“Just a couple more,” she murmurs, eyes still glued to her phone. “Then I promise I’ll be a good WAG for you.”
I snicker, but I have no doubt I’ll have all her focus when it’s time. We’ve been inseparable since our second wedding, and she didn’t hesitate when I asked if she wanted to come along to Bahrain. I warned her that I’d barely have any free time between preseason testing and the first race weekend, that thedates we’d started to go on every few days would have to stop for a while, but she wasn’t deterred.
“I only married you so I could get more passport stamps,” she teased before pressing a kiss to my jaw. “Ends of the earth, remember?”
It may not have officially been part of our vows, but it’s become our promise to each other. Whenever we can, we’ll put in the effort to be in the same place. Certainly makes this whole dating thing easier—which, I have to say, is going well so far. Who knew getting married first would lead to having the world’s greatest girlfriend?
As I turn into the car park and pull into my designated spot, the beginning of an adrenaline rush starts to seep into my veins. In a few hours, after more team meetings and last-minute adjustments to the car, I’ll be on the grid watching the lights go out. To say I’ve missed this is an understatement, and to think I ever considered giving it up…it’s nearly unbelievable now. I’m determined to fight harder than ever. I’m going to prove I belong in this elite level of motorsport—and prove my worth to any team that might want me in the future.
While preseason testing last week was promising for McMorris, Specter Energy and Mascort are still topping the timetables, with D’Ambrosi not far behind. I slotted myself into a respectable P5 in qualifying yesterday, though with the talent ahead of me—including both of the returned champions, Zaid and Axel, and our newest championship winner, Reid—I don’t stand much of a chance of finishing higher than that, especially if Dev defends hard in P4.
I won’t waste my energy being disappointed by the result. More than anything, I’m pleased to see Zaid and Axel back and competing just as fiercely as they did before the crash. That seems to be the only thing that’s the same about them both,though. Some of Axel’s rough edges have softened during his time away, which I will never complain about. The guy needed to take his off-track aggression down a few notches.
Zaid, on the other hand, seems to have hardened. Not that he was ever light and bright and constantly smiling—like Dev, for example—but he always had a compelling warmth that drew people to him. I won’t say it’s completely gone, just…faded. There’s a wall up that I don’t remember ever seeing from my idol. But with Dev as his teammate, I don’t know how much longer that wall will be allowed to last.
“You’re not going to believe this.”
Stella’s voice draws me out of my thoughts. She lifts her phone, leaving me staring at Edith’s name in theFromline of a forwarded email sent to me and Stella. Reading on, I spot that it originated from A.P. Maxwell International—and it’s something that certainly shouldnothave been distributed to anyone outside of the organization.
The subject line makes me freeze.
[CONFIDENTIAL] PRESS RELEASE:
A.P. Maxwell International to Continue Partnership with McMorris F1 Team.
My eyes go wide, then snap to Stella. “You’re kidding.”
“Keep reading,” she urges.
Stunned, I return my attention to the screen, forcing myself to focus on the next line.
Pulled some strings, Edith wrote.The partnership is contingent upon you staying at the team, but the money will go wherever you go. Andrew won’t fuck with this again. Expect an apology from him soon.
I reread the note again to make sure I’m not hallucinating.“Holy shit,” I breathe out. “What strings do you think she pulled?”
Stella shakes her head. “I don’t want to ask and I don’t want to know.”
That’s the best way to go about it, because it undoubtedly involved some sort of blackmail. My eldest sister is, as Stella would say, not to be trifled with. But never in my wildest dreams did I think Edith would do something like this for me. Then again, maybe she had a few nudges along the way.
I eye my wife. “Did you have something to do with this?”
She flips her hair over her shoulder, haughty and confident, my favorite version of her. “I will neither confirm nor deny.” She pauses, hand dropping to her lap again. “Okay, I’m denying, because I deserve zero credit for this. But it may have come up in conversation when I talked to Edith last week about how pissed she was at your dad’s choice to make Andrew CEO—”
“Wait, wait, wait. You talked toEdith?” I cut in. “Willingly?”
“We’re both savvy businesswomen, Thomas, keep up.” She winks to take the edge off. “But yeah, we’ve chatted. She’s blunt, for sure, but she’s pretty great once you get to know her.”
I want to ask more, but motion from outside the windows distracts me, a reminder that we need to head into the paddock. My mind whirls in pure disbelief from both developments as I slip out of the car and move around to Stella’s side to open her door.
In no world did I think my wife and sister would team up to make this happen for me, or that they’d even be able to make a difference. I’m sure the interview with Lorenzo that came out a few days ago helped their cause, since he essentially cleared me of all wrongdoing and revealed to the world it was Arlo whofilmed and posted the video of my tirade. My teammate has been conspicuously absent from several team meetings since, and part of me won’t be surprised if he’s swapped out for another driver by summer break at the latest. And knowing that McMorris will get to keep the sponsorship money as long as they keep me…Well, it’s obvious who their priority is, isn’t it?
Stella slides her hand into mine when she’s out of the car, lacing our fingers together and giving them a squeeze. “You’ll be able to stay at McMorris if you want,” she says quietly as we start toward the paddock entrance, ignoring the camera flashes as we go. “Keep performing as well as you have been and they won’t even consider anyone else for your seat.”
I dazedly wave to the people shouting my name from behind the barriers and nearly drop my pass as I tap it against the turnstile sensors. I thought I’d be happier about this news, maybe even overjoyed to know I have a guaranteed seat next year, and yet…I don’t know how I feel. I really don’t. And it’s all because my goals have changed.
I want more than just a safe seat at an upper-midfield team. I want more than a podium or two all season, if I’m lucky. I want more than what McMorris can give me.
I don’t realize I haven’t spoken until Stella lifts my hand and kisses my knuckles, dragging me back into the moment.
