Page 9 of Until You Say Stay
I turn off notifications entirely and shove the phone back in my pocket. It’s been around a month since that video from Monaco went viral. Me supposedly doing lines of cocaine at some party when the reality was I was pulling Luca’s little sister Sofia out of a bad situation before some creeps twice her age could take advantage of an eighteen-year-old who’d had too much to drink. But I can’t correct the public story without throwing both of them under the bus, exposing a teenager to tabloid scrutiny and online harassment.
That’s the problem with reputations. Eventually they’re all people see.
“Everything okay?” Theo asks, glancing over.
“Just Luca checking in,” I say, waving it off like it’s nothing. “The usual paddock gossip.”
“Contract stuff?” Dominic asks, cutting straight to business like he always does. I appreciate that about him. Theo’s the one who wants to talk about emotions and check in on my mental state, which is the last thing I want to deal with right now.
“Not really,” I say. “The video situation still has everyone spooked. Sponsors are nervous, team’s being cautious, everyone’s waiting to see if another shoe drops. But it’ll blow over eventually. These things always do.”
Normally I don’t even give a shit about my reputation. Never have. Can’t control what people think, so why waste energy trying? But this particular scandal is fucking with my contract negotiations. Not great timing when I’m trying to claw my way back to full-time racing after eighteen months of being stuck as a reserve driver.
“Is Robert still giving you grief?” Theo asks. “Or has he finally relaxed about it?”
“Robertdoesn’trelax. That’s not in his programming,” I say. Robert Callahan, billionaire, whiskey empire owner, racing enthusiast, and the closest thing I’ve had to a father figure since Dad died. He’s been my primary sponsor since I was twelve years old, believed in me when no one else did, invested millions in my career. His disappointment cuts deeper than any tabloid headline ever could. “He’s… concerned. About the optics.”
“Optics,” Dominic repeats, shaking his head. “What a load of shit.”
“Yeah, well. That’s the business,” I say.
“How’s the training going?” Dominic asks. “I saw some practice session clips online last month. You looked fast.”
“Going well,” I tell him, and it’s true. Training is the one thing I can control right now. My fingers automatically tap against my thigh, restless energy with nowhere to go. “Team’s had me doing extra simulator time in Maranello. Trying to stay sharp, prove I’m ready whenever they need me.”
“When, not if,” Theo says firmly. “Whenthey need you, Jack. Not if.”
I appreciate his confidence even if it feels misplaced most days.
Eighteen months ago I was a Formula One driver for Ferrari. Fast, aggressive, the kind of driver that made other teams nervous and sponsors throw money at me. Then I crashed during a qualifying session in Barcelona. Broken ribs, broken hand, enough internal damage to sideline me for months.
The team replaced me “temporarily” with Davis Barrett while I healed. It didn’t help that I got into a bar fight that went viral during recovery.
By the time I was cleared, Davis had settled in. He doesn’t crash and is consistent enough, though he never fucking wins and barely scores points. The team had finally had enough of his mediocrity and I was in serious negotiations to get my seatback when that video hit the tabloids. Now everything’s come to a screeching halt. Apparently generating messy tabloid fodder matters more than winning races.
“Yeah, well,” I say, taking another drink. “We’ll see what happens.”
I look out at the dance floor, watching people celebrate. That’s when I see Lark standing near the edge of the crowd, talking with some guy I don’t recognize. Lark’s dress is deep blue, fitted in all the right places, showing off curves and legs that make my brain short-circuit for half a second. Her long dark hair is pulled back on one side but falling loose over her shoulder, and she’s laughing at something, head thrown back, completely unselfconscious.
She’s fucking gorgeous.
“Tsk tsk,” Theo says, and I can hear the warning in his voice. “You’re playing with fire, Jack. Don’t you dare.”
“Dare what?” I ask innocently, dragging my attention back to my brothers. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“He’s talking about you eye-fucking Lark from across the lawn,” Dominic says bluntly. “And the flirting you were doing while MC’ing earlier.”
“I wasn’t flirting,” I protest. “I was being friendly. There’s a difference.”
“Sure there is,” Theo says, clearly not buying it. “Just watch it, Jack,” he continues, tone shifting to something more serious. “Maren would murder you if you hurt her best friend. She’s protective of Lark, especially after everything with her ex-husband. I really don’t want to have to help bury your body somewhere.”
Dominic nods solemnly. “Agreed. It would make family dinners extremely awkward.”
“Touched by your concern for my continued existence,” I say dryly.
“Hey, anytime,” Dominic says with a crooked grin. “That’s what older brothers are for.”
I glance back over at Lark one more time. She catches me looking and raises her champagne glass in a small cheers. I raise my beer back at her.
