Page 7

-T

After I finished reading Theo’s latest letter, I folded it back up and pulled out a small blue box with a little ribbon on the top, then I untied it and added the letter to the stack already in there. We had started sneaking letters to each other rather recently. Turns out, it was sort of nice to talk about racing with someone who was my age and actually knew what they were talking about. None of the kids at school knew anything about racing or cared when I brought it up. They all thought I was too obsessed with it; they rolled their eyes when I couldn’t make it to events or hang out because I wanted to put in hours on the racing simulator at home or do some donuts in my kart on the small track my dad made me in the backyard. But Theo understood that racing was a different level of commitment, not some pass time sport. And sometimes it felt nice to just talk to someone who got it, even if it was just letters snuck in each other’s bags between races. It filled the space, made everything brighter. It didn’t matter that the kids my age didn’t understand or called me silly for such a big dream.

Theo never made me feel silly.

4

MAISEY | PRESENT

RACE WEEKEND ZERO - PRESEASON TESTING - THURSDAY

If someone would have said to me a week ago that I would accept a new job, pack as much as I could into two large suitcases, and clutch my emotional support e-reader as I walked through the line for security at John F. Kennedy airport ready to fly across the world today, well…I would not have believed them. Not even for a second.

“Don’t let fear hold you from the chance to do what you love. Life is full of big and scary things, and you’ve never once backed down from them,” my dad had reminded me on the phone before I walked into the airport. It was the pep talk I needed. I had already made a huge pros and cons list and had gone over them ad nauseum with Serena over Facetime to the point where she threatened to call my sister to come over and rip up the piece of paper. I had honestly spent every second since I received the email on the phone with someone I knew. I didn’t trust myself with my own thoughts, alone. Because deep down, I wanted to do this. That’s why I was at the damn airport. But going back to the thing that almost killed me? Hearing the sounds of the circuit, seeing the garages, being around engineers and admins and the whole of the racing world? Being around him? Talking to him, interviewing him, consistently? Yeah, I was fucking terrified. But I could do hard things. I learned how to fucking walk again, I could do this…even if I did it scared.

“Miss, please step forward,” a security woman said, waving me forward, a large gap between me and the person ahead of me. Another security agent was speaking loudly, explaining to take out any electronics and to take off shoes and belts. I knew the routine and easily pulled out what needed to be as I got closer to the scanner. When it was my turn, my feet felt like lead. Another wave on and a much more impatient and not-so-nice man telling me to “Move!” made me remember how to walk again.

One foot in front of the other. Again and again.

“I have metal in my leg,” I explained before being met with a sigh and going through another security section. My leg felt stiff. I knew logically it was fine, but trauma had an odd way of staying in your body like a damn leech. Phantom pains and such were common. Once I finally made it through all the stops and gathered all my things, I was off to my gate. Then on a plane, then flying in the air to my future.

“Miss Andrews!” A man waved a white sheet overhead. I could see the pieces of my name on the sheet being waved around, and I hustled over to him. I had slept through most of the flight; the anxiety and some meds eventually just knocked me out.

“Hi!” I greeted him with a bright smile. “I’m Maisey Andrews.”

“Hello, name’s Frankie,” the man introduced himself, then he reached over, taking the suitcase out of my hand before I could argue. “Right this way, miss. It’s a bit of a drive to the hotel. I’ll be your driver while you’re here, so if you need anything at all, just holler.”

“Thank you, Frankie,” I smiled earnestly. My stomach had been in knots since I had the call with the PitSpark team about being their strategic analyst commentator and host to a new platform they were launching on sports newscasting, which was just a lot of fancy words for being a presenter. Did I think I would ever be back in Formula One after the crash? No. Did I ever think I would grow up and be a sort of sports journalist—let alone a strategic analyst—and get to use my background in data analysis and my lifelong love for the sport? Hell no.

I was supposed to meet with my new manager, a very cheery man named Evan. We had a few phone calls and a video meeting before I got on the plane. The whole job was explained, and Evan told me about how PitSpark was launching a new platform to report on racing called the PitSpark Paddock Report. They were big-name sponsors for Kaz Energy Racing, which meant I would be working specifically in the Kaz garage and with their team. Much to my dismay, my main job would be interviewing the drivers. One in particular who had stayed a constant in my dreams these past ten years.

5

THEO | PRESENT

“What the hell was that, Bauer?” I heard as I was pulling off my helmet post-practice. Austin Rhodes, my teammate, was walking with quite a bit of determination toward me.

“Mate, it was just team orders,” I replied, already knowing he was angry about the pit stop mess up. There were still kinks to smooth out with new team members and engineers. A small miscommunication happened, and we had a pit lane backup. The team called us both to pit to change tires at the same time. Should it have happened? Absolutely not. But it was just practice. Shit happened, and as long as it didn’t happen on an actual race day, I didn’t really give a fuck.

“Are they always this fucking sloppy? Jesus Christ.” Austin kicked the stand for our helmets, and the waiting water bottle toppled to the ground. I rolled my eyes. The kid was so new, and he had a good spirit, great drive. But he also had a bit of a temper. Usually, I was the one in trouble, but it seemed like this kid was giving me a run for my money. This coming year was his second year, technically making him not a rookie. But the kid was a rookie.

“It’ll all work out, mate,” I assured him, trying to bring down the attitude. Words traveled here; there were ears everywhere. An admin was running over to pick up the bottle that was now rolling down the parc fermé, another rushing over two new bottles for us. Austin grabbed one with a huff. No thank you or nod or anything. It wasn’t the poor girl’s fault, Jesus. I shot over a smile and whispered a Thank you. Although based on the blonde’s eyes expanding tenfold and the immediate beet-red cheeks, I might have made it worse.

“It’s their fucking job,” Austin cursed again, opening the water with a little too much force.

“Have a little respect, Rhodes.” I shot him a glare. He shut up at my harsher tone but mumbled to himself, walking away. Austin was a good kid, but something seemed to be under his skin.

“Don’t smile at the admins, you’re freaking them out,” Angel said a bit later as I headed to my private room.

“Seriously?” I asked, half scoffing at the remark.

“Seriously,” she answered, with zero humor in her voice.

Well, fuck. Apparently I did not smile enough.

“The new PitSpark presenter is coming in for a quick introduction; you can smile for that. But you are not to flirt with her or look at her in that way, so help me God.”

“Who do you think I am? Some sort of rake?” I asked, holding a dramatic hand to my chest.