11. Jaxx
Jaxx
Something must have happened, and it isn’t just because we were coming into those tense last laps.
Even when he’s going crazy and pushing as hard as he can, he still doesn’t drive like a mad thing.
And the Vegas circuit isn’t to be messed with. He should know that more than anyone after the crash he had last year in Singapore when he took the corner right before the flags like a loose cannon.
I have to catch up with him. I have to make sure he’s okay.
I climb through the race positions, forcing my car to go harder, overtaking twice so I can see his tail at the far end of the straight.
People call me a smooth and steady driver. I prefer to say I’m sleek. I like easily working my way up the pack as the race goes on instead of tearing out in front to hold my position. Where’s the fun in stressing when we’re here to race?
But I won’t let Maddock freak out at the top of the pack when he’s driving like that.
“What’s happened to Maddock? What’s he doing?” I ask my race engineer, the person who works with me directly when I’m out on the track.
“I don’t know. Sorry, Jaxx. He’s unresponsive.”
“Dammit. How far ahead is he?”
“You’re P4, Jaxx. He’s five seconds ahead; you’re not catching him like that.”
I grit my teeth as I put my foot down. I might not get up to third, but I can at least be near him when he crosses the line. If something happens to him when I’m not close to him, I’ll never forgive myself.
Because I lost my friend the exact same way.
There’s silence on the other end, so it looks like they expect me to stay here.
We have one more lap to go. The crowd has picked up along with my heart, nerves bouncing through me.
If Maddock crosses the line in P1, then maybe he will stop being so goddamn grumpy all the time.
“What’s happening now?” I ask ten seconds later as we speed toward the ninety-degree turn in Sector 2. “Where’s Maddock?”
“He’s caught up to P1, half a lap to go,” he says breathlessly.
I keep myself stone-quiet after that. They need to focus on Maddock, because we all know what that means. If there’s even the tiniest chance Maddock could safely win a race, the Grace favoritism kicks in.
Though I can still see him storming ahead, his movements are all over the place. He isn’t the kind of driver to veer on a straight unless he’s looking for a fight.
And I can see from a mile away that he’s braking too hard and too fast.
I can’t leave it. I need to catch up to him. If I lose him the same way I lost Carl…
Gritting my jaw, I crank the engine, humming as she roars, and start climbing the gears. Taking risks sets me on edge, but Maddock has a penchant for crashing when he’s riding high.
I glance at the screen on my steering wheel. I have enough battery to get me through the speed trap, a nice stretch of track where we can race as fast as possible, but there is always a risk of draining my battery and damaging my tires. I just need to go after the pesky Cuba Libre in front.
With my foot on the floor, I zoom off into the straight. I have to get closer just in case Maddock fumbles.
He’ll punch me again if he finds out my thoughts, but I don’t trust him further than I could throw him.
Maddock has the same flavor of obsessed as Carl, and it rattled me the first time I saw how far he’s willing to go to get that top spot on the podium.
Panic is the thing that really gets me going. Because memories start ruffling me again. Of laughing and joking with Carl, promising each other a good race, swearing we’d never quit until we won a championship. And then standing there as the fire surged and the ambulance carried him away.
People think I’m a careful driver, but I’m just shitting my pants all the time—figuratively speaking—because I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.
I would have quit if it wasn’t for that damn promise I made Carl.
I just have to pray the dumb man isn’t going to try to kill himself like he did on the hairpin last weekend.
My nerves flying, my heart in my throat, I keep my eyes on the track. But Maddock’s green and white car stands out like a bucking stallion as he races away.
“Fuck me, Jaxx, I think he’s going to do it,” my engineer says.
Our laps are only 1.40 seconds. Give it thirty seconds and I’ll know.
I grit my teeth like I’m chewing leather as I push myself up to 250kmph. The burnt caramel Cuba Libre car is flat out for speed, but our machines are better.
If I can finish P3, it will move the Grace team up to first in the Constructor’s rankings.
I have to focus on my own results. And not the fear pumping through me that’s telling me to chase after Maddock like our lives depend on.
Maddock has been driving eons longer than me; he knows for sure what he’s doing.
That’s what I keep telling myself as my engine screams and my teeth rattle as I chase after P3 like the devil.
“He’s nearly there, Jaxx. Just hold the fuck on. Keep it steady, okay?”
The second he gets over that line, I can relax.
But he vanishes from my sight as he swings into the last ninety-degree turn of the track, and another stab of fear hits me.
It’s like I need to keep my eyes on him, or he’ll crash.
In the blur of madness where my excitement and panic fuse, I speed past the Cuba Libre to awkwardly brake and get myself around the corner.
The second my car turns, I scan the track like a sonar, searching for my partner's tail.
The instant I see him on four wheels, keeping steady, I choke out a breath.
“Jaxx! Jesus Christ! Can you see him!?”
“I got him! I’ve got it!” I shout back.
Maddock’s there, pulling out onto the track, moments from overtaking, and I want to be up there with him. I don’t care about who’s in front or behind me; I want to be there with my teammate when he gets his first win of his F1 career.
The checkered flag is waving and rippling in the distance, and shouts are already echoing like a choir around the track as thousands of fans yell his name.
P2 is right ahead of me, but I don’t need it. My gaze is fixed on Maddock as he soars past the flags in first, and shouts burst in my ears as the comms team cheers.
I shout along with them, thrusting my hand above the halo to shake my fist in the air as the flags whip by.
I want to hug him already, but we have to do a last lap to cool down the cars, like calming our wild horses before stabling them. Then we can safely pull into the grid area where the winners line up and run over to the team to celebrate.
Everyone burns through the track, celebrating with the crowd as we bring down the speed, and soften the engines. And we stay in our positions the whole time.
I want to get ahead of the P2 just so I can drive next to him and holler at him so he’ll glare at me.
Instead, I glide, keeping my gaze absolutely glued to Maddock like a turkey vulture on a carcass as he slows down.
My brow furrows as he crawls into pole position at the front of the grid, but he doesn’t stop.
Something’s going on. Cars are lining up behind him like soldiers, but he keeps edging forward over the front of the grid.
Suddenly, the mechanics who’re moving toward his car to help him out and celebrate, shout as his engine roars and he takes off.
“What the hell?” I murmur.
I get into my spot, instantly killing the engine and jumping out just as his tail disappears back out onto the track.
I run straight toward our panicking comms booth, where the strategy team is shouting orders. I'd already been looking forward to teasing Maddock in front of the broadcast press who wait for him, but this is ten times more important.
“What’s going on?” I say to Jacob as I fly into the tent, panting in the musty heat of my suit. “Why isn’t he coming back?”
Everyone’s running around as Jacob yells into the headset. If Maddock keeps driving, the FIA will disqualify him.
We need him to stop, or we’ll lose the whole thing.
I rip off my helmet and scan the mass of screens. He’s nearing at least 200kmph on the first straight, and it doesn’t look like he’s going to slow down.
“I don’t know; he’s gone dead on us.” Jacob looks as shocked as I am.
“Give me the mic,” I say, tearing out my earphones so I can grab the headset. I throw my helmet to Jacob as I slip it on.
“Maddock, what are you doing?” I ask.
“I don’t need to hear your voice right now,” he says with a shaky edge I don’t recognize.
“Dude, you just won Vegas. You came through in P1. You’re going to be the star of that podium. But you’re not getting that if you don’t come back and park up in pole position.”
He’s still silent on the other end of the line, but the monitor shows his car free-falling until he’s driving at 50kmph.
“Don’t you want to hold that trophy at last?
” I ask him. “I’m so jealous of you right now.
And the whole team is here waiting to congratulate you.
You’re not gonna leave me all lonely up there, are you?
” I say with a forced grin. “Because I'll damn well pick up that trophy in your place if you don't get your stubborn ass back here.”
“I’m not sure this is even real,” he replies so quietly I almost miss it.
“Well, come back and make it freaking real.”
He goes silent, and the tension keeps building around us. People are still cheering him as he goes round.
Jacob has left, and I see him hurtling toward a FIA official. We need to get this sorted and make sure Maddock keeps his first. For him, as well as the team.
“Just turn the car around and come back, okay? That trophy is waiting for you.”
My gloves creak as I clench my fingers. My shoulders hunch so hard they ache.
But the whole tent sighs with relief as we watch his awkward four-point turn to bring himself back to the grid.
People are going to go wild over photos of the cars lined up, with Maddock's car facing the rest of the competitors like he is still challenging them.
The entire team abandons the comm’s tent and runs to the grid.
“If he ends up making an idiot of himself in front of the cameras, I’m not letting him live it down,” Jacob growls as I catch up with him.
Cheers erupt among the crowd. I run toward Maddock, pulling him into a hug even though he’s always as prickly as a cactus.
What really puts me on edge is that he doesn’t push me off.
“What the hell were you doing?” I ask him, but he stays completely silent until I let go. With his helmet still on, his visor up, his gaze is so hard even a crash wouldn’t shake it. And the only direction he looks is up.
It doesn’t matter how many people grab him or shake his hand or cheer for him; his neck is stuck at a forty-five-degree angle.
And I follow his gaze, sucking a breath as my eyes land on the pretty ginger woman who kissed me so passionately in the airport broom closet. One look at her has me yearning.
She barely glances at me before her gaze goes straight back to Maddock. And I can’t read her expression as they stare at each other.
I know they have a history, but the stare they share is way more than something between a teacher and a student. It is like the world has vanished around them, and a light growl rumbles from Maddock despite being in a crowd.
I can’t take my eyes off her. I feel like if I look away, she'll disappear, and I’ll lose my chance with her. She rises above us like a benevolent goddess, and it’s up to me to praise her.
All I need is her smile. I’m stuck with Maddock, both of us staring, but I’m not the one she wants. The moment could have stretched on for hours, and I was left to the side.
And I’m seriously not used to it. I’m about to shout out and wave at her to make her look at me… Until her gaze shifts to someone behind me.
Her eyes widen in surprise, and she lifts a trembling hand to her mouth like she’s trying to hide her shock.
I instantly spin, and the only person standing still amongst the buzzing team is Everest, in exactly the same position that Maddock is.
I love Everest; I do. But expressions aren’t exactly his thing unless cars are involved. So, seeing him soften and smile sets off more alarm bells ringing inside me.
Glancing at Maddock, then Everest, I turn to look at the gorgeous omega who backs away from the edge of the balcony, and from the three of us.
If what Jacob said about us training actors for that F1 movie is right, then life is about to get a million times more interesting.