Chapter 30
WHEELSPIN: TIRES LOSING TRACTION UNDER ACCELERATION
Locations: Spielberg and Silverstone
It’s been mere weeks since we were in Barcelona, but Austria feels like momentum.
Not just on the track, but between Leo and me.
We’re not producing the same kind of energy that imploded us in the past; now, it hums between us.
It’s focused and intentional, not something that burns out.
It gives me the feeling that everything I want is within reach.
In the case of our relationship, we both agree our slow and steady approach is moving us in the right direction. Instead of burning up the sheets, we’re spending mornings sharing coffee and talking. It’s a testament to Leo that he hasn’t complained once about being up early.
We end each day with late walks where our conversations matter more than proximity.
Our physical intimacy is different. It’s not the only thing bringing us back together. He’s not trying to recreate what we had before and frankly, neither am I.
The most important thing is that Leo consistently shows me how much I’m a part of his life.
We’ve shared dinners where our conversations flowed for hours.
We’ve sat cuddled together with silence wrapping us closer.
There have been moments when I’ve caught him choosing me in small, quiet ways—like making certain I have privacy to talk with my father.
Finding a way for us to play hooky so we could explore the Graz Old Town and Schlossberg an hour away.
Or like the day he canceled a sponsor dinner after he realized I hadn’t slept more than four hours while preparing a systems update.
Or when he noticed I’d stopped eating halfway through dinner because I was distracted by a problem with the code.
Instead of pushing for my attention, he pulled my laptop onto the table and asked me to explain it.
Then sat there for nearly an hour listening while I talked through steering latency, like it was the most fascinating thing he’d heard all day.
Then there was the airport. I’d been overwhelmed, exhausted from travel and lack of sleep.
Leo took one look at me and pulled out his phone to call Dario, ordering him to cancel his morning media appearance so he could join the later flight.
When he was asked why, he replied with a simple, “I want to make certain Christin makes it safely.”
After we landed in Austria—when rain delayed practice and everyone else retreated to the garages—Leo stood beside me in the pit lane holding an umbrella over my head as I took a moment to breathe away from everyone. He didn’t care that he got soaked beside me.
None of those moments screamed seduction. That’s why they mattered to the place in my heart that was wounded.
Will I ever be in a place where I skip through our days in idyllic splendor? Highly unlikely. Neither of us is perfect. But, like I told my father last night, “Dad, each time he shows me he cares, I realize being with him is the right choice.”
“As long as you’re sure, Pumpkin.”
That’s when I asked him to join us in Silverstone so he could meet Leo and tamp down his worry. “It’s just a quick flight over the Atlantic.”
Despite the tumultuous ups and downs of having a relationship while on the circuit, we’re both committed to being there for each other as much as we give to our jobs.
Take the race at Spielberg. When Leo misses first by a fraction of a car length, I find myself wanting to be by his side even more because of the disappointment that flashes across his face before he schools it for the cameras and for the team.
I admire how he interacts with Hogan, whom Leo praises for his eighteenth-place finish with real enthusiasm.
I see him now. Somewhere in the middle of all this, something shifted inside me.
I know he loves me, even though he’s afraid of turning into his parents.
I know it much the same way I can tell the difference between his frustration and disappointment.
All I want to do is comfort him and let him know I’m proud of what he’s accomplished—both professionally and personally.
Because standing here, I can’t pretend anymore. I don’t just care about him. I’m still in love with him. And I know he’s not going to let me down again.
We’re in a quiet restaurant just outside Barcelona, the kind of place that doesn’t draw attention. It just offers us a quiet spot to just be.
Sipping my cortado, I remark, “You’re different.”
A faint smile touches his mouth. “In some ways, so are you.”
I watch him for a moment, waiting for the version of Leo who would’ve turned this into something lighter, something easier.
He doesn’t. “I kept my fears hidden from you because it offered me a measure of control and I thought control was the only way to keep my life from falling apart.”
“And now?”
“Now? I think hiding is the fastest way to break something that matters. Openness is the only way to sustain a relationship even when it’s uncomfortable.”
I let that sit between us for a moment before answering, “I’m not built for blind trust.”
“I know.”
“But I’m also not interested in walking away from something just because it requires effort.” I tilt my head slightly. “That means you, in case you were wondering.”
His expression doesn’t change much, but something lighter settles beneath it.
Watching the way he holds himself together for everyone else, I realize that night wasn’t just conversation. It was the beginning of a connection so strong, I look forward to years of growth from it.
His gaze finds mine immediately through the chaos of the paddock. His expression softens.
The team surges around him—engineers, mechanics, Dario at the center with that controlled pride he never quite lets loose in public.
Hands clap Leo on the back, voices overlap, someone laughs too loudly.
I stand back for a moment longer, watching him through it instead of joining it.
He smiles. He nods. He offers praise exactly where he should.
I gesture that I’m heading inside, allowing him to focus on the people who need his attention right now.
I’m not worried about it since I know he’s already made plans for us later.
By the time we leave Austria later that week, Apex Orion Racing is confident.
Barcelona proved the system. Austria proved the driver.
Now we’re heading to the British Grand Prix with something we didn’t have before: a real shot.
Team briefings, combined with every trial run, reflect what we’re all thinking.
Leo can win.
Silverstone feels different before we even arrive. There’s weight in it, a kind of history that presses in from all sides. The track itself demands precision, but it’s the space around it that shifts something deeper.
This is where Leo was raised. And I feel the pressure the moment we step into the paddock.
In him.
I should be focused on calibration refinements we’re still making to optimize responsiveness through high-speed corners.
But instead, I find myself watching him.
Watching the way he moves through the garage, the way he listens during debriefs, the way he responds when Dario challenges him on minor adjustments.
For someone who hasn’t been let into his heart, they would assume nothing’s wrong. Except I now know better. He’s not fully here.
He’s quieter. Not distant but contained in a way that makes me feel like I’m watching him brace for impact instead of preparing for a race I know he can win. This could just be his own internal pressure, but I don’t believe that. Not when I’ve seen him at his best and worst.
Getting him away from the team, I keep my voice neutral as I talk with him. “Telemetry looks clean through Sector Two.”
“It felt clean,” he replies.
“Leo.”
Something flickers across his expression before it smooths out. “What?”
“Walk with me.” It’s not a request.
He hesitates for half a second, then follows. We move away from the main flow of the paddock, past the garages and clusters of movement until the noise dulls into something manageable. It’s quieter here, enough that I can focus on him without distraction.
I open with, “You’re off.”
His brow furrows. “I’m not.”
“You are. You’re driving well. The system is performing. The data supports everything we’ve built.”
“But—” He draws the word out.
“You’re not here.”
This time he doesn’t deflect. His face crumbles before he’s able to look away. That’s when I know I’m right because Leo doesn’t avoid conversations with me any longer.
“I feel how close I am to everything I ran away from,” he says finally.
I get it now. He’s thinking about his family. This place that shaped him in ways he still hasn’t fully shaken. “How close are they?”
He exhales slowly. “The family estate borders begin about twenty kilometers west of here.”
“Yet, they’ve never come to a race?” I’m incredulous.
“No, they haven’t. They won’t, but I’m certain they’ll see the coverage. The results. Photos.”
He’s worried they’ll continue to judge him without ever showing up. “You’re certain they won’t reach out?”
His voice holds pain that hasn’t dulled with time. “They won’t. That sums up my life with them.”
My hands shake with the force of my anger. “What about you?” I ask. “What are you feeling?”
“This is what I ran away from, yet I always seem to circle right back here.” The words are resigned in a way that makes my heart twist.
I step closer and lift my hand to rest lightly against his chest. “You aren’t a failure because you refused to absorb their toxicity.”
“That’s not what’s wrong.”
“Then what is it?”
“Like it doesn’t matter how far I go. No matter what I build somewhere else”—he gestures vaguely behind him—“I’ll still always be the version of myself that wasn’t good enough to be loved by the very people who brought me into this world.”
The words are cruelly direct. “You’re not that person anymore.”
He looks at me like he wants to believe that, like he’s not sure he can. I don’t give him space to retreat. “They don’t get to define you.”
“They already did.”
“Then they were wrong.” The words come out sharper than I intended. But I need him to burn them into his heart. “I wouldn’t love you the way I do if that were true.”
His breath stalls. “You love me?”
“I do.”
“I love you too, Chris. I did even when I was a blathering fool who ruined the best thing in my life.”
He wraps me in his arms tightly. Burying his head against the side of my neck, I feel the moisture from his tears as his shoulders shake. I murmur, “You don’t have to face this alone.”
Pulling back, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I know, but please have patience with me.”
“Why?”
“I’m still trying to figure out how to not let it get to me.”
“Just don’t try to shut me out,” I say.
“I won’t. Never again.” His hand comes up, covering mine where it rests against his chest. “Stay with me?” he asks quietly. The question isn’t about location or physical needs.
It’s about love.
“Yes,” I say.