Johannes was always a bit different. He’d karted a lot as a kid and a teen and then he broke his hip at nineteen and dropped out of motor racing. His recovery was tough both physically and mentally and he’d almost not come back. I wouldn’t say that I nursed him during that time, but we lived together and when he was medically signed off as fit and well, we started sleeping together. It was a good time. We were best-friends-with-occasional-benefits, but Johannes decided he wanted to find someone to have more with. He wanted exclusivity and a relationship.
The way he said it was like that person couldn’t be me. It makes sense. I’m the hot guy men bang in a club, not the kind they fall in love with.
Which is fine by me.
It didn’t break our friendship, but I did move out. When I was finally called up, I was glad it was to a different team. We still FaceTime practically every day and we hang out and party whenever we’re in the same city. He may treat me like an annoying, slightly younger brother sometimes, but I know he’s excited we’re around each other more now we’ve both hit the big time.
And now we’ve got a whole season ahead of us. He may not want to trawl the clubs for tail the way we used to, but he’ll still wingman me while I do.
‘I’m good. You know I got bored of seeing that peach,’ I tease. We both laugh, and thankfully that topic of conversation dies. ‘Anyway, thanks for ruining my fun announcement. I’m going to get packed up and I’ll see you tomorrow!’
‘Bye, love. See you then.’ He waves into the camera and I end the call.
It’s been a strange old day. I got up this morning thinking that today would be like every other day as there are still a few more weeks until the lower-category season kicks in, and now I’m packing for a flight to Bahrain for pre-season testing.
I should probably go through my gear. Or do something. What do normal people do when they find out their career’s about to hit the next level? The level they’ve been dreaming about since they were old enough to be sat behind a wheel.
Most people would call their family, I assume, but I don’t have one of those. I’ve already told the only important person in my life so … packing it is.
* * *
Hendersohm sends a car to take me to Gatwick just ten hours later. It’s a sleek black limo with tinted windows and soft Italian leather. This is not something I’ve ever experienced before. This is it. This is the big league, baby!
I don’t even have to walk through the airport, which is absolutely wild to me. My passport is checked as we pull to a stop on the tarmac, and I’m escorted up the stairs to a jet that can only be described as pure luxury.
It’s nothing like the inside of any plane I’ve ever seen. There’s a bloody bar at the back of it for a start, and if the warning I got about being on my best behaviour from both my agent and Anders wasn’t still fresh in my mind I’d be parking myself there for the entirety of the flight. Instead, I guess I’ll have to make do with the plush armchair with a ton of buttons on it. I’m hoping one will make the chair lie flat because I’ve never had my own bed on a flight before, either. Business-class seats, sure, but first-class seats in private jets? I can feel my heart pounding as I imagine the rest of my life as a major player.
There are also no more than fifteen seats in this section of the jet. Half of them are taken up by the team principal and senior members who usually gather behind the pit wall during the races. I think I can put faces to names for most of them, but the only one I actually know is Anna Kash, Hendersohm’s PR rep. We met many a time when I was on the Hendersohm lower-category team. I’m sure she’d say,‘One too many times’.
She hates me.
‘Anna, my saviour, how the hell are you?’ I offer her a fist to bump, but she just eyes me tiredly from behind her laptop.
‘It’d be great if you could keep it in your pants this year, James. A bit less time partying please, and for God’s sake stop dancing half-naked on tables with your competitors.’
She definitely means Johannes, and I already can’t wait to see him when we get to Bahrain.
‘Noted,’ I reply, before making my way to a seat on the other side of the aisle. Probably shouldn’t push my luck too much with her. I need her to make me look good so I can rack up all the sponsorship deals my agent was buzzing about.
Last year I made more money than I’ve ever had in my life. My bank balance was looking healthy for the first time ever, but I hadn’t had many brands reaching out to do deals. Probably my own fault, but here we are. The money I’ll rake in this year will make my race earnings look like a drop in the ocean. Lie-flat seats on private jets will definitely feature more often.
I hope my parents see the press release.
I hope they feel like shit when they realise I’ve made it, despite everything they did to me. And everything they never did.
The money, the lavish plane, and all the deals that are about to come, well, that’s the beginning of a whole new life for me. These things are the biggest motivators for me to push myself the way I do, but I can’t ignore the thrum of excitement pulsing through me at the thought of meeting Kian Walker properly; of being his teammate.
He’s been in the sport almost fifteen years now. He’s won four championships and is a complete and utter legend in my eyes. There may have been a couple of posters of him on my bedroom walls during my teen years. There were also some of his dad. Tyler Heath was a legend back in the day, just as exciting off the track as he was on it. He was known for the string of women who trailed around the world after him and the mass of kids he’d supposedly fathered. It’s obvious where Kian got both his looks and his talent.
I watched so many of Tyler Heath’s races when I got into karting. I found loads of old recordings of him on YouTube and studied his mad skills. He was so exciting, the way he raced, reckless and exhilarating, always pushing the boundaries. But then he was booted from the sport and never raced again. One scandal too many, and he went from hero to villain. I should probably learn something from that, but the details of why he became untouchable are a closely guarded secret.
I’ve met Kian a couple of times before at events, but I’ve never had an actual conversation with him. He’s always been too busy – and too high and mighty – to talk properly. I’ve never taken it personally; everyone wants a piece of the golden boy of motor sport. That’ll be me soon. People will be knocking on my doors, looking for a piece of me, but I’ll be too busy.
I’d be lying if I said I’m not also excited about getting to know Kian, picking his brain about his years in this sport. I want to know everything he knows. I want to ask him about his dad.
I’m twenty-five and finally hitting the big time, but he was called up to top-category racing when he was eighteen. I probably shouldn’t tell him I know that his first top-tier race took place on his nineteenth birthday. That would be creepy.
I sink into the plush chair, kicking off my trainers and scrunching my feet into the leather as I slide it into the recline. It’s a seven-hour flight and I can’t wait to get comfy. I can’t believe I’m here. I can’t believe I’m finally getting everything I’ve ever wanted. A silly smile spreads across my face.
