“Excited to compete in the Brazilian Grand Prix tomorrow?” His bright smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Sure.” My lips remain a tight line, the least bit interested in this chat.
I manage to walk one step away before he pulls me in, his thick arm wrapping around my shoulders and holding me in place.
“Want to tell the cameras how you’ve been preparing for your racing lately? Fans wonder what makes you tick, what makes a winner stand out from the rest. Interesting strategy of taking a whole week off before the race.” His eyes glint in the sunlight. I hate the look on his face, a smug smile meant to intimidate and control me.
“Just the usual, resting and prepping while keeping to my schedule. Don’t want to mess with perfection.” A weak smile breaks out across my face as I shrug my dad’s arm off me.
“You better be careful. Don’t want secrets getting out about how you win races.” His sly smile makes my stomach roll.
I step away from the bright lights of the camera, putting distance between my jackass of a father and me. First, the issue with Santi’s contract, and now he threatens me. A never-ending cycle with us. Me pushing, him punching. A screwed-up relationship that will never be normal, but thank fuck I have new sponsorships and a fresh start.
His game doesn’t interest me, and for once, my decisions can affect someone else. I feel like an idiot for telling him about Maya and me because the way he looks at me tells me this thing with us won’t be over until he says it is. The ultimate control freak. And worse, he gets off on it.
Fuck me, I really screwed up this time.
35
Maya
A rainy race day. The worst kind of news for drivers and fans alike.
Roads shine, slick from the downpour, which means tires will have limited traction. Less than ideal conditions pose a threat to drivers. It takes a lot of skill to successfully navigate cars with limited visibility and grip on the road.
The pit crew scurries about with a nervous buzz as they prepare the spare parts needed for the cars. Extra pieces lay outside for any minor crashes, just in case the Bandini boys have a collision.
Santi and Noah discuss game plans with Sophie’s dad. I linger, getting in the way of random mechanics who kindly work around me, not asking me to move until I knock over a power drill. They escort me to the computer area where I can wreak less havoc. Sophie sidles up to me.
“My dad bet fifty bucks that Albrecht doesn’t make it past thirty laps. Want in?” Her green eyes shine, complementing her tan skin. She rocks French braids, a jean skirt, and another slogan T-shirt.
I chuckle. “Do you ever learn from bets?”
“No. That’s why I bet they wouldn’t make it past seventy laps.” She blows a pink bubble before popping it.
“There are only seventy-one laps.”
“Exactly. My dad raised a smart cookie.” She taps her temple, sporting a megawatt grin featuring her two dimples.
The drizzling rain let up, allowing drivers to compete, but not enough for the roads to dry on their own. Sophie’s dad announces how the race will start in twenty minutes. Noah and Santi meet with engineers near the entrance of the garage, reviewing driving strategies for these conditions, both men in my life working together. Once the crew gives the all-clear, Santi comes to our spot in the computer bay.
“It’s going to be fine. You worry too much lately. Just a little sprinkle, like a sun shower.” Santi pulls me in for a hug.
Wet ground mocks me. I give the rain a death stare like I can change Mother Nature’s mind.
“I wish they didn’t make you race in these conditions. It’s kind of dangerous. I think of Albrecht crashing every time.”
Santi chuckles. “They wouldn’t let us race if the risk was that bad. Nothing more than the usual kind, like crashing into barriers with minimal damage.”
“They prep for this. Plus, my dad will chat away with them, giving the best possible advice.” Sophie flicks a braid over her shoulder.
I give them a tight smile. “Be safe out there. I’ll have headphones to hear everything with the Bandini team.” I leave out the part where I’ll also tune into Noah’s radio.
“Atta girl. We’ll see you soon.” He taps my hat with his car number.
I wave at Noah over Santi’s shoulder, wishing I could hug him before he goes out there. Our secret is wearing on me and messing up my sleep cycles. Two races left until I can tell Santi everything, and I’m praying for the best reaction because he gets rattled easily.
Noah offers me a glorious smile before getting into his car.