Page 48 of You Wish
“To be honest, I don’t know.”
Rachel slid her laptop off her thighs and stood. “You’re too close to this,” she said carefully. Her words were measured, but there was a hesitation in her tone.
“What do you mean?” Georgia asked, because she really wanted to know. “I’m not the one who broke a promise and let everything go sideways! You’re supposed to be the professional here.”
Rachel’s eyes flicked away, just for a heartbeat, before returning to Georgia. “Professional? Yes. But some lines, some things aren’t just about work, Georgia.”
Georgia froze, sensing the unsaid beneath Rachel’s words, but she pressed on, relentless. “This isn’t about headlines. This isn’t about clicks or reels. This is about doing the right thing forthe project. For the kids. So get it done. Now. Or don’t expect me to trust you again.”
Rachel sat back, expression carefully neutral, but the tension was thick enough to feel it physically. Georgia turned sharply, slamming the door behind her as she left. Her heart pounded, a mix of anger, fear, and determination. Nothing—and no one—was going to stop her from fixing this, protecting the kids, and saving her career.
17
“Tighter?” Georgia asked, her hands fatigued from gripping so hard.
“Tighter,” Jake affirmed. “You sure you can handle all this?”
“I’ve handled more,” Georgia said, cinching the helmet’s chin strap until it was snug.
After the intensity of the last two days, Jake wanted to take someplace Georgia fun. That was how they ended up in Pine Village Speedway, a year-round amusement park, twenty minutes north of his grandparents’ place.
The air smelled like gasoline and cotton candy, an oddly perfect mix of speed and nostalgia. Engines sputtered and roared, the high-pitched whine of tiny motors mingling with the squeals of kids and the bark of the track manager’s megaphone.
Jake stood casually by his kart, acting like it was a twenty-million-dollar racing car.
“Did you come here a lot?” she asked.
“This place used to mean the world to me. When things were bad with my parents, I would work out my frustration on the track. I still do that.”
Jake could still remember the Christmas he’d spent in the French Alps with his parents— the kind of holiday that looked perfect from the outside. Snow dusting the chalet rooftop, skiing as a family, and a twelve-foot fir trimmed by the staff to match whatever theme his mother had declared that year.
He’d been twelve, lanky and restless, his head full of engine specs and go-kart races instead of polo scores and gallery openings. And while he’d spent the afternoon outside, elbow-deep in grease trying to coax life into a battered snowmobile with a local mechanic, his sister had been inside, sipping Bordeaux and discussing politics in flawless French with their parents’ friends.
When he finally came in, smelling like oil and triumph, proud of the engine he’d helped fix, his mother barely looked up from the fire.
“You might consider a shower before dinner,” she’d said, as if his effort was something shameful. His father offered a distracted nod, already back to debating foreign policy. Rachel stated a bold opinion and his dad had said, “Brilliant insight said with such poise, exactly the kind of person this family needs to be proud of.”
It was in that moment — standing there with dirty hands and an ache he couldn’t name — that Jake understood the quiet, unspoken truth of his family: No matter how hard he tried, he would always be too much of himself and not enough of them. And somehow, that stung even more at Christmas.
Sometimes when his sister said or did things reminiscent of his dad, it was a reminder that even though she had his best interest at heart, she didn’t necessarily understand him.
Jake looked at Georgia, who was still adjusting her helmet. “And after dealing with my sister, you deserve to blow off some steam.”
“Thank you.”
“No, thank you. I know how hard Rachel tries to protect me. And it’s too much sometimes. You could have really gone after her, but instead you handled yourself with grace and professionalism.”
“I don’t want there to be tension between us, but she seems set on creating it.”
“She is a lot like my parents. It’s all about appearances.”
“What’s it all about for you?”
“Racing. Making a difference. I hate being the center of something as ridiculous as pictures and social media, spinning the truth to make me look better. There are more important things in the world.”
“Like what? I mean I know what it is for me, but what is it for you?”
“Friends. My grandparents. And even though she drives me crazy, my sister. And of course there’s racing.”
