CHAPTER ONE #2
My heart jolted, jump-started by excitement. The first team Dad raced for wanted me? Then why did Ale look like he’d delivered bad news?
Sure, it was in the States. When I’d left Russell Land at sixteen, I hadn’t planned on going back.
In theory, better options existed here—Forward Racing hadn’t qualified for the World Superbike Championship since Dad’s time.
Kawasaki would probably pay more, but Dad hadn’t won trophies with them.
Forward Racing opened doors for him, and it could open them for me.
“They want me,” I echoed. “Me.”
Ale unbuttoned his jacket—a telltale sign he was relaxing. “Your portfolio impressed them. And being Sergio Williams’s son only added to it. But you’re talented, Ash. In no time, teams here in Spain will fight for you. You’re not a nobody anymore.”
He wasn’t wrong. Jerez was close, with one hell of a track.
Since graduating two years ago, I’d trained almost daily and raced in every championship I could, big or small.
I’d met people, made connections, built a solid portfolio.
But that wasn’t Dad’s path. And I’d sworn to follow every step he’d taken before the accident cut him short.
I was already late. Already behind. Dad died before he could train me like he’d wanted, and I’d lost time grieving, adjusting to the version of my life where he couldn’t be proud of my victories or call me out for my screwups. That version sucked.
And I was stuck with it forever.
Ale might think Forward Racing meant wasted time, but Dad would’ve been proud.
“I know I’m good,” I said. “But it’s not like a better offer’s on the table, is it?
You said you’re still talking to Kawasaki.
If they really wanted me, you’d be here with a contract.
” My fingers slid through my hair, chest tight.
“I can’t keep paying for everything, Ale.
I’d need sponsors fast, and no big company’s knocking. ”
Ale crossed his arms over his broad chest. “I’ll try harder, Ash. The South is what it is, but we have Madrid. Barcelona. Aragón.”
“I’m not saying you should try harder. You’ve already done plenty. And I do have an offer, right?”
“I just…” He shifted his weight, blowing out a breath. “I know you’re set on it because it was your dad’s first team, but there’s something that might change your mind.”
What could make me say no to the team I’d obsessed over for the last two years? I searched his face, but he sighed. “Forward Racing is changing owners. The deal isn’t finalized, but it will be in the next few weeks.”
“So you’re saying I risk being kicked out once the new owner takes over? Why would they want me then?”
“The team manager still fields riders and plans the budget. They need someone young and ambitious like you. I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”
Ale was going in circles. My patience would vanish soon, the way daylight had over El Puerto de Santa María. He was lucky he was my friend—and the best agent I could’ve found.
I drew in the salty air. “Ale.”
He made a sound between a protest and a growl. “Russell Demeri bought Forward Racing. Your. . .”
Fury simmered through my veins. “Not fucking mine. My mother’s. They’re not married, so he’s not my family.”
My voice was clipped, cold, but inside I burned. The man who’d replaced Dad was about to wreck my dream. Did he know they’d considered me? Did he buy the team because of Dad? My fists tightened.
Ale slung an arm over my shoulders. “I’m sorry. I know it’s a sore subject. That’s why I didn’t want you too excited. You’re good, Ash—but so am I. Trust me. I’ll get you a deal with a Spanish team before summer.”
I believed him. But Russell had already taken my mother. I wouldn’t let him steal my father’s legacy too.
“I’d sign with Forward Racing for one season, right?”
Ale dropped his arm. “Yeah.”
“Tell them I accept.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “I’m going there next week. We can travel together—unless you need more time.”
Ale was branching out, setting up his agency in the States. Having him close would help. I needed someone loyal in my corner.
“No. Next week is fine.”
We walked back to Grandma’s in comfortable silence.
When I stepped into the courtyard, Grandma’s and Dawson’s laughter faded.
Javi must’ve been entertaining them with his jokes.
The three of them looked up expectantly.
Ale groaned, smacking his forehead. “Joder, Maricarmen, tu regalo.” Fuck, Maricarmen, your present.
“You’d better not get her something from a gas station,” I called as he sprinted toward the gallery.
Grandma chuckled. “Good intentions are what matter.”
Once Ale disappeared, Dawson cleared his throat. “So, how did it go?”
I sat beside Grandma. She’d miss me, and I’d miss her—and Spain—but chasing my dream was in my blood. I had to trust she’d understand.
“It went well,” I said. “Forward Racing wants me. Dad’s first team.”
Javi’s eyes widened. Dawson nodded. Grandma slipped a slender arm around my waist. “They’re smart people,” she whispered, kissing my cheek. “Is that what you want, mi nino?”
The wind feathered over my face, carrying the scent of her chrysanthemums. My chest tightened, but I swept my gaze across the courtyard I knew by heart—the terra-cotta pots, the fountain in the middle. This was home. Russell Land never would be. But I had to keep my eyes on the prize.
“Sí,” I said.
Dawson reached across the table and patted my hand. “Then we’re happy for you. Guess you and I are moving back.”
I sighed. “We are.”
***
After everyone left and Grandma went to bed, Javi and I sat on the living room couch. Sport Union Madrid—his dream team—played on TV. Thanks to him, his current team had just been promoted to the First Division. Hopefully that had put him on their radar.
“Salud.” He clinked his beer against mine. “To your new team.”
“Thanks.” I took a swig, but he didn’t move.
“Ash.” Javi’s assessing gaze fixed on my face, and I braced for what was coming.
“Yeah?”
“Are you sure you want to race in the States?”
I rolled the bottle between my palms. “I’m sure. Forward Racing was Dad’s first team. He’d be proud.”
Javi lifted and dropped his shoulders. “I knew him, remember? He’d be proud no matter what you do. Mamá always says ignoring your gut never leads anywhere good. What does your gut tell you?”
I set the beer on the floor and dragged my hands over my face, groaning.
“I’m twenty, tío. I’ve been waiting forever for a team to pick me.
What if nobody else wants me anytime soon?
” Dad’s death—right when I was starting to break into professional racing—and the grief that followed derailed everything. I’d lost time. Missed chances.
“What did Ale say?” Javi asked.
“Ale’s an optimist.”
“He’s great at his job. You said so yourself.”
My heart picked up. I tugged at the hem of my shirt, staring at the seam. Facing Javi was hard. We’d been friends since we were kids, and he always saw through my bullshit.
“I don’t want to waste another six months on something that might not happen. RevGlobe Grand Prix is . . .”
“Like Sport Union Madrid for me. Should I settle for my current team?”
“Fuck, no.” I groaned. “It’s only a matter of time until they notice you.”
“I could say the same about you.” He sighed, long and heavy.
“Sorry. I don’t mean to bug you. Forward Racing’s offer is great, and I’m happy for you.
I just want to make sure it’s the kind of great you want.
You didn’t last two weeks living with your mother’s boyfriend, and now he’ll be something like your boss. ”
I folded my arms. “Grandma thinks I should let my mother fix things.”
Javi snorted. “Did she ever try?”
“Not really. But Dad’s been gone five years. I guess I can’t stay mad at her forever.”
“No.” He glanced at the TV and groaned. The score in the corner read two to zero—bad for a team that used to win everything. “See that?” He nodded at the screen. “They would’ve won if I were there.”
I chuckled and nudged his bicep with my fist. “My gut says you’ll be playing for them one day. I’m going to bed. You’re leaving early tomorrow, right?”
Javi yawned. “Yeah. Can’t miss training. And I miss Madrid.”
So did I—except I had nothing there anymore. Mom sold our apartment after Dad died, as if she couldn’t get rid of the memories fast enough.
“Buenas noches,” I said before heading to my room.
My mind stayed restless as I lay in bed. I grabbed my phone and typed Russell Demeri into the search bar. His face popped up—tall, stern, close-cropped dark blond hair, a nose almost too big for his face. His personality was worse. What the hell did my mother ever see in him?
Images of the short time I’d spent in his house flickered behind my eyes, and without thinking, I typed another name.
Kaia Demeri.
The first time we met filled my mind. She’d been thirteen, a kid in a pink dress clutching a tattered copy of The Little Prince, staring at me with fear.
Kaia had been at summer camp the two times I visited my mother after moving here, but the few memories I had of her stayed strangely vivid.
Mom didn’t talk about her much, and Kaia hadn’t been on social media back then.
Clearly, that’d changed. I stared at the screen, trying to reconcile the girl I remembered with the stunning one in the photo—a short black dress, hair long and wavy, falling over her shoulders in a glossy light-brown curtain.
I was wrong. Her blue eyes were the same. So was her smile.
At fifteen, I’d thought she was cute. Cute and lonely. I even felt guilty for leaving her—though my need to escape Russell and my mother had been stronger.
Now I was going back. I’d see her again, almost eighteen, and the thought stirred something in me.
Curiosity. Just that.
Before I knew it, I’d scrolled to the end of her Instagram feed. I tossed the phone aside and buried my face in the pillow.
She was still Russell’s daughter. And liking how she looked in pictures didn’t mean shit.
Or so I hoped.