CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
◆◆◆
Mia
The current season was winding down for everyone else, but at Ascari it was full steam on launch preparation.
Content packs arrived when they were supposed to, media schedules she could actually close before midnight, a garage small enough that every decision mattered and no one was screaming over anyone else.
Etienne’s twenty-year-old chaos was bright and tiring in the best possible way; Eddie’s quiet, title-winner certainty made planning calls feel solid instead of desperate.
For the first time the job didn’t feel like something she had to survive — it felt like something she could own.
She flew to Abu Dhabi alone. Yas Marina met her with the usual slap of heat and brake dust, the smell that clung to everything and somehow still felt like coming home.
She kept her head down: Etienne’s sponsor filming, tone sheets for the launch campaign, making sure Ascari’s early branding stayed clean and invisible unless they earned eyes on them.
No race this weekend — just promo shoots, driver introductions for next year’s debut, and the slow grind of building visibility for a team that hadn’t turned a competitive wheel yet.
The night before the main sponsor shoot she met Dana at the tucked-away bar just beyond the circuit fencing. Dana was already in the corner booth, gin and tonic half-gone, physio bag dumped over the chair like it had attitude.
Mia slid in opposite and ordered sparkling water with lime.
Dana didn’t waste time. “Right, spill. Ascari actually treating you like a fucking human or what?”
Mia let the cold glass cool her palm. “It’s… quieter. Smaller. I get to think between meetings instead of putting out fires. Etienne’s a walking adrenaline shot, but he actually listens when I talk. Eddie’s steady as hell. They trust me to run content without hovering.”
Dana snorted, leaning back. “You sound almost fucking happy. Who the hell are you and what have you done with Mia?”
The laugh came out small but real. “I am. Not perfect. But yeah… happy in the work. It feels like mine again.”
Dana reached over and gripped her wrist, hard. “Good. You deserve this.”
They talked until the bar started emptying — Jax’s latest media shitshow, Dana’s vague plan to head off somewhere sunny next year and not think about physio tape for a month. When they hugged goodbye outside, Dana held on tighter than usual.
“See you around the paddock tomorrow, yeah?” she said. “And Mia — whatever the fuck happens this weekend, keep your chin up. You’ve got this. Don’t let anyone — anyone — knock you off your feet again.”
Mia nodded, throat tight. “I won’t.”
* * *
The next day was sponsor meet and greets.
Etienne did driver photoshoots and quick launch interviews — a step forward for the startup.
Mia spent the afternoon in the media centre: testing mics for upcoming content, adjusting stands, coiling spare cables, making sure Ascari’s branding was visible in every frame.
The room slowly cleared until it was just the drone of the air-conditioning and the echo of her own footsteps.
The door opened behind her.
“You’re back.”
His voice hit low and rough, exactly the way it always had in the quiet hours when she still let herself remember. Her fingers locked on the cable.
She didn’t turn right away. “Yeah. I’m back.”
The door clicked shut. The air changed — heavier, smaller. He stopped a few paces away; she could smell the day on him: hot rubber from the track, race-suit sweat, that same cologne he always wore.
She forced herself to face him. He looked… tired. Good, still unfairly good, but tired in the eyes. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to take up space.
For a long second neither of them spoke.
He cleared his throat. “Promo going okay for you guys?”
“Etienne’s shoot wrapped clean. Branding looks sharp. Team’s happy with the early stuff.”
“Good. That’s… good.” He shifted his weight.
Another beat. The silence stretched, awkward and thick.
He glanced at the coiled cables in her hands, then away. “You still do that thing with the spare leads.”
She managed a half-smile, small and careful. “Old habits.”
“Yeah.” He exhaled through his nose, looked at the floor, then back at her. “You look… good, Mia.”
The compliment landed strangely — polite, distant, like something you’d say to an old colleague. She felt the awkwardness coil tighter in her chest.
“Thanks. You too. Season’s been rough, but you’re still driving like you always do.”
He gave a short, humourless laugh. “Trying to.”
More silence. She set the cable down on the table, just to have something to do with her hands. He watched the movement, then looked away again.
Finally he asked, quieter: “How’s the new gig?”
“Different,” she said. “Smaller team. Bigger responsibilities. More… mine. I like it. We’re still building — no races yet, just prep for next year. But it feels right.”
He nodded slowly. “Amberley, home. Did you get what you needed?”
She met his eyes then — really met them — and saw the question wasn’t casual. It was careful, almost afraid.
“I did,” she said. “Space. Time. Clarity. My parents… they were great. We talked. Really talked. I told them everything about Oxford.”
His expression cracked — just a flicker of relief, something softer underneath. “I’m so glad, Mia.”
“I should have done it years ago.”
Silence again, but different this time — taut, electric. Then, at the exact same moment:
“I’m sorry.”
They stared. A small, fractured laugh escaped her.
“What do you have to be sorry for?” she whispered. “I was the one who left. I was the one who gave up.”
He shook his head. “Yeah, but I should have fought harder. I should have been patient. I should have followed you. I should have—”
“I went all the way to New Zealand,” she cut in quietly. “I couldn’t have sent a clearer message. I needed space.”
“And did that work?” His voice cracked on the last word.
She exhaled, shaky. “I have things a lot clearer in my head now.”
He swallowed. “I’m so glad to hear that.”
Another beat. She forced it out:
“I met with Emma.”
His brows lifted. “You did?”
“Yeah. We’re never going to be friends again. But she apologised — in her own way. It helped. More than I expected.”
His eyes softened, pride and pain tangled. “I’m so proud of you, Mia.”
“Thanks.” She looked down at her hands, then back up. “I never meant to hurt you, Lucas.”
“I know,” he said, rough. “I know.”
The silence that followed was heavy with everything left unsaid.
She lifted her chin. “Congratulations on the engagement. Sienna’s one lucky girl.”
He gave a small, startled laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Thanks. I know it’s… a surprise.”
“It’s okay,” she said, forcing the words past the ache. “I understand.”
“Mia — do you think—”
She cut him off gently. “Good luck tomorrow in the race. I know this season hasn’t been what you hoped for, but I can see things turning around. I can feel it.”
He studied her for a long moment — something raw flickering behind his eyes. She saw the question he didn’t ask: Are you happy? Are you really okay without me?
He nodded once, jaw tight. “Thanks.”
He turned for the door, then stopped, hand on the handle.
“Mia?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you’re back.”
Her heart squeezed so hard she almost couldn’t breathe. She managed a small, steady smile. “Me too.”
The door closed with a soft click.
Mia stood motionless for several long seconds. The media centre felt suddenly too big, too quiet. She set the last cable down carefully, fingers still trembling. She switched off the lights one by one, each click loud in the empty space.
Outside, the night was warm and thick with the smell of cooling tarmac and distant engines. Floodlights turned the paddock into a glowing, surreal stage. She walked slowly toward the Ascari motorhome, passing shuttered garages and the occasional mechanic still working under a car.
She let herself feel it without rushing: the sharp sting of seeing him, the clumsy awkwardness of trying to talk like strangers when they weren’t.
She stopped under one of the big lights, tilted her head back to the clear desert sky. The stars were the same ones she’d looked at in Amberley.
She started walking again, slower, letting the warm air settle against her skin. The weight hadn’t vanished. It had simply changed shape — less brutal, more familiar, almost careful now in the way it rested against her ribs.
Tomorrow was more work. Whatever came next — on track or off — she would face it one steady breath at a time.
* * *
Lucas
He’d told himself he wouldn’t look for her.
All weekend he’d repeated it like a mantra: head down, focus on the car, let the rest go. The media centre wasn’t even on his normal route back, but the door was ajar, and there she was — back turned, coiling cable with that same precise focus she used when she was trying not to think too hard.
He stepped inside before he could talk himself out of it.
Now he was walking away, legs on autopilot down the pit lane, floodlights throwing long shadows. He made it halfway before his knees gave out. He stopped under a pylon, hands braced on his thighs, breathing hard like he’d just done twenty hot laps.
She was back.
And the conversation had been excruciating — all those stilted pauses, the way they’d both tried to keep it light and failed, the way her voice had caught when she finally said she’d told her parents about Oxford. He’d wanted to reach for her so badly his hands had ached in his pockets.
He was proud of her. Furious at himself.
He straightened, dragged a hand over his face, and kept walking.
Tomorrow he’d climb into the car. He’d drive like hell. He’d try to salvage something from this season.
But tonight, under the lights, all he could think was:
She was back.