Page 106 of Double Apex

If I make podium and Jakob finishes sixth or better, Emerald nets third in the constructors’ championship, securing a place in the “big three.” I must remain focused on the goal. Any distraction could quite literally be deadly.

Draaaaa-maaaa, I seem to hear Brooklyn taunt.

Fuck!

I need my mind to be silent now, and instead there’s a crowd in it.

I cannot forget Phaedra’s expression on Friday before she walked away in the hotel lobby. What did she see on my face? Could she read the truth of how miserable I am?

I sat through a four-course meal with a ridiculous girl who doesn’t eat and who chattered my ears off with vacant scraps. The whole evening, I was yearning for the rich conversation I share with Phaedra—whether the topic is music, books, history, or pure silliness, there is no moment she fails to captivate me.

I must stop thinking about this.

She’s gone. All I can do today is give her a win, if possible.

I do some final preparation with Guillaume: breathing exercises, eye muscle exercises, reaction drills. In my darkened driver’s room I lie down for ten minutes before going to the garage, attempting to relax and focus my mind, doing a mental walk-through to visualize the race.

Once I’m in the car and the pit lane opens, we head out for a reconnaissance lap. The E-19 is beautifully responsive, track conditions are near ideal, the weather is agreeable—everything on the outside feels perfect.

Inside me, all is chaos.

I have to admit to myself, I’m pained that she’s not here. Certainly, my selfishness is at the tip of the emotion, but the larger part is knowing I may have driven her away when she came to Abu Dhabi to honor her father.

I allowed her to assume I was on a date with someone else.And she left. End of story.

We assemble on the grid, where Emerald’s team ofmechanics wait. I climb out. Someone follows me with an umbrella to ward off the sun, attempting to keep in step as I pace, and I have to dismiss him so I can think.

Reporters mill about. I spot Natalia Evans and Alexander Laskaris fromAuto Racing. Natalia is deep in discussion with Drew Powell, and Alexander descends upon me.

“Hey, mate!” he calls out.

“Mr. Laskaris,” I return with a noncommittal smile. I’ve never liked the man. UK-born to wealthy and famous Greek parents, he affects a personality seemingly assembled from a half-dozen American archetypes—from hard-boiled detective to frat boy—in hopes of bringing an “edge” to his posh and pampered roots.

He flicks on a voice recorder.

“Today’s your day, yeah?Nearlymade pole. Weather’s hot as hell, but of course you’re prepared for that. Ready to net that number one for Emerald,finally—after all those almosts. So close to victory you could’ve touched it.” A sly smile curls on his face. “But you’re not a man to worry he’s been ‘jinxed’ by, uh…”

His words die as I slide the phone from his fingers, fixing him with a cold eye and tapping the screen to stop recording.

“Miss Morgan’s estimation of you is accurate,” I say. “You like to play mind games.”

He takes his phone back. “How’s that, exactly?”

“‘Nearlymade pole,’” I repeat. “Commenting on the heat to emphasize it. Predicting a win as if it’s assured, and in the same breath reminding me of the lingering stain of failure.”

He shakes his head with a chuckle. “Are you superstitious or just easily rattled?”

“Hmm, and apparently you’re still trying.”

“Damn, you’re touchy.” He gazes theatrically into the middle distance, sketching out a pretend headline with one hand. “‘Is the Paddock Pinup Boy Not as Confident as He Appears?’ Nowthat’dmake a fun article…”

I force an aloof expression in case anyone is taking photographs.

“Do you have anyjournalisticquestions, or are you simply a nuisance? I know you sailed here on your little raft of nepotism, wearing the smart sailor suit Mother dressed you in, but perhaps you could look to your colleague Miss Evans for guidance on professionalism.”

He tries for a smirk of bravado, but I can see the comment was a direct hit. One of his eyebrows lifts as he prepares his return fire.

“Youarefazed. Big time. And it wasn’tmydoing—word on the street is Phaedra Morgan is the one gaming your mind. Got her hooks well into you.”

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