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“Let’s go out,” I say because as much as I enjoy Adrian’s company, I can’t spend too much time with him or I’m afraid I’ll start liking him in a way a person doesn’t like their friend.
Chapter 21
Adrian
EveryThursdaybeforethestart of the season, I ask my team to let me near the car after almost everyone's gone to get a second alone with it. There are still a few mechanics around me, of course, I’m not allowed to be entirely alone with my car, but that’s fine by me.
I don’t speak.
I don’t say a single word aloud as I squat down in front of my car with a single hand resting on its nose.
“You will be a World Champion, son. You will take that title and make it yours, just like I made it mine. You have the heart of a racer, the lungs, the bones, the willpower. You will be one of the greatest in the history of Formula One. I believe in you. You just have to believe in yourself.”
My grandfather’s words echo in my ears as I study the red color of my car, the eight painted across the nose. My number. The one I chose because I’ve always liked the way the eight didn’t have an end. It’s infinite.
Infinite like time.
Infinite like grief and pain.
Infinite like love is supposed to be.
Gabriel chose the number seven because of all the people he lost. Valentina chose the number nine because it chose her first. Leonard chose three for reasons he wouldn’t share with me. James chose the number nineteen because he was nineteen when he started racing in Formula One. Cameron chose thirty-four because his little sister liked the number.
But I chose my number because I was hoping it would give me infinite strength. Because I thought if I put it on my car, no one would ever take my seat away. Because I never want to leave Formula One.
Help me get us that championship, I think to my car, pressing my forehead against the cool material of the nose.
This is an incredibly intimate moment, and I’m grateful to find all the mechanics turning away to give me a second. I’ve done this ritual without anyone, not even Val, knowing since I was a kid. It was for good luck, to feel a deeper connection to my car by treating it like my equal. And it is. All the racing skills and talent in the world won’t get me the win if my car doesn’t work with me.
I run my fingers over my number one last time before straightening out my back, thanking my mechanics and the rest of the crew working this late, and leaving again.
I want to win.
I want that title.
And I’m going to get it.
No matter what it takes.
Nevaeh texted me Tuesday night, saying she wanted to reschedule our French tutoring lesson because she was upset about something that happened and didn’t feel like she’d be good company. I loved her honesty, wished I could show her that I could cheer her up, and hated the fact that I had no idea what upset her.
She was distant as she stood with Gillian, watching him interview Gabriel, Kyle, Lincoln, and me without saying a single word. Her eyes were locked on her notepad as she scribbled something down.
She looked tired. Beautiful, more so than anyone has a right to, but tired.
I tried talking to her after Gillian was done with his interview, but my PR manager, Fatima, ushered me away to my next one. Being a Formula One driver means I have responsibilities and can’t go about doing whatever I want. It’s unfortunate because I wanted to ask Nevaeh what I could do to make her smile.
“Hey, big guy, could you get that dreamy look out of your eyes and get in the car?” Chloe, my race engineer, asks with a scowl on her face.
We met five years ago when I was still on a lower-ranking team. I was racing in Brazil, her home race, and she was training to be a race engineer for a different driver. Jonathan Kent never knew I convinced her to work for me instead, but the asshole deserved my sneaky and underhandedness. He was a fucking dick to Leonard.
Chloe is an absolute grump and a hard-ass, but she got us Vice World Champion last year. She’s the reason why my races go smoothly. She is the brains behind my successful race strategies.
“I’m waiting for Daniel to get me my gloves,” I explain with an easy smile, but she continues to stare me down until I get a little nervous.
She’s frightening, but I adore her for it. Nobody from my team fucks with her, which means no one fucks with me, either.
“Sorry, I’m here. My boyfriend’s mother was just sent to the hospital for food poisoning,” Daniel says as soon as he approaches me with everything I’ll need for the Grand Prix today.
