Now
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Jackson
Most of the other drivers on my team live in the team housing, crammed together in tiny apartments that the organization rents out cheap.
But that was never really an option for me.
Not with Evie. So we burned through almost all our savings during the first two weeks between the security deposit on our one-bedroom rental and the bare minimum of secondhand furniture.
The team barely covers anything. They gave me a seat because I proved I could compete, but I didn’t come up through karting like the other guys, so I’m not part of their junior driver program, and I don’t have some millionaire backing me either.
Which means I’m paying for almost everything but my seat—race entries, travel, equipment, testing …
The sponsors I already had from my touring car days help, but they’re small local sponsors, and they expect results. Results I’m not getting yet.
Adapting to an open-wheel car has been harder than I expected.
I knew it would be different from touring car racing, but the high-speed cornering and insane downforce are fucking me up.
The car reacts to everything differently.
Braking points, steering inputs, weight transfer—hell, even sitting so low to the ground changes how I perceive speed.
I’m comfortable with the paddle-shift gearbox now, but that took a hot minute to get used to.
So, I’ve basically been paying obscene amounts of money to lose.
And because I’m not winning, new sponsors aren’t exactly lining up. That’s the problem with Formula 4. You spend money before you make money. We ran the numbers a dozen times already, and if I want a serious shot at surviving the season, we need to sink over two hundred grand into it.
Whenever there’s a free weekend, I drive out to run touring car races with the SCCA. I know those cars. I can actually win in them. The prize money isn’t huge, but sometimes it’s enough to cover tires, or a hotel, or one more entry fee. Every dollar we make goes straight back into racing.
Evie was supposed to work part-time while studying architecture at the community college.
Instead, she’s working full-time at an ice cream shop and picking up every extra shift they’ll give her just to keep us afloat.
And she goes to college part-time, doing the best she can with online and evening courses.
On top of all that, she basically acts as my manager.
She emails sponsors, handles registrations, organizes travel, runs my social media, edits clips from old races, answers messages, negotiates deals—everything.
Hell, she even braids my hair like my mom used to before race weekends, so it sits right under my helmet.
She’s paying for our food. Our rent. Our electricity. I’m fucking failing her.
I thought I’d be able to buy her nice things. Take her out. Give her something better than this constant stress. Instead, she’s working herself to exhaustion while I empty our bank account faster than we can refill it, chasing a dream that might never happen.
And to make everything worse, we barely even see each other anymore. Between her work schedule and me constantly leaving town for races and testing, I don’t think we spend four real hours together in an average week.
Maybe this was a mistake.
Maybe I dreamed too big and took a bite I can’t chew. Maybe I’m not meant to be anything more than a touring car driver. I could switch to NASCAR. It’s closer to what I know. It might be easier.
But every time I get behind the wheel of that one-seater, I feel it. I feel myself getting closer to understanding it. The physics, the rhythm, the weird little tricks hidden inside open-wheel racing.
And once I finally crack it, I know I’ll be dangerous.
“There you go,” Evie says with a smile, placing a chocolate and peanut butter milkshake in front of me. “I still have about half an hour of work, then we can leave. Is that okay?”
“Of course.”
I watch her walk away in her uniform—a fit-and-flare shirt dress the color of mint ice cream, and a pink apron over it.
My princess hasn’t complained once. This is so much harder than what I promised her, but she hasn’t resented me for it. She still believes in the dream, more than I do, and I fear the day the veil falls from her eyes and reality hits her.
She invested in the wrong guy. All the money she’s given me over the years.
All the time she put into me. All the hope she harbors …
I wasn’t the right person to give it to.
And I fucking hate myself for it. She deserves so much better than what I’ve given her so far.
And I’m beginning to doubt I’ll ever get to buy her a house with a pool, let alone the one we used to talk about in Italy.
After some cleanup behind the counter, she comes to my table with a tray full of napkin dispensers that need to be refilled. I know the drill, so I start working on them while she cleans up the tables with a spray bottle full of Lysol and a cloth.
I miss her. We live together, yet I see her less than I used to back in Colorado. Even when we finally get some time together, she’s so tired she can barely maintain a full conversation.
It’s like I’m watching the light slowly fade behind her eyes, and I can’t fucking bear it. Either I get my head out of my ass and find a way to make this work, or I need to free her from this money pit I put us into. She’d be doing so much better if she didn’t have to support me as well as herself.
“Princess, can you—can you come sit with me for a moment?”
“I’m almost done, give me a sec.”
Two more tables, and she comes to sit on the cushioned bench facing mine. “What’s up, Hot Wheels?”
“I’ve been wondering … We should rethink this whole thing. It’s not working out.”
Her face falls into despair, and she stammers, “Are you br—breaking up with me?”
“What?! No! Evie, never. Jesus Christ …”
She releases a reassured breath. “Phew, Jax. Don’t word things that way.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“I thought you could focus on your courses more if you didn’t have to worry about me. And if you move into the dorms, a part-time job should be enough to pay for everything. I’ll try to help you as much as I can.”
“What about you?”
“A few of the guys are bunking together in one of the team houses. They said there’s a spot for me if I want it. And I can eat at the team’s canteen, so I’d barely have to pay for anything.”
“But we wouldn’t live together anymore?”
“No, but we can still see each other whenever we have time.”
“Jax, we’re barely seeing one another as it is. Do you really think it’ll be any better if we don’t even share a house anymore?”
“I don’t know. I’m just trying to think of a way to make this easier.”
“For who?”
“For you. All you do is work, Evie. I didn’t want this for you. I thought it would be easier, that I’d be paying for everything.”
“I don’t mind. It’s all part of my investment in you.”
I stare at the empty napkin holder in my hand. She still hasn’t given up on me. How is that even possible?
“What if I never make it?” I ask, avoiding her gaze. “What if you give me everything, and I never make it? I never get to pay you back?”
“Jax …” She reaches over to grab one of my hands, and I let her hold it. “It’s only been six months. You’ve seen my stats binder. You’re getting better. You’re almost there.”
“But what if I’m not?”
“Let’s at least give it a full year, okay? I know you can do this, Jackson. You were born to do this.”
I lose myself in my own thoughts for a moment, reflecting on her words.
Is this blind faith, or does she know something I don’t?
She’s never doubted me, not for a single day.
Not even now. I don’t know how she stays so optimistic, even in the darker times.
She’s like a fucking light in my life, bright, intense, and unwavering.
When I haven’t said anything for a moment, she rises from her bench and comes around to sit on my lap.
She frames my face with her hands and pins her hazel eyes right on mine. “Jackson Reyes,” she starts solemnly, “you are many things, but you aren’t a quitter. And I won’t let that change, okay?”
I nod, entranced by her gorgeous face. “You have another six months to prove me right. And I know you’ll do it in a lot less. You’re on your way to becoming the best driver in the world, and you shouldn’t let anything stand between you and your destiny.”
To mark her words, she leans in and adamantly presses her lips onto mine.
Holding her, I let her take what she wants until we’re fully making out.
I love this girl. I love her with every fucking bone in my body.
And I miss her so fucking much. I miss hearing her laugh.
I miss watching movies with her, sprawled on the couch together.
I miss driving around town with her in the passenger seat …
“Let’s get in the car and go somewhere,” I impulsively decide. “I have a tank full of gas. We can go see the Great Lakes. You’ve wanted to do that since we got here. We’ll sleep at a shitty motel and see them in the morning.”
She laughs indulgently. “Slow your horses, Hot Wheels. I have a double shift tomorrow, remember?”
“Call in sick. I don’t have a race until this weekend. It could be just you and me, like old times. I miss it. I miss you.”
Her eyes on me are tender, compassionate.
She grazes the side of my face, taking in every little detail of it.
“I miss you too, Jax. But how about you finish with the napkins, I finish closing up, and we go home together so you can make love to me until we pass out? I don’t mind the quickies, but I miss when it used to last much, much longer. ”
I’m not against her plans, but I still feel she should want so much more than that. Before I can voice it, though, she presses her lips to mine one more time. Then she moves her sweet mouth closer to my ear and whispers, “Plus, I’m wearing the pink panties you really like.”