I turn my camera back toward the racetrack, getting fantastic shots of McCoy and Bandini cars rushing by, metal frames nearly touching as they try to pass each other. The howl of the engines brings a smile to my lips.
Liam and Noah fight it out for first and second place throughout the forty laps. Excitement has yet to wear off after the first hour of watching them compete against each other, the crowd’s still yelling chants and cheers. My legs cramp at standing for an hour and a half. In hindsight, I should have packed a chair and snacks.
By lap fifty, my brother tails Noah’s race car. Santi’s defensiveness keeps me on edge. I grip the fence as they careen down the track, Noah holding his lead. Santi’s car hangs uncomfortably close to Noah’s. Too freaking close. During a straight stretch, my brother speeds up before he swerves while trying to get around Noah.
I gasp as the front wing of my brother’s car hits the back of Noah’s race car. Santi spirals out behind him, both cars trembling as they drag across the pavement. My brother has crashed into Noah at about one hundred and eighty miles per hour. The Bandini cars spin around like two red yo-yos across the track, the drivers unable to do anything about the loss of control. My stomach lurches. The crowd quiets and listens to the grating sound of metal, a path of sparks and smoke trailing behind the Bandini cars. Their cars finally stop near a side barrier. Smoke plumes from both engines and billows up into the blue sky.
Shit. Noah and Santi climb out of their cars. The safety team ensures that the drivers remain uninjured while a tractor picks up the messed-up Bandini cars with a crane. Noah flails his arms around at my brother. He throws his helmet off to the side while he grabs my brother by the race suit and pushes him. My brother catches his footing before he falls over.
I take in a deep breath, relief rushing through me that they both are safe. The risk of crashing always hangs over the heads of drivers in this sport. Some have died during crashes like today. But most racers get out of their cars unharmed because of all the safety precautions like fireproof race suits, helmets, and the bar above the car that protects the driver from barrel rolls. This crash proves why F1 has safety protocols in the first place.
The broadcaster announces how Noah and Santi will retire for the Prix, the worst news for the Bandini team. A major loss since neither racer will receive points for the Constructors’ Championship. Plus, it’s a strike against my brother’s confidence.
I wait for them in the pit suites, in the same hallway where I ran into Noah earlier. Noah and Santi make their presence known the moment they enter.
“What the fuck were you thinking? What type of reckless, amateur shit are you trying to pull here? That crappy move cost us everything today.”
My body stiffens at the way Noah talks to my brother. I peek around the hall’s corner, wanting to get a look of the scene. Noah’s back faces me while my brother looks furious, a rare happening for him. He has flushed cheeks, narrowed eyes, and pinched brows.
My brother’s eyes flare. “I already said I’m sorry twice, Slade. Do you want to kiss and make up?”
Last-name dropping and the sarcasm dripping from Santi’s voice is never a good sign.
“If you want to prove your worth, try to do it without crashing a million-dollar car. It’ll serve you better in the long run. But if you wanted to ride my cock, all you had to do was ask nicely.” Noah’s hard voice carries through the halls.
“Fuck you. You act like your God’s gift to Earth. Newsflash, I’ll beat you one day and so will everyone else. Get over yourself.”
My eyes strain and I press a hand against my mouth. Noah doesn’t respond. He turns toward my hiding place in the hallway and practically runs me over on his way to his room. His hands grab onto me, stabilizing my body before I topple over.
Dull eyes and rosy cheeks greet me.
“Sorry,” he mumbles before shutting the door to his room.
My heart squeezes at how unhappy he looks. I don’t want to feel bad for him because he acts like a dick to my brother, but I can’t help pitying him. It sucks how my brother made a stupid move that has severe repercussions for the team. Points aside, morale between these two can’t be lower.
I enter Santi’s suite to sit on the couch when Noah’s phone rings next door. He rarely gets phone calls, so I can’t fight my curiosity. I try my best not to listen in on what happens in his suite. And by trying my best, I mean I currently have a cup held up against the wall to try to amplify the noise. All I get are muffled words. A pretty unsuccessful spy mission if I do say so myself, my ears only catching a few words like father and crash.