Chapter 29
Seven months later
Barcelona, Spain
Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya
“Mio dio, this cannot be real.” The mechanic standing nearest to me clutches his heart and slumps against the wall.
“Cos’e successo?” Another mechanic rushes over.
I do my best to keep from grinning. Only one thing could incite this kind of reaction from my new team: Dietrich must have dropped the news.
“Justine!” Roz comes barging in, her navy Orbital jacket standing out like some kind of homing beacon in the sea of Marino red. “Is this a prank? My horoscope said it was going to be an ordinary month.”
Normally Mateo would never allow someone from another team—especially Marino’s biggest rival—to set foot in our garage, but he also has his nose glued to the phone, momentarily too startled to worry about competitive espionage.
“What are you talking about?” I bat my eyes innocently.
Dietrich spent all summer drafting, practicing, and redrafting his speech for his father.
Despite this, he still showed up at my room at the W this morning nauseous with nerves.
I hadn’t actually been sure he’d still go through with it when I left for the F2 running sessions.
“Don’t play dumb.” Roz waves her phone in my face. I see the Breaking Alert notification from BBC Sports. Her lock screen is still a snapshot of the two of us celebrating in Austin.
I smile at the photo and turn back to my preparations, pulling on my brand-new flame-resistant driving gloves. I love the earthy smell of fresh Nomex—it always reminds me of the hope and anticipation of what a new season will bring.
“So? Is he really retiring?” Roz hasn’t moved. She leans against my car, tapping the tips of her nails—black with silver snowflakes—against the shiny red paint.
“Get your grubby paws off Lisa.” I make a shooing motion toward Roz. This year my car is named after the most iconic painting from the most iconic time period in Italian history, since I’m driving for the most iconic Italian sports team. “Don’t you have to get back to your own garage?”
“Not till you answer my question.”
“Do you really think Dietrich would play a joke like that?”
She draws a sharp breath. “Oh my god. It is true. Why would he do that? He’s so young, he can break all kinds of records if he keeps going.”
“I think he has other things he wants to do.”
Roz looks as if I just announced I’m eloping with Sasha Devin to the Himalayas. “What could possibly be better than what he’s doing now? He’s mad.”
Part of me secretly agrees—Dietrich is crazy to give all this up.
I could never imagine stepping away from a red-hot F1 career, but I’m not Dietrich, and it’s incredible he’s decided to go after his own dreams after years of chasing someone else’s.
I’m pretty proud of him, actually. He’ll still go down in the history books, just on his own terms.
“You over there, Orbital.” Mateo’s voice rings out from the other side of the garage. I guess he’s finally out of his Dietrich-induced stupor. “We cannot have non-Marino here.”
“Crap,” Roz hisses. “Text me everything after you’re done with this session.”
Cameron, dressed head to toe in an Orbital F2 race suit, steps into the entrance of our garage. Even after half a year, his smile makes my breath catch.
I scoot over to him, weaving around Lisa and dodging wrenches, duct tape, and other tools scattered across the floor. “What are you doing here?”
“The boys are still finishing up work.” He smiles down at me, impossibly handsome as always. “Everyone got distracted by the Dietrich news. Thought I’d sneak away and say hi.”
“What is this?” Mateo huffs over. “Is there a sign saying ‘Orbital welcome here’?”
“Sorry.” Cameron grins sheepishly. “Wanted to wish my girlfriend good luck.”
“Mamma mia.” Mateo shakes his gray lion mane hair. “Hurry, okay? And, Justine—he cannot take another step in or I am going to file a complaint.” He stalks off, muttering under his breath.
“Marino gets loads of free press out of us,” Cameron says. “You’d think the bloke would appreciate all the coverage.”
“Marino corporate likes it.” I lower my voice conspiratorially. “But I think Mateo would rather just win races.”
“Well, sadly, you lot aren’t winning anything this year.” He lowers his face, leaning his forehead against mine. “Not if me and the Orbital lads have anything to say about it.”
“That confident, huh?”
“Just you wait.” His breath is warm on my lips. “I’m going to beat you by a hundred points this year.”
There’s something impossibly thrilling about all of it—the dimple in his cheek, the sparkle in his eye, the busy, swirling world around us. Hundreds of people getting ready for a new season. My heart pounds with the kind of headiness that makes me feel anything is possible.
“Keep dreaming, Evans,” I say, then I stand up on my tiptoes and kiss him.
“What did I say?” Mateo barks from the telemetry station. “Stop the baciarti and get in the car.”
“Guess I should go before Mateo pops a vein.”
I stifle a laugh. “Probably. See you on-track.”
He pulls me in for one last kiss, then dashes out. Mateo glares after, fist clenched around his thousand-dollar Bose headset like he’s going to turn it into a weapon if Cameron dares to pop back in.
I pull on my helmet and HANS device, scrambling into the cockpit before Mateo can turn his disgruntled attention to me.
Lisa activates, her engine vibrating with nearly twice the horsepower Lizzie had.
I steer her out of the garage and through the pit lane, pausing to wait for the green light at the exit before joining the track.
“Welcome to Marino, Justine.” Arturo, my new engineer, comes over the radio. “Let’s put the car through her paces. Show us what you got.”
“Leave it to me,” I reply.
Then I press Lisa’s throttle and let her fly.