Chapter Two
Luca
“Fuck!” I slammed my racing helmet down on the sofa in my driver’s room before letting my hands sift through my hair in frustration. Another terrible race where Henri had almost sailed away with a victory, while I struggled to keep my points scoring position.
“Knock, knock, can I come in?” My father opened the door, taking a seat on the plush couch before I could object.
“No point in knocking if you’re going to barge in anyway.”
His clenched jaw told me he didn’t appreciate my sarcasm, but quite frankly, I didn’t appreciate his intrusion.
I didn’t care if my father was a former three-time World Champion for Hermes; my private driver’s room was my sanctuary, and he didn’t have a right to barge in whenever he wanted to, even if the rest of the team allowed it.
“Luca, we need to talk.”
“Oh yeah, about what?” After finishing sixth place out of twenty earlier today, I knew exactly what my father wanted to discuss.
Four grid places between me and my golden-boy teammate, Henri.
To my father, any place that wasn’t directly above or below Henri was a failure.
It didn’t matter that sixth place brought points to the team; it simply wasn’t good enough.
“Luca.” His stern voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and I turned to face him as I plopped onto my other sofa. His disapproval was so overbearing I could practically taste it, like soured milk in my coffee. “Luca, I need you to get serious here. What happened today?”
“I just couldn’t get the tire temperature right.” Not a total lie.
“We worked on this earlier, had a strategy around the race start—”
“Well, sometimes strategies don’t play out during a race.”
His piercing gaze felt like a knife to my heart. “Luca, you’re fifth in the championship while Henri is leading! And Georgia, if she keeps driving like she did today, she’s going to quickly catch up to him, leaving you further behind.”
“Well, it would help if the stewards actually did something about Georgia’s aggressive driving,” I muttered.
“Enough!” The sound of my father slamming his hand on the coffee table echoed throughout the room.
“Enough of the whining, Luca. Georgia takes risks, and those risks have turned into rewards. Those were championship-winning moves, something you could learn a thing or two about if you watched her race instead of complaining to the media.”
I bit back the retort that threatened to spill from me, instead opting to stare out of the small window. Pointless was an understatement when it came to arguing with my father. Considering he was famously known for his aggressive overtaking tactics, I knew he lauded Georgia’s driving style.
To him, that’s how a driver became a champion.
My father sighed in frustration, his eyes fixed on mine. “Luca, your existing contract with Hermes is up after this year, and we don’t have a renewal signed. They could easily swap you for another driver. We need to fix your driving, and quickly, or you’re going to get replaced by the team.”
“Don’t you mean we might get replaced?” It was always a team effort with my father until I was losing.
“Luca—”
“What are Hermes going to do, replace me with our reserve driver, Anthony? He’s barely capable of finishing an F2 race, never mind an F1 race.”
“It’s exactly that kind of cocky, arrogant attitude that is going to get you kicked off the team,” he scolded.
“You’re running on borrowed time, son. It’s not just your pathetic performance this season, it’s your image in the media.
Your blasé attitude towards driving is making the team’s sponsors reconsider their contracts.
After the yacht incident over winter break, I can only keep your name out of the papers for so long. ”
By my age, my father had won three world championships. My biggest achievement? I’d managed to steal a yacht off the coast of Spain… and get caught.
“Maybe Hermes should just give Anthony my seat—”
“Luca Michael Rossi,” my dad cut me off. “For fuck’s sake, I don’t want to hear that crap come out of your mouth again.”
I pointedly avoided my father’s gaze, wishing for a moment that I had asked my mother to attend this race. After my embarrassing qualifying yesterday, I’d told her not to bother. Both my parents didn’t need to watch me disappoint them.
“Sometimes the car just doesn’t click with me,” I sighed.
“Then you need to work harder. Like Henri.”
Because my fucking teammate was so perfect.
Every muscle in my body tensed at hearing his name.
Last year we’d had a good relationship, a friendship even, but this year the team had made it clear that Henri was their number one driver, their priority, the future of Hermes Racing.
My only job was to not crash the car and make sure Henri won, not the other way around.
Why bother trying to win if Hermes were just going to take it away from me?
“What does the golden boy bring to the team that I don’t?” I crossed my arms, before sarcastically adding, “Definitely not good looks and charm…”
“Dedication,” my father deadpanned, ignoring the sarcasm oozing from my body.
“Henri cares more about his professional life than his private one. Something you could stand to learn from him.” My father didn’t give me a chance to respond before he slammed a photo onto the table with such force my water bottle flew off.
Shit. I knew that photographer from a few nights ago was a tabloid journalist. I grimaced. There, sitting on the coffee table, was a less-than-flattering photo of myself draped over not one but three women at a party that even I knew I shouldn’t have attended so close to a Grand Prix.
“Feel free to profusely thank me for shelling out tons of money to have this destroyed…” I peeked at the photo before sheepishly looking up at him.
“Thanks—”
“I mean it, Luca. This is the last time I’m doing this.
I don’t know what’s gotten into you. You used to love racing, but now…
now I barely recognize this person sitting in front of me.
Two years ago, you were second in the championship, and yet this season you’re barely holding on to fifth place.
Keep this up, and not only will Hermes not want you next year, but no other team will either. ”
Without another word, my father rose from the couch. He ran a hand through his graying hair, his lips pressed into a thin line, before striding out of the room. I slinked back onto my sofa cushion, grabbing the photo from the table. After giving it one last glance, I shredded it into pieces.