CHAPTER 16
Dev
Reid Coleman has charmed my girl.
Technically, Willow is not my girl. And okay, yeah, Reid charmed everyone on the plane with his adventure stories and his southern drawl. But the point still stands. Boy’s on my shit list until the hearts disappear from Willow’s eyes.
The oppressive Texas heat isn’t helping the burn of jealousy as Chava, Mark, Willow and I make our way across the tarmac to the awaiting SUV. Mark hangs back next to me as Chava and Willow walk ahead, recounting Reid’s skydiving tale and acting like obsessive fangirls.
‘You forgive me yet?’
I spare a glance over at Mark, hitching my duffel bag higher on my shoulder. ‘Nothing to forgive.’
‘We both know that’s not true.’
‘We can pretend it is.’
He exhales and keeps his voice low. ‘I’m just trying to keep you focused.’
‘I’m not distracted,’ I answer, but it doesn’t lighten Mark’s frown.
He worries about me; it’s his job, but it’s also because he’s a good friend. Usually, it doesn’t bother me, because ninety-nine per cent of the time, he’s right and I need to be guided back onto the correct path. But his warnings against Willow and the way he all but dragged me away from her last night aren’t endearing me toward him.
‘Look, it was a rough day. She just wanted to cheer me up,’ I explain, though when the implications of those words hit me, I elaborate before he can jump to conclusions. ‘All we did was watch a movie. And honestly? It helped. She . . .’ I trail off, struggling to come up with a way to make him understand the lightness that Willow brings into my life. The way she chases away the storm clouds hanging over my head with her pure sunshine. ‘She fixed me.’
Mark narrows his eyes in warning. ‘That’s a lot of credit to give one person.’
Maybe it is. Or maybe it’s not enough. Because she dragged me out of the dark place I could have gone last night, and her presence now is what’s keeping me from dwelling on how stuck I feel with Argonaut. We’re about to step into the lion’s den of my team’s headquarters, but knowing she’ll be there too? I feel no fear.
Bathed in the sound of her laughter, I keep my eyes on her bouncing curls. ‘She deserves it.’
——
The week in Dallas passes in a blur of meetings, extra-long gym sessions and hours spent in the simulator. By the time we’re on the plane to Austria, I’m certain I could drive the circuit with my eyes closed. I’m ready to fight again.
Whether Argonaut will allow me to do that remains to be seen.
‘Okay, time for your weekly update,’ Willow announces once the plane hits ten thousand feet and we’re allowed to take out our electronics.
She hauls her laptop up from the bag by her feet and flips it open. When the screen kicks on, a slideshow appears. The girl’s prepared.
We haven’t spent much time together outside of meals lately. We’ve been too busy with our own responsibilities for much more than passing greetings and quickly snapped photos. Sitting next to each other in first class on a commercial flight feels like a stolen moment. But Mark’s warning to keep my distance from her pops into my head as she clears her throat and prepares to start her presentation.
Willow deserves to apply these skills on a larger scale, to work for a team that will value her dedication and talent. I don’t want to ruin that for her. So instead of leaning in like I want to, I nod and allow her to turn the screen in my direction.
‘Followers are up an average of nine per cent on all platforms,’ she begins. The first slide shows charts of follower and engagement growth.
Once I’ve looked over it, she flips to the next. This one is full of brand logos for companies that I’d be more than happy to work with.
‘Howard has lined up two new brand deals for you. I have a full deck for each one if you want to review them later. We’ll make sure they’re a good fit.’
‘How insufferable was my agent when you talked to him?’ I ask drily.
She shoots me a knowing look. ‘Unbelievably.’
‘Sounds about right.’ I point to the computer screen, motioning for her to continue.
‘Okay, you’re absolutely welcome to shoot this idea down if you think it’s too soon,’ she prefaces, ‘but the hosts of this podcast would like to interview you. I listened to almost every episode they’ve done so far, and these women really know their stuff. They’re hilarious, too, and they’ve really taken off on the charts.’
I lift a brow in surprise. She did all of that before she knew whether I’d even be interested? ‘You listened to every episode?’
‘Nearly,’ she corrects. ‘Did my due diligence. And I listened to a few other F1-centric shows to see if they’d be a better fit, but I think this one’s the best.’
‘God, I am so impressed by you.’
The words slip off my tongue before I can stop them, but even as a flush creeps up her neck, I don’t take them back. She deserves this praise and more.
‘Thank you,’ she mumbles, keeping her eyes trained on the laptop as she flips to the next slide. ‘Anyway, I’ll have Chava schedule everything. Then there’s . . .’
As she continues, I try to focus on the screen and not her pretty blushing face. Every time she makes a suggestion, I agree. She knows best. That’s obvious. I’m just along for the ride.
‘Okay, let me coordinate with everyone and get it all on the calendar,’ she says, beaming, once she’s touched on the final slide.
I have to resist the urge to trace the curve of her smile, because that is not something a boss should ever do. But the temptation is real, and the longer I spend with her, the harder it’s going to get.
Maybe Mark was right. Maybe I should let her go. For my sanity and for her reputation.
Except that clarity disappears in a puff of smoke when she squeezes my hand, her excitement palpable. It’s a brief touch, fully innocent. Just an expression of how happy she is to be working on all of this. I doubt she even thought twice about it.
With that pleased expression still lingering on her face, she puts her laptop away and pulls out her little notebook, then curls up in her oversized seat. She scribbles on the page, lower lip caught between her teeth as she concentrates. I know then that I’m fully hooked. I’m not letting her go anywhere unless it’s by my side.
At least not until the summer’s over and our time together is done. Fuck knows how I’ll ever let her walk away again.
——
Sunday brings blue skies and sunshine as bright as my mood. I’m once again feeling like nothing out there can stop me. It’s a welcome reprieve from the weight that’s been pushing down on my shoulders.
Practice on Friday went off without a hitch, and I qualified eleventh yesterday. Adding to my buoyant mood, Nathaniel qualified seventeenth, so it’s unlikely team orders will affect my race. Can’t tell me to stay behind him if I’m already leagues ahead.
I avoid him as all the drivers gather at the back of a modified flatbed semi-truck, which we’ll be riding on for the drivers’ parade. I greet Thomas Maxwell-Brown with a grin and a shot to the shoulder, teasing him about the douchey yacht pictures he posted last week. The guy’s posher than a British royal . . . which he actually might be, if his bloodline was traced back far enough.
I’ve just climbed up on the truck when Zaid Yousef lifts his chin, motioning me to the free spot by the railing next to him – and away from the reporters. I freeze for a second before forcing my feet to move.
It’s ridiculous, but I still get starstruck when I see Zaid. He’s literally just a guy, and one I’ve been racing against for years, but he’s been a god in my eyes since I was a kid. With seven championship titles under his belt and a near infinite number of records broken, he’s easily the greatest of all time. And as a fellow brown guy – the Middle Eastern kind of brown compared to my South Asian brown – he showed me that it was possible for people who looked like us to reach the highest level of motorsport.
‘You good?’ he asks me after we slap hands. His English accent is a little more working class than Thomas’s.
‘Can’t complain,’ I answer, trying to play it cool. I’m definitely failing.
‘How’s your mum?’
That’s another thing about Zaid – he remembers the smallest details. He had a conversation with my mother once and still asks about her.
‘She’s good. Still can’t get her to stop working, even though she doesn’t need to any more.’
Zaid flashes me a warm, knowing smile. ‘Mine’s the same. She’d rather die than let someone else run our family’s shop.’
We chat as the truck starts to make its way around the circuit for the fans to see, but I’m bumped out of the way by a cameraman when the interviewers come over to ask Zaid about his chances at an eighth championship title.
There’s an open spot next to Reid, so I step into it instead. ‘Thanks again for the flight to Dallas,’ I greet him. ‘How was your time back home?’
‘It was a nice break.’ He rests his elbow on my shoulder as he waves to the crowd. ‘Even if my grandmother spent the week nagging that I don’t come home enough.’
I laugh and wave as well, taking in the crowd’s excitement. ‘Tell Dottie I miss her apple pie.’
‘Will do.’ He snorts. ‘Speaking of Texas and apple pie, you got plans for the Fourth of July?’
‘Not past whatever Argonaut’s doing.’ I’m not going home for it, considering it’s in two days and the next Grand Prix at Silverstone is just a few days after that. ‘I’m heading straight to London in the morning in order to prepare myself for that shit show. You?’
‘So you’re going to be at the dinner?’ he asks. ‘I’m still deciding whether I’m brave enough to show my face there, but I definitely don’t want to do it alone.’
‘Oh, you mean the tacky party Argonaut’s throwing?’ I want to roll my eyes just thinking about it. It’s going to be an England-bashing party . . . in the middle of London. ‘Yeah, they’ll have my ass if I’m not there. Please come suffer with me.’
Reid shakes his head, still watching the crowd. ‘No, I mean the dinner with Buck beforehand. It’s a small thing, right? He said it’ll be just key players, but I don’t know if I want to be stuck with that guy for longer than I have to be.’
My stomach sinks, and I frown, studying his profile. ‘What are you talking about?’
Reid stops waving and looks over at me, brow furrowing. The cameras are catching all of this, but at least they can’t hear what we’re saying. ‘You don’t know about it?’
‘No. I don’t.’
I’m not surprised that Buck is hosting something extra, but I am shocked that this is the first I’m hearing about it – and that he invited a rival driver.
My stomach is down in my knees at this point. It’s obvious that Buck wants me out, but I doubt Reid would replace me. I can’t imagine him leaving D’Ambrosi. He’s happy at the Scuderia, and he’s been fighting for third place on the podium all year. He wouldn’t give that up to drive for a midfield team that hasn’t had a win in ages.
But if Buck offered him enough money to make the switch worth his while, then I’m fucked. Because Reid is the all-American driver that all-American Argonaut has always wanted.
I have to fight to keep a smile on my face, to keep the cameras from picking up on the turmoil coursing through me. I don’t want Reid to catch on either. ‘You got an invite because of the technical agreement, right?’ I jokingly suggest. ‘I’m sure D’Ambrosi thinks that since you make our engines, you belong at all of our parties too.’
‘Right,’ Reid says, but it does nothing to comfort me. ‘I’m sure that’s it.’
——
My gut churns as I pull into my grid spot, but the nausea is mixed with a burning anger now.
The engine rumbles as I flex my fingers around the steering wheel. I kept my head down and avoided everyone but my engineers after climbing off the drivers’ parade truck, not wanting to lose the building fire in my chest. It’s burning bright now.
My heart slows as the red lights come on one by one, and it jolts as they all go out. I’m clean off the line and immediately pass two cars. By the time we hit the first corner, I’m in ninth. I keep the advantage on the inside, falling in behind a McMorris and sticking tight to its rear wing. The gap expands a little as the laps go on, but I’ll be able to pass soon enough if I push a little more.
Branny is a mosquito buzzing in my ear. I tune out everything except the important stuff, giving clipped responses when necessary. We usually keep a good rapport going, but not today. Not after discovering the plot to kick me aside happening right under my nose.
By lap twenty-three I’m in front of the McMorris and the car is solid under me. My tyres are holding out well, the balance is as good as it will ever get, and I’m eking out every bit of power available.
I’m driving to prove something. Whether it’s to Argonaut or another team, I’m determined to exhibit what I’m capable of, why I belong here. There’s a reason I was rookie of the year when I debuted. There’s a reason sponsors flocked to me right out of the gate. There’s a reason I beat out hundreds of other drivers on my way to F1. I’m here because I fought for it. And I’m going to keep fighting.
I push on, determined to close the distance to the car in front of me. I’m about to ask Branny what the gap time is when he crackles over the radio instead.
‘There’s something wrong with the car,’ he says. ‘We need to retire it. Slow down and box. Repeat, slow down and box.’
I’m stunned into silence. The car feels as perfect as an Argonaut is capable of. ‘What’s the problem?’ I demand. ‘I don’t feel anything wrong.’
‘There is an issue,’ Branny repeats, though he doesn’t give any details. Maybe he doesn’t want our competitors to know, but I’m driving the fucking thing. He could at least give me a hint so I could help judge the situation.
‘Tell me,’ I grit out.
But again, I’m left in the dark.
‘We can’t risk it,’ he says. ‘Box, box.’
I don’t care that the whole world can hear me swear over the radio. I don’t care that I nearly break the pit lane speed limit as I haul the car in. I don’t care that my helmet lands with a sickening crack on the concrete inside the garage as engineers and mechanics rush around.
Steaming from head to toe, I grind my teeth to keep from saying something I’ll regret to someone who doesn’t deserve it. With my chin tucked to my chest, I dodge bodies determined to stop me to discuss. But I can’t do it right now. I can’t. I can’t listen to the excuses.
Except Sturgill, the team principal, stands between me and the hallway that leads out of the garage, giving me no choice but to pass by him. I prepare to shoulder around him, to avoid his eye and all the bullshit he’s going to spew at me, but the second I step beside him, his hand darts out, and he grabs my bicep.
I’m about to snarl at him to let me go, but I go rigid at the guarded look in his eye. The caution. The dark worry. So I let him drag me toward him. Once we’re closer, he puts his mouth by my ear, not daring to be overheard.
His breath is hot on my skin, but my blood runs cold when he speaks. ‘There was nothing wrong with the car,’ he murmurs. ‘The order came from Buck.’