Page 105 of Double Apex

“Some men don’t need them,” I retort.

She stands and stretches. “Sure. Anyway, the other option? You listen to the songs and get sad as hell andwalk through that fire and get over her.”

I turn away in disgust—I’m unsure whether with myself or with Brook—and stare at the lights below.

“But you know what?” she concludes. “You need to pull the trigger one way or the other. Personally, I vote for trying again. Unless she’s genuinely not into you, in which case… same advice I gave you in Monaco: don’t mug yourself.”

I scrub one hand over my face. “I can’t think about this right now.”

“Yeah, gotcha. I’ll let you get back to your little prerace jerk-off ritual. Congrats on P2 in quali, by the way.” She offers a mocking curtsy before heading toward the door.

My brow furrows. I said I don’t wish to discuss it, but in truth, there’s nothing I crave more than the melancholy of tasting Phaedra’s name in my mouth. Brooklyn leaving without forcing the issue almost feels like a tease.

“Thank you for disturbing my fragile peace,” I snap.

“Again:draaaaa-maaaa,” she singsongs.

Annoyed, I follow her to the door and pull it open. “Care to explain why it was necessary to show up in person rather than texting the playlist?”

She pauses on the threshold and throws a smug look over her shoulder. “Maybe to remind you how much you wished it’d been Phaedra when I knocked.”

Jet lag is part of the job in this sport, and traveling eastward is especially hard on the system. The general rule is one day’s acclimation for each hour’s time-zone difference. Abu Dhabi is seven hours ahead of São Paulo, and I arrived nine days ago after a brief stop to see Viorica and the Vlasia House children. But the adjustment has been unusually difficult this time.

The morning of the grand prix, I give up on sleep at four thirty and go down to the gym to run on the treadmill. Guillaume will arrive at six o’clock for a short training session,then I will have a massage before breakfast and the strategy meeting.

I listen to the playlist Brooklyn made, running at a breakneck pace and wondering if Phaedra is still in Abu Dhabi. Is it possible she’s asleep upstairs?

Over the course of a dozen songs, I change my mind as many times:

Yes. I must try one final time and make her see.

No. My job is demanding enough without a personal life that veers between euphoria and despair so routinely I almost suffer altitude sickness.

But if we commit to—

No!

We are too similar. We would become miserable within months.

I cannot win her if I don’t take the risk. She must see! I will tell her—

Stop, you fool. You already did, and she walked away.

When Guillaume shows up, I’m all but scaling a mountain at the machine’s maximum incline, my feet punishing the belt, thighs burning, arms swinging as if I’m delivering killing-blow uppercuts.

“Putain de bordel de merde!” he barks at me, jabbing the control panel to slow the speed and lower the ramp. “It is only flesh and blood, as they say.” He throws a small white towel at me in disgust. “Imbécile. You push a car like this? It fucking breaks.”

I pace on the treadmill as it slows to a stop, then twist mycanteen open and take a long drink before mopping my face and neck. As I catch sight of myself in the window’s reflection, hollow eyes stare back, and I wonder if I’m already broken.

“Killing yourself,” Guillaume all but spits at me, “because you… comment dit-on? You are ‘in your head’ about this woman.” He scoffs. “I ’ave some advice for you, mec. Say ‘Je m’en fous’ and move on. Why give a shit?”

He adjusts the weights on one of the machines and beckons me over to sit on the bench.

“You could have anyone. How many girls last year when you drove for Greitis? Every week, different one on the arm.” He backhand smacks my stomach. “Assez de ces conneries—remember who you are and find a new one.”

She’s not at the morning meeting either.

Recalling Brooklyn’s teasing, I consider asking Klaus for Phaedra’s whereabouts. But how would it look for me to be moping over her when the most critical race of the year is hours away?

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