JACK
The briefing wraps up and I have a bit of time before the last of the pre-race obligations start. The race isn’t until 8 PM, prime time under the lights for television audiences around the world.
I can hear music filtering through the paddock from one of the stages they’ve set up for pre-race entertainment. Some emerging talent showcase. I find a quiet corner away fromthe garage chaos. My driver’s room is small but functional, a bench, a mirror, hooks for my gear. My race suit hangs there waiting, red and black with my name embroidered on the chest. MIDNIGHT. Number 7.
In an hour or so I’ll climb into that car and race for everything I’ve worked toward. My career, my seat, my future in Formula One.
But I can’t stop Lark from filling every quiet moment in my head. She slips into my thoughts like smoke under a door, uninvited and impossible to keep out. And I don’twantto keep her out.
I keep circling back to those words.Maybe we should have kept this fake.My biggest fuck-up in a life full of fuck-ups.
A knock on the door pulls me out of it.
“It’s open,” I call.
My teammate Luca walks in, still in his team polo, looking relaxed and confident the way he always does before a race. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”
“Just trying to get my head straight before tonight,” I say.
“Good. Because I need to talk to you about something.” He leans against the doorframe. “Sofia wants to make a statement. About Monaco. About what really happened at that party. She has videos she was recording on her private Instagram. They back up everything.”
I tense immediately. “We’ve been through this, Luca. The answer is still no.”
“Just hear me out before you?—”
“She’ll getdestroyedonline,” I interrupt. “You know what people are like. She’s eighteen. She doesn’t need that kind of attention, and your family doesn’t need the headache. I can handle people thinking I’m an asshole. I’ve had plenty of practice.”
“She’s nineteen now, actually. An adult. And she can handle it.” Luca crosses his arms. “My family supports this completely. My parents, my sisters, all of us. We’ve talked about it extensively. It’s been months of watching you take shit for something you didn’t do. Something you did to protect her. We’re done watching it happen.”
“Look, I appreciate the loyalty, but Monaco isn’t even a problem anymore.” I gesture vaguely. “Ferrari’s putting me in the car tonight. Thomas says if I drive well, the seat is mine. Full-time. So clearly they’ve moved past it. We should too.”
“It’s not about Ferrari,” Luca says firmly. “It’s about the truth. You’re letting people believe you were doing cocaine at a party when you were actually helping someone who needed it. That’s not the same thing.”
“People believe lots of things about me. Most of them true.” I shrug, going for casual even though he’s clearly not going to let this go. “What’s one more story?”
“This one’s different and you know it.” He’s not backing down, that stubborn set to his jaw that I recognize from a hundred races where he refused to give up a position. “We’re putting out a statement tonight. After the race. Sofia, me, and my family. The full story. What actually happened. Why you were there.”
I look at his face and realize there’s no point arguing. He’s already made up his mind, and when Luca decides something, he’s immovable. Probably where he gets his racecraft from.
“Fine,” I finally say. “But if this blows back on her at all?—”
“It won’t. We’ve hired a PR team. Communications specialists. Sofia’s statement will make everything clear—she’s grateful, she’s speaking out voluntarily, all of that.” He grins suddenly. “Besides, the internet loves a redemption arc. You might even come out looking like a hero for once.”
“Stranger things have happened,” I say dryly. “Though I’m not holding my breath.”
“That’s what I’m here for. To believe in you when you’re too busy being cynical.” He checks his watch. “Not much longer now, so get your head straight. Focus on the race.”
He leaves, and I’m alone again with my thoughts about Lark, my excitement about the race, and the weight of everything that’s about to happen.
I sit down on the bench and pull out my phone. Lark’s name stares back at me from my contacts. Two weeks of silence that I created. Two weeks of being too scared to reach out and admit I fucked up.
Luca’s right. I’ve spent eighteen months fighting to get my seat back. Training, simulator work, corporate appearances, playing nice with sponsors. Doing everything Thomas and Robert asked of me. All of it to get back in a race car.
But it wasn’t just about wanting to race again. The video wasn’t my first scandal—hell, it wasn’t even my worst behavior, just the worst optics. I got into a fist fight while I was still healing from my crash, threw punches when my contract was already in question. Attended plenty more questionable parties without the excuse of rescuing anyone. I gave everything when I was on the track, but couldn’t shake the recklessness off it. Not until these last few months.
Some of that shift started before Lark. But she crystallized it. Watching her pursuing her music with relentless devotion—it made my own half-assed efforts look pathetic.
And I never fought for her. Never showed her she was worth fighting for. Just let her think she was part of the image rehabilitation, another item on my PR checklist.
