Epilogue — Jackson #3
“I didn’t come up through the typical karting background, no, and it was hard to find my way to Formula One.
But it doesn’t mean I think every financially disadvantaged kid with a big dream should endure the same struggles as I have.
This sport asks families to sacrifice enormous amounts of time and money, and not everyone gets to have someone who believes in them every step of the way.
” My eyes drift to Evie for a second. “That’s why I’ll be financing ten scholarships per season, on top of the ten scholarships Wesley has already budgeted.
Too many aspects of this sport revolve around money, from the skyrocketing prices of the tickets to the sometimes ridiculous fines the FIA puts us through.
We want to take that parameter away within the AJAP and let the love of the sport take over. ”
Critiquing the FIA isn’t a smart move, and they’re all aware of that. I can hear the journalists whispering among themselves, and I can already tell I’ll be getting questions about this when the moderator opens the floor for discussion.
Before that can happen, though, some questions are asked to my opponents. When asked about his near win, von Ranzow jokingly concludes with, “He’ll start aging out of the job soon enough, and I’ll finally be able to get the lead more often.”
He punctuates his words with a weak fist to my shoulder. We’ve grown friendly these past few years, and I understand why Wesley wanted me to play nice with the other drivers. Racing with friends is definitely easier on the mind than racing with enemies.
“What do you say to that, Jackson? Do you think you will be aging out of the job anytime soon?” the moderator asks.
Cautiously, I bring the mic to my lips. I’m about to unleash hell in the media pen yet again. But this time, it’s for a good cause. It’s for the best cause there is.
“Actually, I’m afraid we won’t get an answer to that. This was my last season.”
Although it’s not their time, the journalists on the floor jump to their feet, raising hands and shouting questions.
Their lack of manners annoys me, mostly because I can’t see Evie anymore.
Fuck. Maybe I should have told her I was doing this.
But much like she wanted to surprise me with the pregnancy, I wanted to surprise her with this decision.
“Everyone, sit down. Be quiet, please,” the moderator demands. It takes a few attempts to get them all to sit down, but he eventually manages. “Are you saying that you will be retiring?” he asks me.
“From racing Formula One cars, yes.”
“Why the sudden retirement, especially after such a stellar season?”
“F1 has been my life for twelve years now, and I’ve reached a point where I would like to focus on other aspects of my life. Mainly being a loving husband to my incredible wife.”
“Won’t you be missing the thrill of the Formula world?”
“I’ll have a job to occupy me. Wesley is putting me in charge of the AJAP.
So, I won’t be everyone’s favorite champion anymore, but I’ll shape the ones you’ll all adore within eight to ten years.
And who knows, maybe there will be some kind of senior, all-star race event in thirty years, and von Ranzow will finally get his chance to beat me. ”
“I’ll crush you,” he says with humor into his mic.
The moderator asks another question. Then another.
Then he opens the floor, and I get three more in rapid succession.
The journalists are still trying to process the retirement announcement, and every answer seems to generate five new questions.
Half of them want to talk about my retirement.
The other half want to talk about the regrets I might have.
A few seem convinced I’ll change my mind before the first race next season.
They couldn’t be more wrong. A few years ago, walking away from Formula One would’ve felt like losing a part of myself.
Today, it’s strangely liberating. I have so much more to live for than chasing a finish line.
There’s a baby growing inside Evie. Our baby.
Even though I’ve known for a while, the thought still feels unreal—not in a frightening or overwhelming way. Just impossible to fully grasp.
The journalists keep throwing questions at me, but their voices fade into the background.
The cameras, the lights, the dozens of people packed into the room—it all becomes white noise the moment my eyes find Evie again.
I lost sight of her when everyone jumped to their feet after the announcement, but I found her.
She’s standing a little closer now, arms folded over her chest, smiling softly when our gazes meet.
The girl who believed in me when I was sixteen years old and racing a beat-up Subaru. The girl who worked herself to exhaustion so I could chase my impossible dream. The woman who walked away when she needed to save herself, then somehow found her way back to me.
My wife. The mother of my children. My home.
When this press conference ends, I’ll walk across the room and wrap my arms around her.
Then I’ll take her back to our suite, order all the desserts available, and watch her eat them with bright eyes and irrepressible happy smiles.
Then I’ll make love to her like there’s no tomorrow, like there’s nothing left in this world but us and the incommensurable love we share.
And for the first time since I climbed into a race car, there won’t be another championship waiting on the horizon.
As another journalist raises a hand, Evie gives me a small wave from the back of the room. I smile and wave back.
Oddly enough, I don’t feel like I’m losing anything. On the contrary, it feels like I’m gaining everything.
To everyone else, this is the end of the road for me.
To me, it feels like the beginning.
THE END