Chapter 15
TELEMETRY LAG: DELAY IN REAL-TIME DATA TRANSMISSION
The car ticks as it cools, metal settling in sharp, uneven clicks.
In spite of my accelerated breathing, I keep my gloves on, knowing there’s every possibility Christin may collude with Dario to send me back onto a track that didn’t just challenge me physically, but required me to step outside my comfort zone from Turn One.
My hands are braced on the halo, pulse still riding the edge of the last lap, but it’s not the intensity of the track that has my heart palpitating.
It’s her.
Christin stands ten feet away, tablet in hand, debriefing Dario like I’m not here. It hurts to realize just how different this could have been if I’d listened to my heart. If I’d trusted her.
If I’d believed in myself the way she apparently did and does.
I stare down at the console of the machine I just whipped around the track. I run my hand over the wheel, thinking about how I almost told her I loved her over the radio when the wheels responded exactly how she promised they would.
Tuning back into her debrief with Dario, I catch her saying, “Turn Nine improvement held on the third and fourth laps. Input is consistent through the exit now.”
Dario nods. “Leo? Your thoughts?”
I push myself out of the car. Leaning against it, I rip off my gloves. “Even if this is the early stage, it’s phenomenally better.” I can’t say much more because if I do, I know I’ll drop to my knees in front of the entire team and beg her to let me fix us.
Her gaze flicks to me and offers me a quick smile. “Thanks.”
Christ, did I screw myself over.
Around us, the team hums in anticipation. Engineers, mechanics, strategy—all are moving forward, like this is the best day they’ve ever worked for us. Knowing I’m likely to be shot down, I still risk being rebuffed. Pushing off the car, I ask, “Can we please talk?”
Christin doesn’t even look in my direction. “Does it involve the car?”
“No.”
“Then, not right now, we can’t. We have a car to optimize and a session window that’s closing in”—she checks her watch—“one hour and twelve minutes. If you’d like to have a conversation, tell me something useful.”
Recognizing this is the only way she’s going to talk to me while she’s working, I surrender. “What do you want to know?”
“Start with a detailed breakdown of corner entry feel instead of vague statements like ‘it’s better.’”
We discuss the improvements for a while before Christin asks, “Is there anything you’d change?”
Taking the words as all-encompassing, I step closer and murmur, “Too much for me to say standing at a pit wall.”
She stills. It’s subtle. Anyone else would miss it. But I don’t because I’ve studied the way her body moves in intimate detail. Her fingers tighten slightly around the tablet. Not enough to draw attention. Just enough to tell me I hit something.
Dario clears his throat, the sound carrying more meaning than words. “I’ll give you both a few minutes to recalibrate. I’ll be checking in with the engineers on sector timing.”
He glares at me over his shoulder. I don’t need a translator to understand that he’s threatening me. I can hear him in my head telling me not to screw this up.
Once he steps aside, Christin finally looks at me.
I thought I wanted her attention, but God, I wasn’t ready for the devastation I glimpse on her face.
Then, before I can blink, she slips back into her professional mask, where her only operational modes are precision and control.
Her voice is perfectly even when she remarks, “Then you should’ve chosen a different time or place. ”
I wince. “I’m—”
“No.” The word cuts through mine cleanly.
I stop speaking because I don’t get to push my agenda. Not here. Not now.
Her gaze drops briefly to the tablet before lifting again, like she’s reminding herself why she’s here. “For the purposes of this session, you’ll keep your feedback specific to the car. Anything else is off the table.”
“Understood.” For now, I think.
She eyes me for a second longer, like she’s gauging whether I actually will keep my word. Whether I’ll respect the boundary she just set. “Good,” she says.
We talk for about ten minutes, answering her questions about the software’s effectiveness. Then she turns slightly, angling her body away from me as she addresses my team. “I want Leo to run it again while we still have the same temperature parameters.”
“One lap?” Dario calls from where he’s now consulting with the pit crew.
“Ideally, I’d like to confirm consistency across five.”
There’s quick movement to prep the car. Except I don’t move. I can’t.
Slowly, she turns back. She reminds me, “We’re both working.”
Silence stretches between us again, but this time, it’s deliberate. I force myself to stay where I am when I murmur, “I meant what I said earlier.”
Her brow furrows slightly. “Which part?”
“All of it.”
Her expression shifts just enough to let me know she heard my unspoken appeal. “Noted,” she says. She glances past me toward the car as the team signals it’s ready. “Time to get back in. Let’s wrap this up.”
I don’t move right away because despite the urge to make things right between us, I also know I don’t get to push for more.
“Right.” I turn toward the car and gear back up before climbing back in—the familiar feel of the seat molds to my body like a second skin. As I pull the harness tight, I glance back. Christin’s already turned away again, focused entirely on the data she’s receiving from the software she built.
I fire the engine. The vibration rattles through me, grounding and disorienting all at once. I wheel out onto the track. When I’m given the go, I push the car. I’m not just chasing motion or statistics; I know I’m chasing approval.
But as I hit the first corner, my mind drifts to her. To the words I don’t get to say yet.
When my laps are complete, I come back in, hoping she’ll look at me.
It takes long moments before her gaze meets mine. “We’re done for today.” Then she adds, “I’ll talk to you about more than the car when I’m good and ready. Not before. So, keep your mind focused.”