Chapter 18
LOAD SENSITIVITY: CAR BEHAVIOR CHANGES UNDER STRESS:
Location: Bahrain
Bahrain isn’t like the United States. This isn’t somewhere I can disappear into the background without thought.
Here, I’m aware of myself in a different way—the quiet expectations that exist even inside the sanctity of Formula One.
My outfits are looser, shoulders and knees covered at all times, because being here as a woman means conforming to their cultural expectations.
I start my morning by typing a message in the group chat I created for Maya, Amy, Emery, Aio, and myself.
Me:
The heat in Bahrain is not my friend. I’m tempted to steal someone’s Dude Wipes.
Their lack of sympathy ranges from funny to hysterical.
Maya sends me a GIF of Emma Stone sobbing from Easy A.
Amy remarks it’s my punishment for staying in five-star hotels.
Emery sends a picture of herself with a stoic expression, captioning it, “This is my shocked face.”
Aio breaks the whole chat by asking if I’m experiencing “desert snatch soup,” which causes me to choke. After I catch my phone from hitting the floor due to my fumbling it while laughing, I read:
Maya:
Can’t breathe.
Aio:
Good, because you don’t want to around snatch soup. Use the wipes!
Amy:
Brennan just paused the game to ask if I’m okay since I’m wheezing.
Emery:
Aio, you owe me a drink and dry cleaning. I just spewed.
I shut away my hysterical friends the moment I step into the Apex Orion garage.
Being in the desert isn’t romanticized like people imagine when they watch The Mummy.
There’s no Brendan Fraser to save the day.
Here, the only constant is relentless heat.
It seeps into everything—tires, brakes, wiring, the way data can overload a system.
Plus, it makes people cranky. Especially me. “Telemetry sync?” I bark without looking up from my pacing.
“Running,” one of the team’s engineers, Mike, replies. “Latency is stable.”
“Define stable.”
“Within tolerance.”
I stop moving.
Mike sighs. “Within your tolerance.”
“Better.”
I head toward the car where its nose is angled toward pit lane like it’s already impatient for Leo to get his game face on.
The Apex Orion’s midnight wine color gleams under the artificial lights, but I wouldn’t care if it was bubblegum pink.
I don’t see aesthetics. I see what’s now attached to his steering wheel.
The new telemetry system involves lines of code uploaded to a chip beneath the carbon fiber.
Input curves and response delays were designed to look effortless.
With this, I’ll be able to spot milliseconds before a decision becomes movement.
Just as quickly, I’ll know whether the software I prototyped for the team will work or fail.
Because once he’s out there, there’s no separation between driver and machine. My software will either respond to Leo or betray him.
My throat tightens as I step closer, gaze tracking along the steering assembly like I can somehow see through it. Like I can reach inside and hold every variable steady myself.
He’ll fight it. And at two hundred miles per hour, fighting the car is how you lose control.
Or worse.
I exhale slowly, forcing my shoulders to square. It’s going to be fine, I tell myself. What I do is develop systems that maintain precision under pressure, ensuring they work the first time because there is no margin for error.
But there’s a difference between a failing system on a screen and one wrapped around a man I—. I cut the thought off before it can fully form.
This isn’t about him.
It can’t be.
I drag my focus back to the data I know is waiting, to the adjustments I’ve already mapped out. Because fear doesn’t belong here. Control does.
“Christin.”
Dario’s voice cuts through the hum of the garage, and I look up to find him watching me with that quiet, assessing calm that means he’s already ten steps ahead.
“Everything ready?” he asks.
“As ready as it’s going to be. We’ll need to monitor thermal drift carefully. Bahrain’s surface holds heat longer than the models suggest.”
He taps his headset. “You’ve got a direct line to me and Leo.”
As if saying his name conjured him, I look past Dario, and there he is.
Already in partial gear, Leo’s got his balaclava around his neck and his suit unzipped at the collar.
He’s checking in with one of the mechanics, but I can tell he’s distracted.
Like his body is here and his mind is somewhere else entirely.
That’s not new since we talked a few nights ago. What’s different is how aware I am of it. I will him to focus, as I force my own attention back to where it belongs. “Run me through the entire mapping again.”
Mike pulls the data up. “Turn One, we’re looking at a smoother load transfer. The correction curve is dampened by—”
I hear Mike’s voice take me through every turn, every angle Leo will make. Still, even as I’m listening to how he’ll be optimized coming out of Turn Eight, I say a quick prayer it will work. Because it has to.
The pit hums with controlled urgency as race time closes in.
Tires are stacked, prepped, and labeled. Engineers move with purpose, headsets on, voices low but constant. Every action is deliberate. Every second accounted for. It should feel chaotic, but it doesn’t. It feels structured and predictable, which is soothing.
I move around the car, checking sensor connections, verifying the telemetry inputs, and confirming every system is communicating with the garage.
The diagnostics report exactly what they should.
Everything aligns. Everything holds. And yet I don’t want to step away.
It’s not my code calling to me, it’s him.
This time, I don’t fight the pull. Stepping around the front wing, I stop just short of where he’s standing. I call out, “Leo.”
He turns as if he’s been waiting for me to say his name. His eyes meet mine, and for a second, I forget the garage and the race. I momentarily get lost in his green eyes before I recall the entire reason I’m even standing here. Keeping my tone level, I ask, “How does it feel?”
“Different.”
“Good or unsettling?”
He considers that. “Both.”
“That’s expected.”
“You’ll want to anticipate the car through Turn Ten. Don’t.” I shift into what I know. What’s going to keep me sane while he’s driving.
His mouth curves slightly. “Still on that kick?”
“Yes, because I know you. You’re going to say something rude the first time about botching it. Then, you’ll be devastated later about not listening.”
“I don’t do that.”
“You did.”
His expression shifts, something heavier threading through it. He says quietly so no one else can hear, “I’m never going to do that again.”
I stop myself from engaging further because I don’t want to divert Leo’s attention. He needs absolute concentration for the whole three hundred kilometers. For two hours, Leo will need to drive flawlessly—every reaction deliberate to evoke consistency.
“Your inputs need to stay clean,” I say instead, tapping the side of the steering wheel. “If you start compensating mid-corner, you’ll break the feedback loop.”
He nods, but he’s still looking at me like there’s something else he wants to say. He blows out a breath before saying my name. “Christin.”
“No,” I cut in, softer this time but no less firm. “Focus on the race.”
“The race. Right.”
We stand next to each other longer than necessary. Close enough that I’m aware of the heat of his body over that of the desert. The way his hand shifts slightly like he’s resisting the instinct to reach for me. The memory of what that felt like when he didn’t resist that temptation.
I step back first because I have to. “You’ve got this.”
He offers me a crooked smile. “I hope so.”
Just then, Dario announces, “He’s ready for his helmet.”
The team moves in immediately. As they lower the helmet over his head, something in my chest tightens unexpectedly, recalling the times when I was a kid watching my father race.
I remember standing near the pit, watching his team prep him.
The ritual of it. The way everything narrows down to the inherent trust between driver and machine.
“Radio check,” Dario’s voice cuts through my memories.
“Loud and clear,” Leo responds.
I stay outside the immediate circle, tablet in hand, watching the raw data, monitoring the system, and tracking him.
“Christin?” Dario says.
“Yes.”
“You’re patched in to Leo.”
“Understood.”
Leo’s voice comes through loud and clear in my headset. “You’ll be like my own personal guardian angel—not that I necessarily deserve one.”
I blush flaming red as the team rolls the car forward. I walk alongside for a few steps, keeping my focus on anything else to cool my heated cheeks. But just before he pulls out, I look up and catch Leo’s gaze locked onto mine.
I murmur into my headset, “Trust the system. Trust yourself.”
His head dips slightly. Then, he replies, “I trust you even more.”
That’s when his engine roars to life. He drives away, heading for the grid. Just like that, he’s gone. I stand in place longer than I should as data begins to stream across my tablet. Everything is responding the way I planned, but nerves cause my hands to shake.
I conclude that we can’t move forward without ultimate trust on both sides.
I don’t have time to give this much thought as he exits the grid to complete one full lap to warm up the car. Data continues to come in. I exhale slowly. “This is encouraging.”
For the first time since I walked back into his life, I’m ready for whatever happens.