Chapter Twenty
◆◆◆
Jax
Melbourne had rewritten the season before it even really started.
Finn Hartmann, the new reserve driver, slotted in seamlessly.
Twenty-eight, German, built like he could bench-press the car but moved with surgical precision.
He was quiet, methodical, always had telemetry printouts in hand and spoke in clipped, efficient sentences.
They got on well enough—professional respect, clean radio exchanges, the occasional post-debrief beer where they dissected sectors in broken English and shared dark jokes about tire degradation.
Finn was good. Reliable. No drama. But he wasn’t Lucas.
There was no shared history of karting disasters, no easy ribbing over team dinners, no one who’d known Jax since they were both teenagers with too much ego and not enough money.
Jax messaged Lucas most evenings—short updates, podium selfies, memes about the new front wing looking like a confused aeroplane. Lucas was recovering in his Villa in the South of France.
Lucas : P3 in Jeddah? Slow down, mate. Save some for when I’m back.
Jax: You’d have eaten that track. How’s the shoulder?
Lucas: Rehab pool every morning. Mia’s playing nurse again—keeps bringing me protein shakes and telling me to stop trying to lift weights one-handed. Eddie gave her the full time off to “help me recuperate.” Sexy as hell when she’s bossy.
Jax: “Recuperate”? Mate, we both know that’s code for something else.
Lucas: Don’t I know it. Perks of being the injured World Champion. She’s got me on strict orders—lots of “hands-on” therapy. I’m suffering terribly.
Jax: Too much information. Again.
Lucas: You’re jealous. Tell Aria I said hi. And that you’re mooning over her like a teenager.
Jax: Shut up. Focus on getting better.
He didn’t deny it. Couldn’t, really.
◆◆◆
The bar was half-empty, city lights smearing gold across the desert skyline below.
Dana had dragged Jax up here after the podium celebrations wound down—said she needed air that didn’t smell like champagne and sponsor cologne.
She was in shorts and basic t-shirt, trainers kicked up on the railing, nursing a beer.
Jax sat beside her, still in his team hoodie, elbows on his knees, staring at the water.
Dana took a long sip, then side-eyed him.
“Alright, spill it, dickhead. What the hell is going on in that pretty little head of yours?”
Jax huffed a laugh, rubbed the back of his neck. “Nothing. Just tired. It's been a long weekend.”
“Bullshit.” She nudged his boot with her foot. “You’ve been tired since Bahrain and you still managed to podium twice in a row while grinning like an idiot. Try again.”
He exhaled through his nose, eyes still on the river. “She’s… good for me. Keeps me steady. That’s all.”
Dana snorted. “Steady. Right. You look at her the way Lucas used to look at Mia before he finally grew a pair and admitted he was in love. Sheepish as fuck, pretending it’s casual. Same vibe.”
Jax’s ears went pink. He shot her a look. “It’s not like that.”
“Mate.” Dana leaned forward, elbows on the railing, voice dropping to that dangerous, fond tone she only used when she was about to gut-punch someone with truth.
“You flew a fourteen-hour red-eye from Bahrain to Seoul just so she wouldn’t have to walk a red carpet alone.
You get this soft, stupid smile every time she texts you—like a teenager who just got his first ‘good morning’ from his crush. ”
Jax opened his mouth. Closed it. Rubbed his jaw.
Dana waited, eyebrow arched.
He finally muttered, “It’s complicated.”
“Love usually fucking is,” she said flatly. “Doesn’t make it less real.”
He flinched at the word. Just a little. Enough for her to clock it.
“Jesus, Callaghan.” She laughed—short, rough, affectionate.
“You’re so far gone it’s almost cute. You’re in love with her.
Full stop. You’re just too scared to say it out loud because what if she still has feelings for the ex, or what if she laughs in your face and walks away.
Newsflash: she’s not laughing. She’s looking at you the same way.
Like you’re her safe place in the middle of all this. ”
Jax stared at his hands. “If I say it and she doesn’t….”
Dana softened—just a fraction. "Stop pretending. Just say it. Worst case, she freaks out and you have an awkward few weeks. Best case, she says it back and you stop looking like a kicked puppy every time she leaves for Seoul.”
He let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “You’re brutal.”
“I’m right.” She clinked her glass against his untouched beer. “You’re in love with Aria Moon. Don’t be a coward about it forever. You’ve got bigger balls than that on track.”
Jax finally met her eyes. Sheepish.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Maybe.”
Dana grinned—feeling victorious. “That’s my boy. Now drink your fucking beer.”
He laughed—real this time—and took a long pull. The city lights kept shimmering on below.
And maybe—just maybe—he was starting to believe Dana was right.
He still wasn’t ready to say it to Aria.
But the words were there now, sitting heavy and undeniable in his chest.
And they weren’t going anywhere.
◆◆◆
Aria flew in for Suzuka on Thursday night, straight to his hotel room. She wrapped her arms around him from behind while he was still reviewing data, chin on his shoulder.
“Missed you,” she whispered.
He turned, pulled her close, kissed her like the debrief could wait. “Missed you more.”
The weekend brought wet-dry conditions. Qualifying P2. Aria watched from the garage in an Ashworth hoodie, lyric notebook open beside her, cheering every sector. He drove with cold focus—perfect tire calls, flawless defense through the Esses. P2 again.
Shanghai followed. He qualified P3, fought hard through the race, finished P4 after a late safety car bunched the field. Not a podium, but consistent points. The team was climbing the constructors’ table. Sponsors were happy. Headlines called him “THE COMEBACK STAR OF THE YEAR.”
But every night, when the hotel room door closed and it was just them, the questions he didn’t ask sat heavy between them.
She’d curl into his side after sex, head on his chest, fingers tracing idle patterns over his ribs.
He’d hold her a little too tightly, like if he let go she might vanish.
They’d talk about everything except the thing that mattered: what this was.
What happened when the season ended, when the optics weren’t needed anymore, when the cameras stopped watching.
He wanted to ask. He wanted to say: This isn’t just convenience for me.
Not anymore. But the words stuck. What if she laughed it off?
What if she said she still loved Min-Jae, that Jax was just the rebound who’d helped her move on?
What if she walked away and left him carrying the season—and the heartbreak—alone?
So he didn’t ask.
He just held her tighter, kissed her slower, and hoped she felt it in the way he touched her.
◆◆◆
Aria
The season was becoming its own kind of rhythm—flights that blurred together, and hotel rooms that started to feel familiar. Jax’s arms were the only place that felt like home after sixteen hours in the air.
She kept recording—late nights in Seoul between trips, voice memos sent at odd hours, new verses about clarity and longing and things she wasn’t ready to name. She played him snippets over FaceTime; he listened with his head tilted, eyes soft.
Min-Jae’s messages had stopped. Three unanswered texts, then silence. She didn’t check anymore. She didn’t really care. When she thought about him now, there was nothing—no pull, no ache, just the faint echo of a version of herself she no longer recognized.
She hadn’t told anyone the full truth. Until one late-night call in Shanghai, the week after Suzuka.
She was in her hotel room—Jax already having flown out that afternoon for a sponsors meeting.
Lena had knocked earlier with room service (late-night congee and green tea), then stayed when Aria asked her to.
They sat on the bed, Lena cross-legged in sweats, Aria in an oversized hoodie, both barefoot.
“I think I’m finally done with him,” Aria said quietly.
Lena didn’t flinch. “Min-Jae?”
“Yeah.” Aria pulled her knees to her chest. “He messaged a few times after the awards ceremony, asking to talk. I didn’t answer. And… I don’t want to. I thought seeing him would spark something, but it didn’t. It just felt over.”
Lena reached over and squeezed her ankle. “Good. That’s progress.”
Aria hesitated, then let the rest spill out.
“That’s why I started things with Jax in the first place.
It wasn’t real. Not at the beginning. I thought making Min-Jae jealous would give me some power back.
And Jax… he got the stable, committed boyfriend image the sponsors wanted after last season.
We were both getting something out of it.
A fake relationship for mutual benefit. It was stupid. ”
Lena went very still. Her expression shifted from supportive to openly annoyed in a heartbeat.
“Wait — fake?” Lena’s voice sharpened, eyes widening.
“You mean the whole thing — the paddock appearances, the couple photos, the way the media’s been eating it up — started as a stunt?
Aria, you’re a K-pop star. If your fans ever find out this was all arranged just to make your ex jealous.
... they’re going to be gutted. They love the idea of you being happy and in a real relationship.
The betrayal would be massive. This kind of thing blows up careers. ”
Aria winced, cheeks burning. “I know it was risky. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was hurt and wanted Min-Jae to feel what I felt.”
Lena rubbed her temple, frustration clear.
“And Min-Jae wasn’t even worth this sort of drama.
I know you were in love with him once, but for the past year or so he has not been great to you.
He acted petty and jealous. I’ve seen you apologise for just being yourself instead of being with someone who actually lifts you up.
You deserved better than playing games to try and win him back. ”
Aria’s shoulders slumped. “I see that now. I was hurt and stupid.”
Lena sighed, the annoyance softening into reluctant concern. She took Aria’s hand. “Look, I’m not saying you’re a bad person, but this was reckless. You’re lucky it hasn’t exploded yet. And now… it’s not fake for you anymore, is it?”
Aria closed her eyes. “No. Not for me, anyway. I think I’m falling for him. But I’m scared he still sees it as the arrangement — that once the sponsor pressure eases, he won’t need the ‘steady girlfriend’ anymore.”
Lena studied her for a long moment, then squeezed her hand.
“You two are idiots. Both of you. The way he looks at you when you’re not watching?
That’s not for show. But you need to be honest with him before this gets even more complicated.
And next time you decide to fake a relationship with a Formula 1 driver just to mess with your ex?
Maybe run it by your trusty assistant first.”
Aria let out a shaky laugh. “Noted. No more stupid plans.”
“Good.” Lena stood and stretched. “Get some sleep. You’ve got a flight to Miami tomorrow. And Jax is probably waiting for your goodnight text.”.
Aria smiled—small, real. “Thanks, Lena. For listening. For not judging.”
Lena shrugged. “That’s what assistants do. And friends. Whatever you need.”
She left quietly. Aria stared at her phone, thumb hovering over Jax’s name. She sent a simple: Miss you. Safe flight tomorrow?
His reply came seconds later.
Jax: Miss you more. Yeah, early one. You okay?
Aria: Yeah. Just thinking.
Jax: About what?
She hesitated. Then typed the truth—or as close as she could get without breaking.
Aria: About how much I like being with you. Even when it’s hard.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Jax: Same.
No more words. No explanation. Just that one word.
She pressed the phone to her chest, heart pounding.
She didn’t know what he meant by it.
But she knew what she hoped.
And for the first time, she let herself hope without immediately bracing for the fall.
She just wasn’t brave enough to say it yet.
Neither was he.
But maybe—just maybe—they were getting closer.