Now #2
Evie looks around the space. It looks messy, with spare parts and cables running everywhere, but it’s actually extremely organized.
An hour and a half before lights out, the garage is buzzing with efficient energy.
It almost looks like a ballet, everyone knowing exactly what they need to do—mechanics, technicians, and engineers alike.
They’re all in branded uniforms, black and gold.
Somewhere nearby, an engine roars to life, loud enough to vibrate through the ground beneath us before abruptly dying again.
Overhead, a helicopter passes low enough that the sound briefly drowns out the music echoing from the grandstands, but not the team’s radio feed that sometimes crackles on the speakers around us.
Today is the Dutch Grand Prix race, and Evie will be watching it from the Altron pit.
I’ve scored her a special guest pass, and she’ll get to experience the race from within.
We arrived four hours ago, and after some time together, I had to leave her to proceed with my duties.
Interviews, meet and greets, driver parade, lunch in the drivers’ room …
But now is the twenty-minute window I get to myself before each race.
I usually use it to disappear and get a quick, revitalizing nap.
We were able to spend nearly three weeks in Tuscany thanks to the gap between races. I eventually had to travel for a few days, twice, and she settled into the home office to work a few hours a day. But we still got to spend a lot of time together, bonding.
That’s probably why she accepted my offer to do this today.
Bringing her here makes us official. By the end of the day, the entire Altron team will know I’m seeing someone.
And it won’t be long until word spreads.
So, she isn’t just getting a VIP experience.
She’s allowing our relationship to become public knowledge. And I’m ecstatic about it.
I love this woman with my entire fucking being, and I want the whole fucking world to know she’s mine and I’m hers.
My car is right there, low, perfect, angry-looking, and all carbon black, gold accents, and sponsor logos. At least ten people are working on her, doing the final checkups before the race, ensuring nothing is out of place or loose.
“It’s so low,” Evie murmurs. “And from up close like this, it looks … scary.”
“You should hear her roar. The walls tremble.”
“Did you name her?”
I nod. “The team actually plays along. We call her Freya. It means ‘noble lady’ in Old Norse. Well, technically, it’s Freya 12. But we keep it short.”
She watches the engineers and strategists lined up at the data stations. “How many people work on just your car?”
“Directly? Maybe twenty during a weekend. Over a season? Hundreds.”
“Jesus …”
“If someone sees Jackson,” a feminine voice calls through the team’s radios, “tell him PR is looking for him. Urgently.”
“PR always needs me,” I explain to Evie. “I’m their bread and butter.”
A mechanic passes by us and says, “PR needs you, man.”
“Yeah, I have ears, Alan.”
“You!” someone shouts from afar, and when I look, I see it’s meant for me. Ah shit. Benji, the chief mechanic, is mad at me again.
He approaches us like an angry bull, but I don’t flinch, used to his harmless temper.
“Evie,” I say when he’s with us, “this is Benji. Senior mechanic. He’s the one who screams at everyone when they touch my setup.”
“That’s because your setup is a nightmare,” Benji says.
“It wins races.”
“It gives me hypertension.”
Evie’s polite smile fades at his unfortunate choice of words, and I reach for her lower back to graze it compassionately.
“Do you know how long it took us to get the car ready, per your requests?” Benji asks. “And then you send a text an hour ago, changing your mind?”
“Today is warmer than they announced. Gotta adapt.”
He lets out a breath through his nose, resembling a bull even more, and storms off like he came.
Evie’s gaze lands on the steering wheel sitting on a nearby workstation.
“What the hell is that?”
I pick it up and place it in her hands carefully. “About four hundred grand’s worth of buttons that control pretty much the entire car.”
She stares at it. “You operate this while driving at one hundred miles an hour?”
“Two hundred, sometimes.”
“That’s deeply concerning.”
“It is what it is. Come, we don’t have long before twenty different people try taking me away from you.”
“This place is like a beehive,” she lets out as we walk around.
“Yeah. And here’s the queen. Hi, Rosie,” I say, greeting the team principal.
“What are you doing here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Isn’t PR looking for you?”
“It’s my do-not-disturb time. Justine can wait. Rosie, this is Evangeline Gillian. Evie, this is Rosamund Pattersen, the team principal. You two probably met, like, ten years ago.”
“You seem familiar, yes. Enjoy the visit and the race,” she politely says before moving on with her job.
Taking Evie’s hand, I guide her out through the side access, past the narrow corridor that leads toward the pit lane.
We stop at the opening before the pit wall.
On the other side of it, the main straight stretches out, crowded with people who have VIP passes, taking pictures and filming.
The grandstands are full to the brim as well.
The wind carries their noise even this far back.
We step onto the pit wall access bridge, and I wait for security to nod at us. We’re through in seconds.
On the other side, the pit wall is already full. Engineers sit shoulder to shoulder with their headsets on. The screens glow with telemetry, tire temps, predicted degradation curves, gap simulations …
“These are the nerds,” I explain. “Say hello to Evie, nerds.”
They only briefly look our way to wave at her. She waves back, looking at all the many screens and what’s on them.
“They’re the ones feeding my race engineer information during laps,” I continue. “He then tells me what to do, I ignore him, and I win anyway. Then we have beers afterward and pretend he was useful.”
Larry, the chief nerd, shakes his head and mumbles into his actual beard, “Cheeky bastard …”
“Nah, they do a good job. And Elliot gives pretty decent advice.”
“Isn’t PR looking for you?” Larry asks.
“Fucking Christ, yes, I know. Here,” I say, grabbing a spare headset. “Put this on,” I tell Evie. She does, listening to the constant talking. Even now, before the race has started, it’s nonstop noise.
“Is it that intense during a race?” she wonders, removing it and hooking it back in its spot.
“Fuck no. Can you imagine handling that and all the wheel buttons? Only one person talks to me. And he knows to keep it sparse.”
“Thank God … For a second, I really thought you were some kind of mad genius, and I never knew.”
“No, I’m just a kid from Colorado who somehow stumbled his way here. Alright, I’ll take you to the Altron motorhome in the paddock. Say bye to Evie, nerds.”
Again, they turn to wave, and we make our way back to the other side of the pit lane.
“I don’t know how you do it. Ten minutes here and I already need a nap to recuperate.”
“Hm, I’m sure I can find us a spot somewhere for a quick power nap.”
She chuckles. “I already told you that power nap isn’t another word for nap sex.”
“A missed opportunity, if you ask me.”
We’re out on the paddock, walking toward the Altron motorhome, when a woman shouts my name from the left. After a brief look, I mumble, “Fuck. Walk faster.”
Evie picks up the pace alongside me, but it’s pointless.
“Jackson, stop ignoring me!” Justine shouts again.
I give up with a groan and turn to face her. Justine and her PA are rushing toward us, her eyes hard behind her glasses. “Justine, hello,” I say with a smile when she reaches us.
“You will end up giving me an aneurysm, I swear to God.”
“I like to think I keep you young.”
She offers me a deadpan glare and notices Evie. “Sorry, hi. I’m Justine, head of PR and marketing.”
“Hi, I’m Evie.”
“Wait, I know you … Didn’t you two use to date?”
“We were married, actually,” I remind her.
“Right … and now you are …?”
“Dating again,” I confirm.
“Wow, that’s … there’s so much potential there. We can spin a star-crossed lovers story. Wrong place, wrong time. Until destiny brought you back together and—”
“You needed me for something?” I interrupt her.
“Yes. Paddock Club. Now. Some sponsors want to see you before the race.”
“Okay, but I need a favor in exchange.”
She lets out a bothered breath. “What?”
“You’ll escort Evie around during the race. Let her watch from the garage and pit wall.”
“Really? In exchange for you doing your job and shaking a few hands?”
“Name your price, then.”
She thinks only for a moment before saying, “The ad campaign for that Scottish gin. Take it, and you have a deal.”
It’s my turn to consider it. Defeated, I groan, “Fuck, okay.”
“Yes!” Justine lets out, pumping her fist in the air.
“I’ll escort Evie to the motorhome, then head over to the Paddock Club.”
“Lily can take her,” she counters, motioning at her assistant. “You can go now.”
I raise my eyebrow at her. “I want to take my girlfriend there. Go find someone else to sink your teeth into, wench.” Justine flips me her middle finger, and I lay a hand on Evie’s back to get us going again.
“You hate gin,” the latter points out with amusement once we’re far enough.
“I know.”
She walks pensively for a moment. “It never stops, does it? Your life is just … noise, and responsibilities, and work, and training …”
“It’s a demanding job, yes. But every now and then, I get to spend time in Italy with the woman I love. And it makes it all worth it.”