Chapter 24
YELLOW FLAG: HAZARD, NO OVERTAKING
Location: Jeddah
The next stop on the circuit feels different, not because I’m not prepared.
I’ve studied every corner of Jeddah Corniche Circuit, every braking zone, every data anomaly the Apex team logged here last season.
I know where his car will fight him. I know where the system will be tested.
I can anticipate what Leo will try to do to override the software.
Since we’ve arrived in Jeddah for the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix, the air feels like something is humming beneath it. The vibrations of ancient civilizations transcend with modern expectations.
Shaking out of my reverie, my work today is limited to the garage and paddock. Much like in Bahrain, I don’t want to draw attention to myself. Every time I speak over the headset, it’s carefully controlled.
Focusing my energy on the team, I study the route.
In Jeddah, the circuit drapes through the city like arbitrary ribbons—walls close, speeds high, no margin for hesitation.
With the race being run at night, the lights will be unforgiving, amplifying mistakes and challenging every single one of Leo’s driving skills.
The Apex Orion garage hums with controlled urgency. They know the Jeddah course won’t tolerate errors. I’ve modified the telemetry to reflect faster inputs, tighter thresholds, less forgiveness.
As Leo flashes past the garage opening at full speed, a rush of air snaps against my skin like a warning. It’s like the track itself is telling me to be cautious. Still, my job is to monitor Leo, ensure there is no margin for error, and point out the consequences of a wrong decision.
Much like my feelings for him. The thought halts my fingers.
“Christin? Are you okay?” Mike asks me.
I start my analysis over again before responding, “Sorry. Yes. I just fumbled for a minute.”
Hearing what he had to say the other night still leaves me with a particularly unwelcome feeling.
It’s a variable I can’t ignore. I stare down at the data on my screen, forcing my focus back to measurable results.
But even as I contemplate what’s happening on the course, I can easily connect it to what’s happening between us personally.
What can be fixed? What can he change? Will it happen again?
But my personal conclusion comes faster than my professional one.
Nothing. Leo can do nothing to reestablish my trust beyond what he’s already doing. It will be a slow process since trust isn’t something I can calibrate a setting for.
Each emotion he caused me sits separate from the others. Trust. Forgiveness. Pain. And worst of all—fear.
I do what I know how to do best.
I isolate them. Examine each emotion like a system under stress. Identify what can be fixed. What should be discarded. Even as I’m monitoring his race, I run a quiet diagnostic on my own heart.
As Leo starts his next lap, my gaze flicks to check his inputs again. Professionally, at least, everything is working exactly as it should.
Satisfied, I return to thinking about Leo’s request. Can I give him a second chance?
If I do, what scares me the most? I quickly eliminate the obvious concern—that my family and friends won’t support me if I take him back.
They’re the people who will support me. So it all comes down to one simple thought.
What happens if I let him close enough to try and he breaks my heart all over again?
A sharp, unrestrained whoop cuts through the garage, followed by applause that builds in quick, controlled waves. Monitors flash final positions. Engineers move with purpose instead of tension.
The race is over, and Leo’s placed third. Last year, on this same track, he finished twelfth. I stare at the numbers for a beat longer than necessary. His professional improvement isn’t subjective. It’s measurable.
Unlike the emotions he’s triggered in me all over again.
Around me, the team starts to celebrate. I draw in a slow breath, expelling it slowly, before a smile touches my lips. Forcing myself to embrace this moment, I shove the questions still echoing in the back of my mind away.
For now.
Because in my hands, I proved that when something’s built right, it can withstand stress. No, Leo didn’t place as high as Bahrain, but he had cleaner inputs. Less hesitation. Fewer corrections layered over instinct.
With all his own personal issues, he still trusted the system, himself, and me.
“Significant improvement,” Dario says beside me.
“They’re learning each other,” I reply absentmindedly.
“Leo and the car?”
I lift my gaze, watching Leo as he climbs out. Once his helmet clears his head, I still note that his chest and shoulders are tense with the remnants of adrenaline. I correct Dario, “Leo and trust.”
He looks at me with surprise before we’re both distracted by Leo’s laugh across the garage. Even as I study him, he’s searching for something in every face. When his green eyes lock on mine, the world disappears. From half a room away, I feel the intensity of his stare.
He tries to break away from everyone to head in our direction, but the team sponsors surge in and the whole dynamic of the space changes.
He gives me a quick tip of his chin to tell me, I see you. Then he mouths, Later.
The space around him fills, but unlike a lot of races, distance is respectfully maintained. There are no casual touches, just polished professionalism. Even from where I’m standing, I can hear the accolades.
“Congratulations.”
“That was incredible.”
“You drove beautifully!”
Leo’s responses are calm, composed, precise. A nod. Nothing that invites more than what’s required.
Now that I know his past, I can spot the way he deflects people he’s not comfortable with. He’s not rude, just cautious. It’s the polar opposite of the way he’s always been with me.
And somehow, understanding that lands harder than anything else I’ve processed today.
Because I can see it now.
This man who keeps everyone at arm’s length, who controls what he gives and what he withholds with precision, is laying himself bare to me to establish trust. Without hesitation.
As I did with him.
He didn’t react because of the feelings growing between us; he reacted because he’s never known how to trust them.
His fear of being vulnerable to love was what hurt us. It wasn’t intentional.
I turn before I can stew with these thoughts for too long. Stepping into the narrower paddock corridors, the noise fades. I catch the heat and light bleeding in just beyond the circuit walls.
Leaning against the barrier, I murmur to myself, “Just another minute.”
That’s when his voice reaches me. “You left.”
I don’t turn. “I relocated to get some air.”
“That’s not what it looked like.”
“That’s because you’re interpreting it emotionally.”
“Of course I was.” A beat. Softer, but no less certain. “It’s you.”
Pleasure sinks beneath my skin. The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “You were amazing.”
He steps up beside me. “I couldn’t care less about how I performed. Nothing meant more than knowing you were watching.”
Something in my chest tightens. “You know I was.”
A quiet breath escapes him before he shares, “I could feel you with me every time I passed Turn Eleven. It was like the wheel was vibrating under my hands.”
I finally meet his gaze. “That’s not how telemetry works.”
A flicker of a smile lifts his mouth. “You know what I mean.”
“I do.” For a second, my heart overrules my head—warming to the emotions lacing his tone. I let it silence the warnings still coming from my head.
He edges closer but doesn’t crowd me. “I came to find you,” he says.
“I noticed.”
The intensity in his eyes causes my knees to tremble. “I don’t want the loud celebration tonight.”
“What do you want?”
“To spend time with you. Just you.”
“Leo…”
“I’m trying to show you I’m serious about making amends. I want you to feel safe enough to reach for me the way you used to.” His voice cracks on the last word.
That stops me because it’s not a rehearsed line, nor another apology. It’s Leo baring his deepest thoughts. While I’m processing that, he rasps, “I just want a chance to show you that if I have you, none of this matters.” He flicks his arm to indicate the paddock.
“I won’t be hurt again. Not even if you’re having a terrible day,” I warn him.
“You won’t,” he replies immediately.
Something shifts in me. When his attention should be on his driving, he’s more concerned about me.
Us.
But he doesn’t care.
I push off the barrier. “So, what are we doing for our second outing?”
He corrects me, “My second chance to woo you.”
“So, this is what your version of wooing looks like?”
“Not even close,” he says. “I’m just warming up.”
I start toward the lights again, and Leo falls into step beside me. We walk back into the garage together.
This time, I don’t pretend not to feel the warmth spreading through me.