Page 45 of Formula Dreams
“I’ll go first,” I say to no one in particular, already striding for the sim rig.Lex doesn’t object and veers toward the engineers’ corner, settling near the main display screen to watch the data stream.
One of the engineers—Bea Sutherland, short, sharp-bobbed hair, tablet tucked under her arm—peels away from the group and approaches me.“We’re focusing on Sector 3 today—your cornering speed was a tenth off in the last data haul and we want to nip that.”
“Got it,” I reply, already envisioning those corners.I’ve driven this track hundreds of times between actual practices, qualifying, races and sim work.I could probably run it with my eyes closed.
She taps her stylus against the tablet.“Let’s see if we can get you later on the brakes without compromising traction on exit.The wind’s supposed to shift race weekend, so keep that in mind.”
“Understood,” I say with a nod.“If I can take a bit more curb on the apex, I can open the wheel earlier and carry the speed through, but I’ll need the front to bite better.”
Bea’s mouth curves—approval.“We’ve adjusted the virtual setup accordingly.Let’s see how it feels.”
I climb into the pod, lowering myself into the carbon fiber seat.The harness clicks home across my chest.The rig sits on a motion platform, hydraulics ready to mimic every pitch, roll and surge of the car.Surround screens wrap my vision in the circuit—Silvercrest loading in crisp detail, its elevation changes and tricky corners gleaming under a pale virtual sky.
As I settle my gloves on the wheel, Lex calls from across the room, “Good luck, mate.”
It’s enough to tighten my grip.Friendly encouragement from him?Not normal as of late and I hate inconsistency, but I need to remember… not too long ago, his friendship was part of the consistency.I just have to get used to it again.
I roll my neck and fire up the run.The sim roars to life, the platform tilting forward ever so slightly as the lights go green.I launch down the starting straight, my pulse syncing with the RPMs.Curves come at me fast—flick left, right, left, weight shifting with the hydraulics—and for a few corners, it’s just me and the track.
Then my head fills with other things.Francesca’s laugh last night.Her skin under my hands.The look on her face when she orgasmed that second time and called my name.Lex standing five meters away, probably reading every data point and every mistake.
I miss my braking mark into the Sector 3 curve by a fraction—enough to send the rear end whipping out.I correct, but I’m late on the throttle, the tires locking before the sim screen explodes into a gravel trap.
“Reset,” Bea says, flat and calm in my headset.“Let’s start again.”
“Fuck,” I growl and rip open the harness instead.
Sliding out of the pod, I yank off my gloves.The engineers step back, giving me space as I stalk past Lex without a word.It’s not Francesca’s fault.It’s not Lex’s either.But right now, I’m pissed at them both for being in my head.
The door hisses shut behind me, and I take the corridor fast.The air outside the sim lab is cooler, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to cut through the frustration buzzing under my skin.I’m halfway to the stairwell when I hear the steady rhythm of another set of footsteps closing the gap.
“Barnes,” Lex calls, voice even but carrying enough urgency to make me slow down.
I glance over my shoulder as he falls into step beside me, hands in his pockets like we’re out for a casual stroll.“You’ve still got that charming habit of bailing when things don’t go your way,” he says, not quite a jab, not quite a joke.
I keep walking.“If you came to critique my driving—”
“Relax,” he cuts in.“I came to talk.”
I turn to face him, and he studies me for a moment.“That thing you said last week… about regret.”
My shoulders tighten like I’ve been handed a steering wheel in the rain.“Yeah?”
“You didn’t owe me anything,” he says after a moment, “but I appreciated it.I needed to hear it.”
“I wasn’t looking for a thank-you,” I grumble, still pissed at my failure in the sim and happy to take it out on him.
“I know,” Lex says.“That’s probably why I felt like you needed to hear it.”
The silence stretches for a second.I’m not used to this—us standing here without the sharp edges.“Still,” I mutter, “I appreciate you saying that.”
His brows lift slightly, like I’ve surprised him.“So… what are we now?Teammates who tolerate each other?”
A faint smirk pulls at my mouth.“I wouldn’t go that far.”
He huffs a laugh but then his eyes narrow a little, like he’s picking apart my tells.“You sure you’re all right?”
The question hangs between us, loaded with more meaning than he probably realizes.He’s not asking about the sim run.
