Thomas is already there when I arrive, sitting at a corner table by the window with a view of the tree-lined street outside. He looks relaxed in slacks and a button-down, and waves when he sees me.
“Flight okay?” he asks, already signaling the waiter.
“Long but fine. Slept most of it.” I settle into the chair.
The waiter appears and Thomas orders a whiskey for himself, glances at me with a raised eyebrow. “Water for you?”
“Yeah, sparkling,” I say. Race weekend means no alcohol, even if Thomas is off duty enough to indulge.
The waiter returns quickly with Thomas’s whiskey in a heavy crystal glass and my sparkling water with lime, and takes our food order.
“So,” Thomas says once we’re alone again, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Your sponsors are very pleased. The image rehabilitation has exceeded expectations.” He’s more animated than usual, gesturing slightly with his glass. “The situation with Lark—Miami, the race appearances, the social media consistency—it’s been exactly what they needed to see. Professional, stable, mature. Thankfully the rumors about fakedating have died out. Without any proof, people have already moved on to the next thing.”
“Good,” I say, taking my own drink. The water is cold and crisp, not quite as satisfying as whiskey would be but that’s the trade-off. “Those rumors were getting annoying.”
“Agreed, the whole thing was ridiculous,” Thomas laughs.
One of these days I’m gonna have to tell him the truth. Maybe once I’ve got my seat back and he can’t have a heart attack over it. I take another sip to cover my amusement.
“Also, Robert called me personally last week.” Thomas leans forward, his expression more serious now. “He said he’s proud of how you’ve handled everything this year. Said you’ve shown real growth, that he’s seeing the maturity he always knew you had. Coming from someone who’s invested millions in you since you were twelve, I’d say that’s significant.”
Something warm spreads through my chest hearing that. “Yeah, he sent me a text too. Nice to hear, especially after how disappointed he was earlier this year.”
“Agreed. He doesn’t say things like that lightly.” Thomas leans back slightly, studying me over his glass. “Your contract situation is looking very solid, Jack. Ferrari is impressed with your reserve work, your consistency, your focus this season. If things continue on this trajectory, you’re looking at getting your full-time seat back next season. We might even see an announcement soon, based on what their lawyers have indicated.”
Thank fucking god. I’ve been trying to get my full-time seat back for the last eighteen months. Fighting for it, working for it, sacrificing for it. It’s all I’ve ever wanted—my seat in Formula One, Ferrari driver, eventually world champion. Everything I’ve built my entire life around since I was a kid.
“That’s what we’ve been working toward,” I say, keeping my voice steady even though relief is flooding through me.
“Which is why we need to discuss logistics.” Thomas sets his glass down, his expression turning more serious. “Next season, if you get that seat, you’re back to the full circuit schedule. It’s going to be intense, especially when you’re proving yourself after being out of a full-time seat. More pressure than you’ve ever had, more scrutiny. Everyone will be watching to see if you can still perform at that level.”
“It’s part of the job,” I say with a shrug. “I was a full-time driver for years before the injury. I know what it takes.”
“I know you do.” Thomas nods. “I just want to make sure we maintain this momentum, keep everything on track. And honestly, it’ll be good to have you back in Europe full-time. The small-town thing, visiting family, dating the local girl, it’s been great for the image, really humanized you. But it makes conducting business harder when my client is half a world away in the Pacific Northwest.”
Small-town girl. Local girl. Like Lark is just some temporary detour, some PR strategy that served its purpose.
“Yeah, well, I’ll still be back home more than usual,” I say, hearing the defensiveness creeping into my voice. “To see Lark. And I’ll fly her out to races when I can.”
Thomas blinks in surprise, like this wasn’t the response he expected. “Oh, yeah, sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. Just, with your track record, I figured that was fizzling out by now. Most of your relationships don’t make it long. Anyway—” He’s already moving on, pulling up something on his phone. “Let’s talk about the media schedule for next week. You’ve got that interview with Sky Sports, and then?—”
I should correct him. Tell him he’s wrong, that Lark isn’t like the others, that this is different. That I’m different with her. But the words stick in my throat.
He keeps talking, scrolling through his calendar, completely unaware that he just detonated something in my head. My mind is stuck on what he said, playing it on repeat.
With your track record, I figured that was fizzling out by now.
Two days ago, waking up with Lark in that cabin, I wasn’t questioning anything. I was sure we could make this work. Sure the distance was manageable, sure what we have is strong enough.
And then Thomas makes one casual observation based on a decade of watching me bail on relationships, and suddenly there’s this voice in my head I can’t shut up.
The food arrives and I eat mechanically, the steak probably excellent but I barely taste it. Thomas is talking about tire strategies and weather forecasts for Sunday’s race, comparing data from last year’s São Paulo Grand Prix. I nod when I need to, make appropriate sounds.
But I can’t stop thinking aboutmy track record.
Because he’s not wrong about the facts. I’ve never had a relationship last past a month, and even that’s pushing it. The second things ever got serious, I ended it. Clean break, move on, don’t look back. It’s what I’ve always done.
And the schedule next season will be brutal. Twenty-four races means I’m gone most of the year. Flying between continents, living out of hotels, barely having time to sleep between obligations. When I’m stressed about performance and Lark needs me but I can’t be there. When she has something important and I’m on the other side of the world. When we go weeks without seeing each other. What happens when the pressure gets to be too much? What happens when I fall back into old patterns because that’s what I’ve always done?
