Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
Bex
T he heat is oppressive as I step out of the hotel, and the hijab I’m wearing isn’t helping. While Saudi Arabia is a conservative country with rigid adherence to the laws of Islam, women are not required to wear the hijab as long as they dress modestly. However, the women on our team—as do many of the race teams—choose to wear the hijab to cover our hair when out in public as a sign of respect.
I follow behind the other engineers as we make our way over to the track, within walking distance from where we’re staying. In a few hours, we’ll conduct the track walk, which is part tradition and part crucial work. The entire team, including the drivers, will traverse it together, making detailed notes of surface conditions, curbs, braking zones and the like.
We’re all wearing our Titans Racing gear—white, long-sleeve shirts with subtle purple trim and logo patches across the chest, back and arms. All our major sponsors are displayed with the Titans logo on the chest pocket and across the back of the shoulders.
I inhale deeply, loving the smell of saltwater as the Red Sea sparkles in tones of orange under the late-afternoon sun. Although it’s sweltering, I know in a few hours I’ll be able to feel the cooler temperatures as they’re carried on the sea breeze.
The engineers talk easily among one another, but not to me. I’m the only new member to the team and they’ve all got established bonds. While I’ve not been overtly excluded, I haven’t been fully included yet. Which is fine. I’m here to do my job, not make best friends.
I pull the strap of my bag higher on my shoulder and push my sunglasses up my sweating nose, watching the bustle as tourists meander along the Corniche. I try to envision what it will look like in two days when open practices start and fans flock to the grandstands to watch the cars making their last runs, which will spur my team to make adjustments. Today, teams are running final checks, drivers are gathering their thoughts, and engineers bustle about like ants on a mission. Tonight is the sponsor party, where all the teams and their owners and sponsors hobnob.
When we enter the track facilities, I drop back a little farther from the rest of the team, unwinding the hijab from my head. It’s a beautiful piece of material that Brienne Norcross had made for the women on the team, done in Titans purple with silver threads shot through. I tuck it into my purse as I stroll among the buildings and roll up my shirt sleeves to mid arm.
Walking through the paddock, I see the team tents all set up, massive Titans Racing logos gleaming in the fading sunlight. Beyond the tents is the back entrance to the garage which leads out to pit lane, and above the garage are the meeting rooms and hospitality suite. Our gear is here, our team ready, and my nerves crackle with anticipation. I’ve worked so hard to get here. I’ve attended hundreds of races at all levels, but I’ve never been in charge of the strategy of something so important. It’s no longer just about handling the data and making adjustments from a comfortable office or behind closed doors. It’s about making split-second decisions that can cost or win a race.
In just four short days, my career will either take off or break down, depending on how my strategy pans out. No pressure at all.
“Bexley!”
I turn, recognizing the voice of Harley Patrick, the team principal for Crown Velocity. While it’s certainly newsworthy that the chief race strategy engineer for Titans Racing is a female, Harley burst through the glass ceiling by becoming the number one for that team. She’s the first and only female in that position in formula racing, the ultimate pinnacle, and she knows her way around a racetrack, having been behind the wheel herself.
A wide grin splits her face as she winds between people walking the main concourse. When she reaches me, she gives me a hard hug.
Harley and I have known each other for years, as there are so few women in motorsports that you tend to bond with them. “How are you settling in?” she asks, then throws her thumb over her shoulder. “I just ran into Brienne, and she was chattering on about you as one of her prized additions to the team.”
Pride swells within me even as my mouth falls open slightly in shock. “She said that?”
Harley laughs, linking her arm through mine, and we continue to walk. “Of course she did. She expects big things of you.”
“Jeez. No pressure,” I mutter.
“But seriously,” she says, squeezing my arm. “How are things going?”
“I feel confident,” I reply, my smile softening. “I’m just trying to stay focused, you know?”
“Want to share your strategy with me?” she asks with mirth.
“Only if you share yours with me?” I reply with a laugh.
“We both know that’s not going to happen.” She stops and turns to face me. “But just so you know, I’m watching you. Don’t be surprised if Crown comes knocking on your door.”
My face flushes at the thought that this woman might want me on her team. Her words reinforce and validate the importance of what I’ve achieved. I nod in appreciation, but I’m also aware that there’s a lot of work ahead. I can’t let myself get sucked into the fantasy that I might be so good as to be solicited. I haven’t even made it through my first FI race yet.
Her hand squeezes my arm. “Good luck. You got this. And don’t forget, it’s such a huge win for women in motorsports. I can’t tell you how proud I am of you.”
I blink hard to dispel the sting in my eyes. “Thank you.”
“I got to go. We’ll talk at the sponsor party tonight, okay?”
“Sure,” I say as she starts sidestepping away from me with a wave. Her attention is already on someone else she sees down the way and she’s calling out to them.
I check my watch—four-thirty p.m. I really don’t have anything to do until the track walk. There’s no one here I’m close with, and so I had planned to sit in my small office on the second floor, running through the data that I’ve now memorized since I’ve gone through it so many times.
But I don’t want to be cooped up. Even though it’s hot as Hades out here, I love the energy buzzing around all the team garages. This race is monumental for me and I should take some time to experience it all.
I stroll along the paddock line, taking in the activity. The British flag hangs up ahead on the Union Jack Motorsports tent, clashing with the team colors of yellow, black and gray. No one from my dad’s days works there anymore, but I know some of the guys and wave as I pass by. There are three FI teams based out of Great Britain—Crown Velocity, Union Jack Motorsports and Britannia Performance. You’d think there’d be some sort of extra camaraderie based on nationality, but truthfully, every member of every team is far too competitive. Besides, formula racing transcends national ties. The sport is too international, each team an incredible blend of people from all over the world. While English is the primary language spoken, if you open your ears, you’ll hear a kaleidoscope of accents and dialects.
I can’t help but smile as I spy Carlos Moreno sitting in a chair under his team’s tent, surfing his phone. Carlos is from Mexico and the number one driver for Union Jack. He’s that guy in the sport who everyone loves, and I doubt anyone could find a bad word to say about him. He’s an excellent driver, has tremendous sportsmanship and a devilish sense of humor.
His head lifts as I approach, and a wide smile breaks out on his face. He stands, pocketing his phone, and opens his arms. “Ah… mi hermosa Bex,” he croons.
“What did you just call me?” I ask, laughing as we hug.
He pulls back, hands at my arms, and looks me in the eye. “I called you my beautiful Bex . It’s been a long time, no?”
“Far too long and I’m in no way beautiful,” I admonish, giving him a playful push to his chest.
“You’re obviously blind when you look in the mirror,” he chides and then indicates a chair near his. “Got time to hang out?”
“Only for you,” I tease. Or am I flirting?
No, definitely teasing. Carlos has always been like a brother to me.
I sit down beside the handsome driver and take him in. I’ve known him since we were kids. When I say pretty much all these drivers grew up together, it’s the truth. They all raced on the same karting tracks, and I was there beside my dad watching them. We’ve seen each other through pimples and braces, heartbreaks and heartaches.
He nods at me, looking down to the Titans logo on my shirt pocket. “How’s it going?”
“It’s still sinking in. I feel like I’m in a dream.”
Carlos chuckles. “I always knew it was a dream you’d achieve.”
“How could you have known that when I didn’t?”
“You knew it, Bex. Otherwise, you’d have never aimed for that top spot.” He wags his finger at me. “You have that sort of spirit that won’t ever give up if you want something bad enough. Besides, you’re one of the most determined people I know. Definitely have one of the strongest work ethics.”
While that statement should make me feel good, it saddens me because for some strange reason, it makes me think of my failed relationship with Nash.
I shake off those dark sentiments. “Well, I appreciate the compliment. Things looking good for Union Jack?”
Carlos shrugs casually, his smile never fading. “Same old, really. Some good, some bad. But hey, I’m happy to still be here, you know?” His gaze upon me turns softer. “It’s really good to see you.”
His genuine joy floods me with a giddiness that feels like champagne bubbles coursing through my blood. “I couldn’t have done it without a lot of people supporting me,” I admit. “And honestly, it feels a bit surreal to be here.”
Carlos gives me a nod of understanding before his gaze flicks around the paddock. “I have to say, I was surprised to see you and Nash end up on the same team,” he says, the words coming out carefully, as if gauging my response. “Actually… I was surprised to see him back in FI again.”
I shake my head. “Not me. I always knew he’d get back in, but yeah…” My voice drifts off, my fingers plucking at a string on my sleeve. “A shock to be on the same team.”
Carlos’s lip curls up in a half smile. “I’m going to be nosy and ask how that’s going?”
I lift a shoulder, unsure how to even describe my feelings on the matter. When my gaze meets his, I admit, “It’s just weird.”
His head cocks to the side. “How so?”
Carlos knows a bit about our breakup. As we’ve hung out from time to time over the years, he was an easy ear to listen to my frustrations with the demise of my and Nash’s relationship. Carlos was close to Nash as well, and while he never told me anything that Nash might have said to him, I knew he sympathized with us both.
With a sigh, I lean back into the chair. “I don’t know. There was so much anger when we broke up that we just… parted ways and never really said goodbye to each other.” He left our apartment after our fight and then didn’t come back. After a full day and night, I was pissed. I was convinced he’d gone out to party with friends and possibly women. That was more important to him than coming home and trying to convince me to put that ring back on. My stubborn pride had me leaving with only a very short note of farewell.
And Nash never once tried to call or text me. I took that to mean he was glad it was over, and man, did that hurt.
Then it made me angry and bitter toward him, and I’ve never been able to let that go.
“Where did you go, Bex?” Carlos chides, and I blink at him.
He comes into focus, and I feel my cheeks heat. “Sorry… went down memory lane without you, I guess.” I clear my throat, sit straighter in the chair. “Like I said… it’s weird, but we haven’t tried to kill each other yet.”
“And you haven’t seen him since you broke up?”
“Once,” I say, remembering that visit to his hospital room after the crash. I was watching his race on TV and when I saw the flames, I about died a thousand terrifying deaths. “I went to see him in the hospital. The day after the crash.”
Carlos can hear it in my voice. It was not a pleasant experience. “What happened?”
I grimace, remembering how horrible Nash had looked. His face was red with second-degree burns, his hands wrapped because of third-degree burns. He was heavily medicated, given the extent of his injuries. When I first walked in, he stared at me through a fog, but then I could see the moment when he realized who I was. I’ve never seen eyes go so cold before. “He was not happy to see me,” I admit quietly. “Asked me to leave.”
Actually yelled at me, except his voice was raspy and abraded. I didn’t miss the enmity, though. “Get the fuck out, Bex, and don’t come back.”
There was so much venom in his words, I felt like I’d been slapped. I took a step backward, unsure of what to do. His manager, Greg Persons, happened to walk into the room at that moment. Because he can handle any situation, he took me by the arm and gently steered me out.
“Now’s not a good time, Bex,” he said gently. “He’s in a lot of pain, on medication…”
“I just… I just wanted to make sure he’s okay,” I said lamely. I had no idea why I was there, other than when I thought he might die, I thought I’d die too.
“I know,” he said with a hand on my shoulder.
I had no clue how badly injured he was, so I asked, “Will he be able to race again?”
Greg’s face clouded with uncertainty. “I don’t know. His hands are badly burned. He’s going to need reconstructive surgery and if he can retain flexibility, I’m sure he can.”
“His voice… is that from the fire?” I asked. When Nash had croaked the hateful words at me, they sounded like they caused him physical pain.
Greg shook his head slowly, his mouth turning downward. “His vocal cords got injured from screaming.”
I gasped, my hand going to my mouth and tears pooling. “The pain from the burns?”
Again, he shook his head. “Screaming at Matteo. Trying to get at him to help free him from his car. Matteo was screaming in agony, and Nash was screaming in horror as he watched him burn to death.”
I had never, until that moment, had emotion make me sick, but I tore away from Greg and ran down the hall before I threw up in front of him. I had to take deep gulping breaths to force the nausea away and I didn’t stop running until I was in the parking lot. I couldn’t bear to think of what Nash had been through and the journey he’d have to recover. I couldn’t stand to think about it because I knew I had no place at his side to help him, and the only thing I could do was once again shut that door on that part of my life and hope he would be okay.
A touch on my knee makes me jump, and Carlos leans toward me, his face etched with concern. “Are you okay? I lost you there again.”
“I’m sorry,” I stammer, rubbing my hands over my face. “Just… memories, you know?”
“I’m sorry I brought it up,” he says, chastened. “Not my business.”
“No,” I exclaim, reaching out to grab his hand. “I appreciate your concern.”
“I care about you and Nash,” he says, and I nod in understanding. “I know he went through a lot. He lived through what every one of us drivers fear the most. It’s not dying, and it’s not broken bones or being paralyzed. It’s being burned because chances are if you’re in that situation, you’re going to end up like Matteo and not like Nash. He’s the lucky one.”
“I don’t even like to think about it,” I whisper, a painful admission.
“Then let’s talk about something happy, okay?”
I give a watery laugh, realizing for the first time my throat is clogged with emotion. “Okay. What should we talk about?”
Carlos’s eyes sparkle mischievously. “Have you met Lex Hamilton’s girlfriend, Posey?”
“No!” I exclaim, mad at myself I didn’t get more of the scandalous scoop from Harley when I had her in my clutches. And I haven’t seen Lex in a while. “I loved reading about it, though.”
It came out just a week and a half ago, after the Bahrain race, that an American romance author had lied her way into Crown Velocity, claiming to be a journalist. I don’t have all the details, but apparently Harley knew from the start exactly who she was and opened the door to her. And now, it looks like Lex has fallen for the wily little writer.
It’s just my type of romance story. I mean, if I still believed in romance.
Which I do not.
“I’ll introduce you tonight at the sponsor party. You’ll really like her.”
“Well, anyone who can tame Lex Hamilton is golden to me,” I quip. I glance at my watch and decide I should get going. I stand from the chair and Carlos mimics me. “We got our track walk I need to get ready for. It was great hanging with you.”
We hug and Carlos says, “Promise me we’ll hang tonight.”
“So I can bore you to death?” I ask with a grin.
“So I can have the prettiest girl by my side,” he says, taking my hand and kissing the back.
I appreciate the subtle flirtation, but Carlos doesn’t truly mean it that way and he knows I’m not getting involved with another driver. I’m staying away from anyone in this sport as a romantic potential.
“Thank you though,” I say, spontaneously giving him another hug. “It really means the world to be able to spill a bit of my guts to someone I know cares.”
“Anytime,” he says when we pull away and I flinch as I see Nash walking toward the Titans tent.
Carlos turns his head that way and neither of us miss the cold look Nash has leveled at us.
I feel a flush of guilt creep through me even though I have nothing to feel guilty about.
Carlos, however, laughs quietly. He nudges my shoulder. “I think someone still has feelings for you.”
“Yeah… hatred,” I murmur.
“That was pure jealousy, Bex,” Carlos says with another laugh. More like a cackle actually, as we watch Nash disappear into the tent.
No way. Nash would never consider me his in any shape, form or fashion. I’m nothing to him other than his chief race strategy engineer. And I’m not even sure we can get along in that capacity.