Page 17 of Downforce

Restrictive. Yeah, if restrictive is the hefty six-figure amount I deposit into her account twice a year in addition to paying for the luxury flat she lives in.

My mind floats back to the friendly eight-figure amount that Drake Horner and Amato promised me in my contract over the next three years. While loathe to admit it, that number with the promise of bonuses, if a team championship is achieved during my time at Amato, is a large reason why I finally made the decision to switch teams.

“I’ll take care of the credit card bill,” I tell her, but that doesn’t get her to start moving.

“And the account?”

“I’ll make a transfer.”

That gets her nod of approval. A second later she’s out of the door, leaving me alone with my unpacked boxes and the sparse furniture that’s been delivered.

I stare out of the window at the road that I’m very familiar with despite having never lived in Monaco until now. I’ve raced and trained on these curvy avenues for almost a decade now between my Formula 2 and Formula 1 career.

The familiarity of the street brings a sense of peace I hadn’t expected when I decided to take this place.

That feeling doesn’t last too long as my mother’s words pummel my mind again. “Let Travis be the standout that he is …”

“Severino never had to be jealous of anyone. He was already the best.”

Tightness fills every ounce of my body, a sudden wave of heat overcoming me.

“Your mum left already?”

I spin to find Edwin at the door, holding up bags of food.

“What’d you get?” I grab one of the bags to open it. The greasy smell automatically turns my stomach. “You know I’m on a macro diet. I have a weigh-in soon.”

I shouldn’t have to remind Edwin of the necessities of my career. He, himself, is a former F3 driver who had hopes of making it to the main grid. He’s well aware of the strict requirements I have when it comes to weight by the time my first race comes around.

Greasy burgers and fried potatoes aren’t on the menu.

“Lighten up, mate. The season doesn’t start for a few more weeks. You’ll make weight.” He places the bags down on the table at the side of the room. “Hey, have you spoken to that girl from last week’s party?”

I scrunch up my face while still rummaging through the bag of food, hoping beyond hope that there’s something decent I can eat. Beyond the cheeseburger and extra large potatoes, is a small pack of sliced pickles and tomatoes. This will have to do for the time being.

“What girl?” I ask before biting into a pickle spear.

“Brittney, Stacey.” He snaps. “Albany.”

“Don’t remember her.” I toss the now empty cardboard box back into the bag. “I need some real food.”

“Her friend just texted me. They’re in town tonight and want to meet up.”

“Cancel it,” I toss over my shoulder before padding through the living room toward the kitchen. It’s a useless endeavor since I haven’t done the shopping yet, but that reminds me to use my app to order some groceries.

I can whip up a quick meal after unpacking a few boxes.

“Come on,” Edwin says behind me. “Who knows when they’ll be in town again and they are beauties. Besides, with your season starting soon you need to loosen up.” He drops his hands on my shoulders, squeezing as if emphasizing his point.

“I’m not tense,” I lie.

A visit with my darling mother always causes my shoulders to tighten up. The box still sitting by the door garners my attention again. My father’s euphoric expression meets my stare.

“He was the best.”

As much as I want to ignore it, her words always have an impact on me. Her comparison of me to my father’s legacy causes a hole in my chest to throb.

“It’s not like you’ll last long …”