Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
Nash
J eddah is one of those cities that gets under your skin, but in the best possible way. I’ve spent the day exploring since I had no immediate commitments. We arrived late last night, the city ablaze with lights in the middle of a dark desert. Our hotel is right on the Corniche, a dazzling waterfront promenade along the Red Sea, a portion of which is surrounded by the racetrack. I was up at first light to check things out in the bright light of day.
The contrast between the old and new is jarring. I walked the ancient streets of Al-Balad with its coral-stone buildings and carved wooden balconies. The markets were overwhelming to the senses with colorful fabrics, delicate ceramics, fragrant spices and vendors calling out in a mad effort to get me to buy something. It was fun and a little daunting, but then I turned a corner to find myself back among the sleek skyscrapers and futuristic architecture along the Corniche.
After a delicious meal of kabsa made from basmati rice cooked in a broth of tomatoes, onions, and rich spices (cinnamon, cardamom, cloves and black lime), I headed over to the paddock to meet up with the rest of the team.
The Saudi Arabian Global Prix is only in its fourth year, and I was fortunate to be a part of the inaugural race. The track is a street circuit that uses existing roads modified to meet formula standards and work to shut down those streets began last week with new detours throughout the city of Jeddah. There are many things that make this race unique and challenging.
Because the track is so long—the longest in formula racing at 6.174 kilometers—the design allows for drivers to be at full throttle for almost seventy percent of each lap, reaching higher than normal sustained speeds. The track conditions can vary radically since it sits at the edge of the Red Sea, and temperature and wind fluctuations can drastically change conditions from qualifying rounds to the actual race, making all the things we prepare for sometimes moot. But that’s up to the strategy folks to pivot.
What I love best about Jeddah, though, is that it’s a night race. The entire track is illuminated with high-tech lighting systems to enhance the visual spectacle for the fans.
Because this track is so new, the paddock and garages are all housed within the pit building, a state-of-the-art facility that runs parallel to the main straight. Normally, teams transport over their own modular buildings that house race operation offices, hospitality suites for sponsors and VIPs, and other meeting rooms for strategy sessions, as well as relaxation accommodations for the crew. But here in Jeddah, all of that is provided and it’s plush, costing an estimated $500,000,000 to build.
The week ahead will be busy and although I’m merely an observer, Luca requested I be “involved.”
“You speak your mind if you need to,” he’d told me in his subtle Italian accent that’s been thinned over the years in formula racing. “Your job is to observe and help us strategize based on your experience here.”
I’ve never had a problem doing such a thing, but mostly I’m glad to have firsthand observation on how things are working, given the new ownership under Brienne Norcross.
The logistics and setup team arrived two days ago with all the equipment and cars, and everything is running smoothly as I pass through the garage, which smells of rubber and gasoline. Several of the pit guys nod at me, a few offering fist bumps as I make my way to the staircase that leads up to the operations nerve center. Today the cars will finish being assembled and we’ll focus on strategies in the upcoming meetings. There will be press commitments, and I’m expected to be at those as it’s been announced I’ll be filling Aalto’s slot next race. Tomorrow, the drivers and engineers will do our track walk, which is where we’ll be able to see firsthand the layout and conditions. You can’t get any closer than walking it.
A team meeting is set to start soon, the first of many where all the departments will fully collaborate, focusing just on the Jeddah race. Strategy, tire management, car performance, mechanics, aerodynamics—the engineers will be dissecting every detail, and I’ll be there to offer my knowledge as Luca requested. I know the drill. It’s not like I’ve forgotten how this works, even if my nerves are a little sharper than they used to be.
But first, coffee. A jolt of caffeine sounds like the only way I’ll survive an hour of data and charts being thrown at me after eating such a big lunch. I pivot toward the hospitality suite, already imagining the bitter burn of espresso, and round the corner without slowing down.
That’s when I hit her.
Or she hits me.
I’m not sure which.
The collision is fast and messy, with droplets of cold liquid hitting my face but most of it spraying Bex across the chest.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” she snaps, stepping back and holding a now-empty cup of what I’m guessing was her favorite drink… Diet Coke. She looks down at her shirt, which is completely soaked, along with a folder of papers in her other hand. She shakes the folder, trying to fling the wetness off before glaring at me with rage. “You idiot. Now I’m going to have to go print all that stuff off again and I’ll be late to the meeting.”
It’s true… I can be an asshole sometimes, and while it was probably my fault I ran into her, I’ll never admit it. At least not to this woman.
“Hello to you too,” I say with a lazy smile, brushing at the front of my shirt where a few rogue drops landed. “Careful where you’re walking.”
As expected, her eyes narrow, whiskey-colored orbs flashing fire. “Me? You came barreling around the corner like a damn freight train!”
“Maybe you shouldn’t stand in doorways while holding a full cup of Diet Coke.” I glance at the ruined papers in her folder, my smile broadening. “Or balancing important documents, apparently.”
She stares like she’s weighing the pros and cons of slapping me, then looks down at the mess on her shirt. “These were my notes for the meeting. Do you have any idea how much work—?” She stops, takes a breath and then grits out. “And I don’t have another shirt to wear.”
I spend a moment evaluating the situation, taking immense pleasure in rattling Bex’s normally cool facade. One might think I’m being a dick because of our bad history together. But what’s shocking is that I’m finding an almost affectionate amusement over this mishap. Back in the day, there was a time that had this exact thing happened, we would’ve been laughing our asses off.
A strange longing for that feeling goes through me and before I can even consider the stupidity of my words, I say, “You should have thought about that before you threw your drink at me.”
I wait for it, wanting to know just how hard I can poke this bear.
She erupts, her voice scathing as she yells, “I didn’t throw it, you jackass! You ran into me!”
She’s loud enough to turn heads nearby, and I bite back a smirk. Same old Bexley—always ready to go ten rounds with me, especially when she thinks she’s in the right. Which of course, in this instance, she is.
I lean against the doorway, crossing my arms, and give her a slow once-over. “Well, at least you’re consistent. Blaming me for everything that goes wrong in your life.”
Okay, that wasn’t poking in jest. There was some real meaning in that statement, all the old hurts rushing to the surface and crushing that attempted moment of teasing.
Bex sucks in a breath, her grip tightening on the soaked folder. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re wet.” I nod at her blouse. “You should probably change before the meeting. Oh wait… you don’t have any other clothes here. Bummer.”
Her glare could melt steel. “You’re a horrible human being,” she says so deadly quiet, I almost don’t catch the words. And fuck if that doesn’t strike a chord within me I don’t like. “You’re a child. Nothing’s changed at all with you,” she continues to seethe.
“And you’re still a shrew,” I retort, falling back on old insults.
Bex’s free hand grips into a tight fist, her face screwing up with fury. “Calling that wedding off was the best thing I ever did.”
My chest hollows out, the bitter reminder that she’s the one who threw in the towel on our relationship. I bare my teeth at her. “That’s because… you’re… a… quitter.”
Bexley snarls, her face turning red. “I’m not the one who walked away from the sport,” she says, oh so fucking sweetly.
That was a low blow. “Fuck you.”
“You wish,” she says, batting her eyelashes.
There was a time that’s all I wanted. To fuck her and be with her and love her. It’s hard to even remember what that felt like, although I know it to be true. I have the actual memories, but none as vivid as the one where she threw us away.
I don’t think I’ve ever fought with anyone the way I fought with Bex. I’ve never loved anyone the way I loved her either. Maybe that’s why it burned so hot, why every argument felt like a war we both refused to lose.
We were golden in the beginning—perfect, even. I met her when I was racing with Bauer FI, and she was running strategy for their FI2 team. Vienna felt like a dream back then. Late-night dinners after races, stolen moments in empty garages, and the kind of chemistry that made it impossible to stay away from her. She was beautiful, outgoing, kind and funny, but more than anything… I admired the hell out of her for her racing knowledge and genius in strategy. I was a goner and proposed after just a few months because it felt so right, and she didn’t hesitate in accepting.
“Yes,” she’d screamed, launching herself into my arms.
It had felt inevitable.
It was right.
Bexley was the one.
And thus began the best year of my life. We moved in together, planned the wedding, talked about how we’d conquer the world—me on the track, her in the paddock. She worked harder than anyone I knew, trying to prove herself in a sport where women had to claw for approval. I respected the hell out of her for it.
On the flip side, she was my biggest fan. Despite her long work hours with the FI2 team, she was there in the pit for every one of my races, cheering me on. She never failed to mention her pride in me, her love for me, and she validated me in a hundred other ways.
The best year of my life… until it wasn’t.
Things started to shift and I’m not even sure I noticed it. In hindsight, I can pinpoint it to my career excelling. My star began to rise, and I was in the running for the Driver’s Championship. I got sucked into the whirlwind of fame, which included a huge American documentary series on Formula International. I got a lot of TV time, and my fan base grew to astronomical proportions. There were media appearances, sponsor events, parties with other drivers, and well… it was addictive. I’d ask Bex to come to all of it with me, but she almost always said no.
She was working late, running strategy models, tweaking simulations. I tried to understand, but I was twenty-four, riding high on the adrenaline of winning and being recognized everywhere I went. I didn’t want to spend my nights staring at her staring at a laptop screen. I wanted her by my side, and she wasn’t there.
The arguments started small. I’d tease her about being married to her job, and she’d snap back that someone in the relationship had to be focused. I’d then accuse her of being close-minded. The arguments escalated. She’d call me out for partying too much, for getting caught up in the glitz and glamour. I’d throw it back at her, accusing her of caring more about her spreadsheets than about me. We’d fight, then make up. Every time I thought we’d fixed it, the cycle would start again.
Then came the night where everything fell apart. I was at a party with some of the other drivers. It was supposed to be harmless—a few drinks, some laughs—but of course, someone snapped photos. The pictures hit social media the next morning and among them was one of me with a stupid grin on my face, half-naked women dancing in the background. I wasn’t touching anyone, wasn’t doing anything wrong, but I was there, and that was enough.
Bex was livid. She stormed into the apartment, her face red, her voice shaking as she accused me of cheating on her. I tried to explain it was just a party, that I didn’t touch a single woman there, but she wasn’t hearing it, and I didn’t like her tone. It showed she didn’t trust me and fuck it all… if she wanted to make sure I didn’t stray, she should have been by my side.
“You shouldn’t have been there in the first place, Nash!” she shouted, slamming her hand onto the kitchen counter. “You knew this would happen—you knew it would look bad!”
“Nothing happened, Bex.” I scrubbed my hand through my hair in frustration. “I never even got near one of those women.”
“But you’d rather be out partying with them than with me,” she spat.
“You’re never home,” I yelled back at her. “You’re always working. You’re married to your damn job, and I’m supposed to just sit here waiting for you to give me a few minutes of your time.”
Her eyes flashed with fury. “Don’t you dare turn this around on me. You know how important my career is. I have to work twice as hard as any man to get the same recognition, so I’ve got to put the hours in. And let’s not forget, I’m not the one out there drinking with half-naked women while we’re planning a wedding!”
Guilt started to creep in because while I didn’t look at those women—didn’t want to because I had Bex—the truth was, maybe I was punishing her a bit for not spending time with me in my world. The words were out before I could even stop them. “Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you actually acted like my fiancée!”
It was below the belt, and I knew it the second the words left my mouth. But the damage was done and I could see by the look on her face she wasn’t going to forgive me for that. Bex pulled her engagement ring off her finger and threw it at me, but I didn’t have time to react. It bounced off my chest and landed on the tile floor, the tiny clink of metal hitting louder than any shout.
“This isn’t working,” she said, her voice breaking. “I can’t marry you.”
I stood shellshocked as she turned and walked into the bedroom. The next thing I knew, I was grabbing my keys and slamming the door behind me. I needed to get out of there, to clear my head.
I didn’t go back for two days. I was furious she’d dare take that ring off. I told myself I needed space, but the truth was, I was too proud to face her. This was on her, not me. I wasn’t the one who callously called off the wedding, and she would have to work hard to get back in my good graces and convince me to put that ring back on her finger.
On the third day, I went home, ready to talk about things, but she was gone. The apartment was half-empty, only my things remaining, and a note sat on the kitchen counter.
“I’m sorry this didn’t work out.–B”
I was stunned. I’d expected we’d fight and bicker and then make up with wild, passionate lovemaking to seal the deal. We’d persevere like we always did, and like a fool, I waited a few days to see if she’d come back.
She didn’t.
She didn’t call or text.
And neither did I. My pride wouldn’t let me.
The next time I saw her was when I was in the hospital after my crash. She came to visit, but I was too mired in bitterness and pain—both physical and mental—to even accept her worry over me. I growled at her to get the fuck out of my room, and she did.
The next time I saw her was in Pittsburgh four days ago and my emotions have been jumbled since. I spend far too much time thinking about her and all the what-ifs.
“You need to grow up, Nash.” I blink, pulling out of the heavy memories to find Bex staring daggers at me. But then her expression turns worried, and she lowers her voice, almost in a pleading tone. “Please don’t mess this job up for me. This is my one shot to make it at this level, and if the other drivers or engineers see you belittling me, they’ll all think they can get away with it. So I’m asking you to please put your hate for me aside and just…” She looks around, searching for an answer, and with a sigh reluctantly returns her attention to me. “Just… can you please leave me alone?”
Christ, it feels like my chest is cracking because she sounds so tired and desperate at the same time. Several things hit me all at once—the biggest is the realization that I don’t want Bex to fail at this job. In fact, I’d really like her to succeed. I also need to rise above the past hurt. That was a long time ago and we’ve both moved on.
But probably the most important thing, although it’s really a tiny revelation, is that she’s brought a bit of clarity to my murky feelings. “I don’t hate you, Bex. And I hope you don’t hate me.”
I see the surprise in her expression, and she shakes her head. “I could never hate you.” She considers that, seems to agree with her own words, and nods. “I can totally be pissed at you, want to see you suffer chronic diarrhea right before a race, but I could never hate you.”
I wince at the diarrhea wish because that’s harsh, but I am relieved that Bex doesn’t hate me. It’s bothered me all these years, the way she left without a backward glance. I assumed she felt nothing but the vilest emotions for me.
A head pops out down the hallway and I see Hendrik pointing at Bex. “Do you have those notes ready?”
She glances at the sodden mess and shakes her head. “I’ve got a few more things I need to add. Can you give me twenty minutes?”
Hendrik’s mouth flattens in disapproval, but he shoos her away impatiently. “You have fifteen.”
Bex darts off without sparing me a glance. Hendrik’s gaze slides to me. “You coming to the meeting?”
“I’ll be there. Got to make a quick phone call first.”
Hendrik lifts his chin and slips back into the room. I head into the hospitality suite and make for the far corner to an unoccupied table with no one sitting nearby.
I pull out my phone and dial my dad. It rings a few times before he picks up.
“Hey, Nash,” my dad greets me, deep and steady. “Jeddah treating you okay?”
I grin a little at his familiar, no-nonsense tone. “It’s hot as hell but I had a great morning exploring some of the city. I’m at the paddock now and getting ready for a strategy meeting. How are things going there?”
My mom yells in the background. “Tell Nash I found the most darling lamp for his bedside table.”
I can envision my dad rolling his eyes as he calls back, “Yes, dear.”
Laughing, I ask, “So Mom’s going all out on decorating my new apartment, huh?”
“She’s a menace, dragging me from one store to the next,” he whispers into the phone.
My parents are currently in Guildford setting up my new apartment that the team found for me only a few miles from the headquarters. Things happened so fast, and my folks volunteered to hop across the pond while I’m in Jeddah to get my things settled.
Everything that I am as a race car driver is because of them. My dad, Matt, was a top mechanic working in open-wheel racing and got me involved in karting when I was young. My mom, Karen, is a school administrator, and while she frets over my safety, she’s been probably my biggest driving force and support in this career. Needless to say, they’re both thrilled that I’m returning to formula racing.
“How’s it feel to be back?” my dad asks.
“Weird,” I say, the first word that comes to mind popping out. “In a good way, but just weird. It’s like I never left, and yet everything seems different.”
“I imagine you’re trying to get your bearings,” he offers. “I’m glad they didn’t put you in the car for this race. You need a little more time to regain your formula legs, so to speak.”
“Agreed,” I say, and then launch into how my simulation runs are going. He asks thoughtful questions, buoyed by his expertise in the sport, and provides me with guidance and advice. It’s typical, and one of the reasons I cherish my relationship with him. He’s my go-to guy when I need to focus on what’s important.
I hear a faint rustling, like he’s checking something. “And how are things with the team? Getting along all right?”
I pause, staring out the window and down to the pit lane below me. “It’s… fine. Everything’s fine.”
There’s a beat of silence before my dad speaks again, his voice soft but perceptive. “You sure about that? You sound tense.”
I shift uncomfortably in the chair, rubbing the back of my neck. I’m not ready to admit to him just how much being around Bex is throwing me off. Hell, I’m not ready to admit it to myself. But my dad’s the kind of guy who always sees through the front I put up.
“It’s just… it’s a lot, Dad,” I say finally. “New team, new car, trying to stay sharp and all that. Plus, there’s Bex.”
I’d told my parents about Bexley being on the team, but they’ve been stoically nonverbal in how they feel about it. My parents didn’t like to see me brokenhearted, but they also loved Bex and realized there was fault on both sides.
Even if I couldn’t see or admit it.
My dad’s tone is neutral. “I imagine that’s difficult. You two didn’t exactly end things on the best terms. Will you be able to work together?”
“Our interactions have been nominal so far, but that’s going to change when we get back after this race. It’s been a bit up and down between us. We’re trying to keep things professional, but we just had a run-in, and we yelled at each other.”
My dad’s voice softens, and I can hear the wisdom in his tone. “Sounds like you’ve got some unresolved feelings there, but that’s not surprising. She’s part of your past and your relationship never really had a defined ending. It just faded without a concrete resolution to give closure. And now she’s part of your present. You can’t ignore that.”
“I’m not ignoring it, I’m just… trying not to deal with it,” I admit, feeling the weight of my own frustration. “It’s not easy to forget the shit we went through. I’m trying to focus on the team, on the race, but every time she’s in the room, it feels like I’m back there again, fighting for something that’s long gone.”
My dad lets out a long breath, the kind that means he’s thinking carefully about what to say. “Look, I’m not saying you should just forgive and forget. You had something amazing and then you didn’t, and I know both of you were hurt. But maybe this is an opportunity, Nash. An opportunity for you to grow, to move past all that. To deal with it, not by ignoring it, but by facing it head-on.”
I run a hand through my hair, irritated by the idea. “You think that’s what this is? An opportunity?”
“Yeah, I do. And it’s okay if you’re angry. Hell, I get it. But I’m not sure you ever really had a chance to process losing Bex. You got in the crash not long after that, and well… you were just trying to recover. You’ve been through a lot and maybe now’s a good time to evaluate what really happened between you and her. This could be your chance to put it behind you and get to a place where it doesn’t haunt you anymore.”
I stare at the floor, his words sinking in. He’s right, of course. He always is. I know what he’s saying—that holding on to the past is only going to weigh me down. But am I ready to forgive Bex? And will she forgive me? It’s funny, but the wounds and scars from the burns I sustained in the crash seemed to have healed far better than the wounds she created on my heart. I wonder if hers still hurts the way mine does.
“That’s a lot to think about, but I promise I will.”
My dad’s voice is gentle but firm. “That’s fair, son. Just remember… you can stay mad, let that anger fester and hold you back, or you can move forward. It’s not about letting her off the hook but about giving yourself the freedom to not be controlled by the past anymore.”
I know he’s right, but I also know that’s not something I can switch on like a light. And yet it’s something I’m going to have to deal with sooner or later. If both Bex and I stay at Titans Racing, we’ll have to get along or neither of us will succeed.
“As always, Mr. Sinclair, you offer the best advice,” I say with a chuckle. “I’ll figure it out.”
“Will you tell Bex your mom and I said hello?” he asks tentatively.
“Of course I will,” I assure him. I would never begrudge my parents reaching out to her. They loved her, just as I did. Granted, they were more circumspect about the entire breakup, somehow able to see both sides of the coin, but they had my back through it all. “Listen… I got to go into a meeting. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Sounds great,” my dad says.
“Oh, and tell Mom to stop buying stuff for my apartment. I just need the very basics. I won’t be there that much anyway with the race schedule.”
“You tell your mom that,” my dad quips. “I’m not about to rain on her parade.”
Laughing, I say, “Fair enough. Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, son.”
I hang up, considering my dad’s advice. He’s right about one thing: This is a new start for me. It’s also a new start for Bexley.
There’s no reason we can’t both succeed at this.