Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
?? SPA-FRANCORCHAMPS, BELGIUM
“ F ocus, Rowan. Please ,” Jamie ordered.
“I am,” Rowan countered, his fingers flexing around the steering wheel.
The visor of his helmet was dotted with droplets of water, nearly blinding his field of vision as they cascaded down the transparent polycarbonate. But no matter the weather’s circumstances, he knew the route of this iconic circuit by heart. The track was slowly drying, but the car in front of him still sprayed minuscule beads of rain towards him. Following the dry line, Rowan tried to chase a slipstream, seeking top speed to attempt an overtake.
“You’re not,” Jamie said bluntly.
The unbridled speed as he flew through the Raidillon and Eau Rouge was incomparable. Known as two of the most dangerous turns in the motorsport universe, they were also Rowan’s favourites. Because of the thrill. The danger. The sharpness of every twist and turn.
In all the years he’d been racing, Rowan had always been able to concentrate on his results and goals—nothing else. When he was in the car, nothing else mattered.
But today, out of all days, during one of the most important races of the season, he simply couldn’t minimise his spiralling thoughts.
Whilst Avery had insisted, on multiple occasions, that she was fine and coping with the situation healthily, Rowan couldn’t help but worry.
He hadn’t seen her in almost two weeks. He wasn’t used to the distance, to this void of emptiness. He’d been so accustomed to being with her almost every single day for the past few years. Sure, the first two seasons were spent firing insults at each other and wishing for the other’s downfall, but he would still see her every day and try to grab her attention, desperately so.
He just needed to hold her and help her ride those reckless waves before the tempest would settle down.
“Heavy rain predicted in the next hour,” Jamie announced, bringing him back to reality.
Rowan blinked, forcing himself to focus on the race.
“Again?” Rowan’s fingers pushed the clutch to move one gear forward, his pace increasing when he passed the chicane. He waited to attain top speed in the straight line to continue his casual conversation with his race engineer. “How many laps are there left?”
“Fifteen. We might be able to avoid the downpour. Catch Huxley and take back what’s yours; P1.”
Rowan had started from pole.
He wanted to win.
Not for his father. Not for his team. Not for anyone, but only for himself.
Focus, the euphonious voice echoed inside his head.
Taking a deep breath in, he pushed at full throttle, passing through the corner of La Source.
Turning too wide, he slipped slightly, but regained control easily.
Focus, Rowan.
So he did.