Chapter Fifty-Two
Asher
Ilya’s words echo in my head on a loop long after qualifyings. Do well, and you might just convince her to have your back.
Might. No guarantee that I’ll have Victoria in my ear today, only a vague possibility. And, considering how our last conversation went, my chances are low.
I’m still determined to make the most of the gift she gave me. I stumbled in qualifying because I’ve only been in this car a few times, but I’m ready now. I’m going to be in the top ten.
I’d just feel a lot fucking better about my chances if I had her in my ear.
I don’t know when she became so integral to my performance, but she is. She’s integral to every piece of me.
Belonging to someone so wholly and completely, when there’s no guarantee that they’ll ever belong to you, is terrifying in theory… but laughably simple in reality.
I’m hers. It’s that easy. Whether or not she’ll ever be mine, I’ll always be hers.
It’s devastating and enlightening, all in the same breath.
I accept Thomas’ help buckling in. He pats me twice on the shoulder. “I’d say break a leg, but considering how the last race went…” he grimaces. “Try not to crash and burn.”
My chances are better now that Ulrich is no longer on the track.
The speaker built into my helmet crackles, and my heart leaps. Is it going to be her?
“Good morning.” Ilya’s curt tone comes over the line. My heart, stomach, and soul all sink at the same time, but I draw on my nonexistent fortitude.
Ilya directing me is already unusual; it’s supposed to be Ethan. A job like this should be below the head of trackside engineering. I should be grateful.
“Let’s get any kinks wrinkled out in the formation lap, hmm? I’d like to see you tyre temperature…” he trails off, going over my car’s vitals with me.
I do exactly as he asks during practice lap.
I even manage to do it well, but my heart’s not in it.
My eyes glue to the starting lights as they turn on, one by one.
My heartbeat is steady, absent of the adrenaline I should be feeling.
My breathing stays normal. I’ll do my best, but that extra burst of power that only Victoria can ignite will be missing.
The race starts. All the cars peel out onto the track, and—
“Hey.”
Holy fuck, it’s her. She’s in my headset. “I hear you can use some extra input, what with the complexity of the amazing new car you’ve gotten.” There’s a light lilt of amusement to her words, but also, melancholy. “Let’s make this racetrack yours, shall we?”
A reel of instructions leave her lips rapidly. I don’t even think; I just act, following each set flawlessly.
One overtake later, I’m P10, and I start to feel it. That reckless sense of confidence that used to fill me each time my tyres hit a track. The feeling of flying, of being on top of the world, of being fucking unstoppable.
“Not mine, sweetheart,” I whisper, so faintly I don’t think she’ll catch it. “Ours.”
70 laps, countless defenses, overtakes, and insane maneuvers later, I finish in P8.
Victoria’s nowhere to be seen after the race. I search for her everywhere, scan the crowd and the team, but she’s in the wind.
The high I felt post-race almost leaves me… but I don’t let it. I hold onto it with a goddamn death grip, and I even agree to the team press conference that Ilya informs me I’ll be attending. What I want to do is go back to my hotel room and drink.
But I know that’s not the right thing for me. And the decision doesn’t just come from a desire to be better for Victoria; it comes from a desire to be better for myself, because the way I’ve been behaving… it’s not just beneath Victoria. It’s also beneath me.
That’s how I end up sitting in the press room, gritting my teeth against cameras flashing in my face, and keeping my rude quips to myself. It’s just Elio and I at the table—Ilya, Declan, and Soren are gathered on either side of the dais where the table is set up.
Elio’s best in the spotlight, so I let him steal the show, charm the reporters, and get all the acolytes. My racing today speaks for itself, but so does his.
He finished in P12. An insane improvement from his work this and last season, and something that both he and I know is because Victoria redid his strategy. She has a unique way of taking the strengths of a car and the strengths of a driver, and writing them into a symphony of success.
But it’s not just because of her that he did well. It’s because he is, fundamentally, a good driver. Rookie or not, he has the spark of talent. He’ll get there.
“Asher!” One of the reporters calls out.
Fuck, this again?
I muster a smile that probably looks more like a grimace for the cameras, and try not to glare at the reporter too hard.
“There was a lot of speculation that you were on your way out of F1 this season,” the woman calls out. “But your performance in the last few races undercuts that theory. Can you expand?”
“Sure, happy to clear it up.” I’m not happy to talk to a single fucking journalist, but I will. “I have no intention of leaving this sport. It’s one of my great loves in this life. While I was in stasis for a bit, I’m back now.” My smile turns devilish. “As I think everyone knows.”
“There’s no guarantee that you’ll keep your contract at Gaston, though,” the reporter volleys back. “What will you do if they don’t renew?”
“Cry a river,” I quip.
A few chuckles sound in the room. I think I might be starting to get the hang of this media bullshit.
“What’s your ideal team?” A man holding a notepad stands up, staring me straight in the eye. “If not at Gaston, where would you want to be?”
I take a beat to think it over. “Honestly, the team doesn’t matter so much as the people on it—they’re who make a team.
So, for me, I would want a chief mechanic as brilliant as Noah Kline, who rebuilt my car with very little time and a whole lot of pressure.
” I’ve had my differences with Noah, and while I spent a long time blaming him for the sorry state of my car…
he’s always done the best he can with the resources he had.
I spoke with him a few days ago about the upgrades to my car; that’s when I realized that I didn’t take enough time to acknowledge the excellence that does exist on this team.
This is as good a time as any to change it.
Noah isn’t the only talented and competent member on this team.
There are many of them… and I haven’t given anyone the credit they’re due.
“I’d also want Thomas Sato—a brilliant controls and systems engineer,” I go on.
“Naturally, I couldn’t go anywhere without a trackside Aerodynamicist like Yasmin Abadi.
” I go down the list of people whose names I know, who’s work I respect, but who I seldom actually get around to acknowledging, because I’ve always been too goddamn caught up in myself and my difficulty.
They say it takes a village. I have a village—I’ve always had one.
It was just invisible behind the shroud of anger that always swirled around me like a tempest. Now, that anger isn’t gone, and my attitude will never fully recede…
but the mist has parted just enough for me to realize how goddamn self-involved I’ve been.
“Oh, and one more person,” I say, looking directly into the camera.
“Her most of all, really. An engineering intern who swept into Gaston, took the team by storm, and is the reason I pulled my head out of my ass. Victoria Linden. For the last few races, she’s implemented a predictive algorithm based on formulations far too advanced for a lowly driver like myself to understand.
” A fond smile pulls on my lips. “She’s going to change this sport—maybe the world.
She’s already started. I will not, can not go anywhere without her.
” I shake my head with a breath of laughter.
Now that I’ve started talking about Victoria, I can’t fucking seem to stop.
I can’t not tell the world how amazing she is, even if she’ll never be mine.
“I’ve been in F1 for the better part of a decade, and I have never met someone as smart, capable, and hardworking as her.
She is the best in the business—I’ll be amazed if she doesn’t have offers coming from every single team at the end of the season.
” It all boils down to one thing, really: “Where she goes, I go. And I’m taking my pit team with me. "
The reporter is open-mouthed at this point, but he quickly recovers, sealing his lips and clearing his throat. “I can’t help but notice you haven't mentioned anything about Elio.”
I take a nice, long look at Elio, letting him stew in silence for a bit.
I’m sure he’s assuming that I’m about to embarrass him or throw him under the bus, but…
“I didn’t think I’d need to clarify that.
” I don a charming smile. “After all, we need someone to get second place so we can secure a Constructor’s Title for Gaston.
” I clear my throat. “Or whichever team will have us.”
Elio stares at me like I’ve just sprouted two more heads, turned into a hydra, and am about to eat him. I hope the reporters get pictures of his face right now, mouth slack, eyes bulging, and make it his new unofficial press headshot.
I might be cutting back on the asshole side of myself, but I still reserve the right to occasionally be a dick.
“Asher.” A new reporter stands up, and it’s…
oh, shit. It’s the one from the first race of the season, who grilled and antagonized me.
Of course he’d be here. “You’ve been one of the most volatile drivers in the press and on the track.
You have a reputation as someone who’s rude, ungrateful, and in recent seasons, doesn’t even try.
” He pauses, letting that sink in—waiting for a reaction.
“Okay,” I drawl. It’s tempting to comment on his receding hairline or his juvenile desire to stir shit, but I hold myself in check.
“Why should we—why should anyone believe you’re changing now?” he challenges. “It’s clear you have an agenda. That you’re trying to get something out of acting so… decent, when the world knows that decency is not in your vocabulary. So. What’s your angle?”
I take one deep breath, cramming down the urge to tell him to go fuck himself.
Then two. “To be perfectly honest with you… every name I’ve mentioned so far today, I’ve disappointed.
I’ve failed, and done so miserably. Not because I’m deliberately cruel or antagonistic,” questionable, “but because I had my own demons and insecurities, and they made their way onto the track.” I give a sardonic chuckle.
“As everyone knows.” A slight murmur and uneasy chuckle travels through the pack of hyenas also known as reporters and journalists.
I think everyone’s deeply puzzled by my behavior.
“So, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to take a step back from my ego and listen to everything that the people around me have been telling me, everything they’ve been trying their damndest to help me with.
Most of all, I’m going to listen to Victoria.
I’m going to follow all of her instructions, and see how it goes.
” I pause, glancing down my hands. “I’ve been putting myself, my demons, and my struggles first for a long time.
But this season has forced me to realize that there’s someone else, someone far smarter and kinder who deserves to be first. Who I will always put first.” I flash a wide smile to dickface reporter, who seems not to have any more comebacks, and slowly sinks back into his seat.
“To answer your question directly: my agenda is to better myself, and give place to the people who know better than me, and the person who knows me better than myself.”
Elio chuckles under his breath quietly. He leans over, taps me on the shoulder, and murmurs, “You really are fucked.”