Chapter Twenty-Eight
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Jax
The season had narrowed to three punishing, dazzling races.
Jax managed a tight shrug. “It’s close now. Pressure’s on.”
Lucas studied him for a beat, then let it go. For the moment.
Qatar arrived like a furnace. The desert heat turned the cockpit into an oven; tires degraded faster than anyone had modelled.
He nursed them through every stint, pushed only when the window opened, and brought the car home P2.
Lucas took P5—consistent, no mistakes. The points gap stretched so wide that only a DNF could cost him the title. The championship was his to lose.
All that was left was the physical trophy. The moment he could lift it overhead and look straight at Nan and say the words he’d carried for months: I did it. For you.
After the Qatar race, the team gathered in the hotel bar overlooking the glowing Lusail circuit lights.
It wasn’t a wild celebration—Abu Dhabi still waited—but there was champagne, quiet toasts, laughter that echoed off the glass walls.
Jax found a stool at the far end of the bar, still in his team hoodie, cap pulled low, nursing a single beer.
The noise of the room felt muffled, like it belonged to someone else’s night.
Mia slid onto the stool beside him without preamble. She ordered sparkling water, waited until the bartender drifted away, then turned to him with that quiet, direct gaze she’d always had.
“You okay?” she asked softly.
He stared at the label on his bottle, peeling the edge with his thumbnail. “Yeah.”
She didn’t move. “Try again.”
He let out a slow breath. “It’s over. With Aria.”
Mia waited, giving him space.
“She loves Min-Jae,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Always has. I was… just there when she needed someone. A rebound, I guess. Until he came back around.”
Mia tilted her head. “You’re sure that’s what happened?”
He nodded once.
Mia turned her glass slowly between her palms. “I saw you two together, Jax. The way she looked at you—like you were the only thing keeping her steady. And I’ve listened to False Start on repeat since it dropped.
Those lyrics… the silence, the echoes, the way love feels fast and terrifying and alive.
They don’t sound like songs about Min-Jae.
They sound like someone who got burned by something real. ”
Jax kept his eyes on the bottle. “We hear what we want to hear sometimes. See what fits the story we’ve already decided on.”
Mia studied his profile. “Her socials have been completely quiet about Min-Jae. No posts. No stories. No couple shots. It doesn’t look like a big reunion.”
“That’s because I asked her to hold off on any public statement,” he said evenly. “For Nan. Didn’t want the media turning everything into a circus right now. Not while the season’s on the line.”
Mia’s expression softened, understanding settling in. “So she knows about Nan?”
“No.” His jaw tightened for a second. “I didn’t tell her. Didn’t want her staying around out of pity. Or feeling guilty. She deserved to go back to what she really wanted—clean, no strings, no mess.”
Mia was quiet for a long stretch. Then she said gently, “You’re deciding for her even now.”
He didn’t answer.
“You’re an idiot, Jax,” she said, but there was no heat in it—just quiet affection.
“You’ve almost locked up the championship.
You’re about to become world champion. You’ve carried Nan’s diagnosis, the grief, every single lap without letting it break you.
And yet here you are, convincing yourself she never felt it the way you did. ”
He shook his head slowly. “It’s too late. She made her choice. I was never the one she wanted.”
Mia leaned in a little. “Or maybe you made the choice for both of you. You told her it was okay to walk away. You gave her permission to go back to Min-Jae. Maybe she’s respecting that. Maybe she’s hurting just as much as you are.”
He looked away, throat working. “Doesn’t change anything.”
Mia’s voice softened further. “Lucas told me what you did for him after I left. You sat with him when he couldn’t speak.
You were there. Every day. Don’t shut this down before you know the truth.
Nan’s fading. She wants to see you happy—not just victorious.
Let her see you fight for something besides points and podiums.”
She stood, rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment. “Think about it. Before Abu Dhabi.”
She walked away, leaving him with the low hum of celebration and the echo of her words.
He stayed until the bar thinned out, the beer long warm in his hand. Mia’s questions lingered, but they didn’t shift the certainty that had settled in his chest: Aria had gone back to Min-Jae. Whatever he’d felt—whatever he’d thought she felt—had been real only on his side.
He flew to Abu Dhabi carrying Nan’s latest call instead.
“One race left, love. You’re so close I can almost touch that silver.”
Her whisper had been fragile, but fierce. He held it like fuel.
Yas Marina thrummed with end-of-season electricity. Qualifying: pole position. Flawless. Lucas P3.
Race day arrived fast.
He climbed into the car. Helmet on. Visor down. The world narrowed to apexes, braking zones, and the promise he’d made on a winter beach in Brisbane.
Lights out.
Clean start. He held the lead into turn one, tires biting hard, car balanced perfectly. Lap after lap he pulled away—tire management textbook, defence instinctive. Lucas ran P3 behind him, covering lines, protecting the flank. The radio stayed calm: “Gap 3.8… good pace… box lap 18 for mediums…”
He didn’t need to push. The car was perfect. He was locked in.
The laps counted down—40, 30, 20, 10. No incidents. No drama. Just him and the track and Nan’s voice in his head: Bring it home, Jaxon.
Final lap. The grandstand roar swallowed the engine note. He crossed the line first.
World Champion.
The radio exploded: engineers whooping, Marcus’s voice cracking—“Champion! You’re the bloody world champion!” Lucas came on last, quiet but fierce: “For Nan, mate. You did it.”
Parc fermé was chaos—team swarming, flags waving, cameras flashing. He climbed out on legs that felt unsteady, ripped off the helmet. Sweat poured down his face. He looked up at the grandstand.
There she was in the front row.
Nan—small, frail, silver hair catching the lights, in a wheelchair pushed by Mia. Tears already streaming down her face, hands clasped under her chin like she was praying.
She’d made it.
He ran—through barriers, up stairs, dodging officials—dropped to his knees in front of her wheelchair.
“Nan…”
Her trembling hands reached for him. Pulled him close. Frail arms wrapped around his shoulders with surprising strength.
“My boy,” she whispered against his hair, voice breaking. “World champion. My Jaxon… world champion.”
He shattered—quiet, shuddering sobs against her shoulder.
The circuit noise faded to nothing—the cheers, the engines, the fireworks.
Just her lavender scent, faint but familiar.
Her heartbeat against his cheek, steady despite everything.
Her thin fingers threading through his damp hair, soothing like she had when he was younger.
She held him. Minutes stretched. Tears soaked his race suit. Neither spoke at first—just breathed, held on, existed in the fragile bubble of the moment.
Finally she eased back just enough to cup his face with both hands. Thumbs brushed his wet cheeks, slow and tender.
“Look at me, love.”
He did. Her eyes—still sharp, still full of that stubborn, fierce love—shone with tears.
“I’m so proud,” she said softly. “Every single lap. Every podium. Every time you got back up when the world tried to knock you down. You gave me this. Seeing you lift that trophy… it’s the best gift I could ever have.”
“I can’t believe you’re here,” he managed, voice rough.
She smiled—small, radiant through the tears. “Couldn’t miss my boy becoming champion.”
Mia stepped closer, eyes red. “She bullied the doctors into letting her fly. Wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
Nan squeezed his hand. “I’ll carry this with me. Every day I have left.”
Officials hovered gently—podium reminders. Jax stood slowly, helped adjust her blanket. Kissed her forehead, lingering there for a long second. “I’ll be right back.”
On the podium: the anthem played. Champagne sprayed in wide arcs. The constructors’ trophy went up first—team lifting it high, Marcus grinning through tears. Then the drivers’—silver, heavy, engraved with legends.
He raised it overhead. The crowd roared. Fireworks burst across the desert sky. He pointed the trophy straight at Nan. Mouth forming the words: For you.
She blew him a kiss.
Later, in the cooldown room, the trophy sat beside him on the couch—heavy, real, cold. Mia slipped in quietly.
“She’s glowing,” she said. “You gave her that.”
He nodded. “Couldn’t have done it without her.”
Mia sat. “And now?”
He looked at the trophy.
The win was everything he’d chased for years. And it was nothing.
Because Nan was still dying.
And Aria was still gone—back with Min-Jae, where she’d always belonged.
He felt the joy of the moment crash against the grief—two waves colliding, leaving him raw and unsteady.
Overwhelmed. The trophy sat there like proof of everything he’d fought for, but it couldn’t fill the hollow spaces inside him.
Nan’s thin arms around him. The ticking clock on her life.
The quiet hurt of knowing Aria had chosen someone else.
He exhaled slowly, the sound ragged in the quiet room.
“Nan’s all that matters now,” he said quietly. “Whatever time she has left… that’s where my focus goes. Being there. Holding her hand. Sitting with her. Everything else… it can wait.”
Mia studied him for a long moment. Then she nodded—gentle, no argument.
“You’re a good man, Jax,” she said softly.
He looked at the trophy again.
The win was great.
But the sorrow was greater.
And tomorrow, he’d be on a plane back to Brisbane.
To sit with Nan.
To hold her hand.
To be there.