Rowan exited the parking lot and ignored Tate’s stare full of incredulity.
“Yes,” Avery answered, tone clipped. “Or anybody else on the team. Everyone’s more delightful than you are.”
Rowan glared at Avery through the rear-view mirror, and when she didn’t yield and held his stare, he understood it would be a real challenge to work with her.
Tate cleared his throat. “When you two are done trying to rip out each other’s throats, can we just hit the road?”
Vibrations jolted throughout his bones, causing frissons to appear on every single inch of his body. Rowan could feel beads of perspiration cascade down his temple, dampening his balaclava. His gloved hands were gripping the steering wheel, his vision entirely focused on the route ahead.
Racing in Bahrain was exhilarating regardless of the heat, because despite practising during the day, the actual race would take place during nightfall. The first race weekend of the season was always special—an entry to success, a way to prove himself to the team and the fans, a one-way ticket to pursue a dream of a lifetime.
“How does the car feel?” asked Jamie, his race engineer, through the radio. “Ten minutes left before FP2 ends.”
Passing corner thirteen, Rowan accelerated and smirked when he saw his teammate fly past him. A mere push on the throttle and a rapid shift of gears resulted in him chasing Thiago. Free practice sessions weren’t meant for racing, only for testing out the car, but it was a ritual for the two drivers of Primavera to race a little bit during those sessions.
He decelerated before turning in the next corner, feeling the engine’s heat blend with the high temperature coming off the circuit. “Too much oversteer.”
Just as he uttered those words, he felt the back of his car slip. Rapidly regaining control, he counter-steered to the right and drove through the next turn.
Because this session was dedicated to having several dry runs and experimenting with the new car’s abilities, Rowan had faith his team would fix every issue in the blink of an eye. So far, the car felt different than last season’s, but in a positive way.
He’d been able to drive on this circuit last week during pre-season testing, but there was still some work to do to improve the engine. The car had a great racing pace so far and the dragging felt minimal.
“Understood. Thank you.” A moment later, Jamie’s voice came through again. “Box, box.”
“Now? Let me try and set the fastest lap again.”
“It’s not qualifying yet, Rowan.”
“So?” He slipped through two cars driving at a slower pace and saw Thiago go into the pit lane. “I’m going to be the best this season. Watch me.”
“You’re ambitious.”
He’d trained harder than any other driver during the winter break. Had spent hours racing on the simulator. Had sweated in the gym to strengthen his physique. He wouldn’t let anything or anyone come in between his goals. Nothing would distract him.
It was qualifying day, and Rowan had made it through Q1 and Q2 without an ounce of struggle, which felt strange compared to the beginning of last season where he’d either been out in Q2 or kept qualifying P9 or P10 until he would redeem himself during the race.
Waiting in the garage for Q3 to start, Rowan watched the screen above his engineer’s head where the qualifying session was broadcast. The camera showed a clip of him sitting in the car, and when he saw that image of himself, he found the cameraman and winked.
“Okay,” Jamie said, his voice echoing through Rowan’s earbuds. “You’ve got enough fuel. What’s your call?”
“I’m running my lap at the very end of Q3,” Rowan said, confidence seeping through his veins. That feeling stirring inside his gut told him this was going to be a good weekend.
“Are you sure you want to take the risk?” Jamie gaped at him from his desk, brows raised as he adjusted his set of headphones. Rowan lifted two thumbs up. “You didn’t have enough slipstream during Q2.”
“Yeah, but I have a nice balance between agility and top speed, so increasing speed shouldn’t be too much of a struggle.”
“Copy.”
Four of his car mechanics were kneeling around his vehicle, holding heating blankets atop his tyres to keep them warm until he decided to go out. Rowan gaped at the television where a camera was following Thiago’s car. His sectors one and two were purple, meaning he had set the fastest time in those two segments of the track. By the look of his current speed, it looked like he would have a purple sector three, too.
Rowan nodded—a sign of respect—when Thiago’s name flashed above the other nine drivers who had made it to Q3, setting his teammate as the provisional pole-sitter. Slight bitterness coursed through his veins at the realisation. No matter how much he respected and appreciated Thiago, he merely wanted to steal the spotlight for once and stand one step higher.
Rowan and Jamie exchanged a glance, and with a subtle nod of the head from the driver, Jamie gave a signal to the mechanics to take the blankets off.
Rowan then drove out of the garage and into the pit lane, a grunt rising from his throat when he saw all the traffic as he started running his outlap.
“This fucking traffic,” he muttered.
Still driving at a slow pace like most of the nine other cars, he went around the circuit until he was nearly at the starting line.
Foot flat-out as he pressed on the throttle, he passed the chequered line, knowing he needed to set the fastest lap now.
He lifted his right foot and pressed the brake, his gloved fingers working on the left paddle to downshift his pace as he turned in the first corner.
He knew the route and trajectory of this circuit by heart, though he kept his focus on the invisible line, hitting the apex of corner five which delimited the first sector of the circuit.
Racing through the night was thrilling, exhilarating, incomparable.
Rowan breathed heavily as he braked, sweat dampening his suit and gloves.
“Full push,” Jamie cheered on.
“Don’t talk to me,” Rowan snapped. “Especially in turns.”
“Copy.”
He flew through sector two as fast as he could, the smell of burnt rubber invading his senses.
He raced through the last long straight line, and when he finally passed the last corner, he pushed at full throttle to cross the finish line. The adrenaline rushing through his veins made his blood pump, made his heartbeat thump so loud that it was nearly as deafening as the roar of his engine.
“Tell me we have it,” Rowan demanded, breathless.
Behind him, Thiago was giving his all to set the fastest lap again.
Jamie’s response came through when Thiago passed the finish line.
“You’re on pole, Rowan. You’re on freaking pole, man!”