Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

Lex

T he engine roars through my bones, but my mind is split between the track ahead and the battle behind me. I’m in the lead, holding a solid two-second gap, but Stefan and Tomas are right on my heels, fighting for second. It’s the last lap, and Titans Racing has been making waves ever since Brienne Norcross took over. Everyone’s been watching Tomas this season, and it’s no surprise he’s going wheel-to-wheel with Stefan.

I push hard through the next corner, hitting every apex perfectly, but I can’t shake the thought of them closing in. The rearview mirror shows glimpses of their cars battling, Rosso Corso versus Titans Racing, both desperate and unwilling to back down.

“Who’s behind them?” I ask through the radio, trying to get a sense of the field.

“Ronan’s fourth,” Randall’s voice crackles through my earpiece. “Sebastian is behind him in fifth.”

Sebastian Wolff of Freedom Dynamics? Look at the Americans go.

This sport has been traditionally European, but American teams have made inroads in the last decade and they’re starting to make serious moves. It’s fascinating to see the shift but not something to ponder right now.

Half a lap left and the podium is mine.

I catch something in my wing mirrors. Stefan and Tomas are side by side, heading into the corner—too fast. Way too fast.

“Shit!” I mutter under my breath as I see the disaster unfold. Stefan clips the rear of Tomas’s car, sending them both spinning off the track and into the wall. It’s a violent crash and Tomas’s car flips while Stefan’s goes airborne for a moment before slamming into the barriers. Debris flies in all directions and I catch a glimpse of one wheel coming loose before smoke obliterates my view.

“Did you see that? What happened?” I ask frantically, trying to keep my focus as the pit wall explodes with chatter.

“Checking, Lex. Just keep your head down.” Randall’s voice is urgent but composed.

I push through the next corner, trying not to think about the wreck behind me. “Is everyone okay?” I ask, my grip tightening on the wheel as I fly down the straight.

“Standby. We’re getting updates,” Randall responds as the safety light simultaneously pulses on my wheel. “Safety car deployed, Lex. We’re finishing under caution.”

I slow, bringing the car down from its peak speed. Despite the chaos behind me, I have, at this moment, won the Bahrain Global Prix. Under a Safety Car this close to the end of the race and with such a significant crash, everyone will finish with their current standings.

It’s not the high-speed finish under the checkered flag that all drivers love, but I can’t help but feel the thrill of the win settle in. This is it. My first race of the season, and I’ve won. I see the black-and-white flag waving up ahead and as I cruise under it, the excitement is still there, even if the end was a little less dramatic than I’d imagined.

But in the back of my mind, there’s a weight. What happened to Tomas? To Stefan?

“Tomas and Stefan are out of their cars and okay,” Randall says over the radio.

“Thank God.” I breathe a sigh of relief and allow myself to welcome the thrill of victory.

My thoughts shift, not to the trophy awaiting me or the screaming fans, but to Posey. I can almost see her in the stands, her wide eyes and that brilliant smile. It was a struggle to put her out of my mind today, but I managed it. Now, I can’t wait to see her… to hold her.

Sure as fuck going to kiss her and I don’t care who sees. She was going to watch from the grandstands, but I know Maeve will bring her to me.

“Great job, Lex. Fantastic race. P1, mate!” Randall’s voice crackles in my ear, pulling me back to reality.

I smile. “I couldn’t have done it without you, the crew, the engineers.”

When I pull into the pit lane, I undo my harness, unlatch my wheel and stand on top of my car, arms pumping in victory before the main grandstand. The crowd’s cheer is deafening and I wave back.

Hopping down from the car, and as tradition dictates, I beeline to the barricades where my pit crew, technicians, strategists and engineers all await me. I leap up and into their arms, accepting backslaps and rubs on my helmet. I high-five, shake hands and accept the accolades, but truth be told, I’m nothing without these men and women.

We win as a team.

It’s then that I see Ronan and Sebastian have pulled into lanes two and three respectively, having finished in second and third places under the Safety Car. The next few minutes are more congratulations, official weigh-ins and then the interviews are next.

I wait my turn, searching the Crown Velocity crowd for Posey but can’t seem to locate her. She might be in the staging area behind the podium or maybe she’s in the paddock club. I only hope she’s somewhere in my line of sight when I stand on the middle tier reserved for first place so she can share what I hope is the first of many victories. Her eyes on me are the most important.

Sebastian gives the first interview with long time FI commentator, Gerhard Schneider. I stand in the wings, waiting, still looking for Posey. When it’s my turn, I’m handed a microphone and take my place.

“You ran a great race today from the pole position,” Gerhard says in his heavy German accent. “Walk me through what you had to do to defend.”

I scrape my fingers through my wet hair, do another glance around for Posey before focusing in on Gerhard. “Yeah… the car was just perfect today. Our team nailed the setup and the modifications. Couldn’t have asked for more and it just made it easy to keep pace, which kept the lead.”

“And what about that crash between Stefan Wagner and Tomas Aalto? You finished under a Safety Car.”

“I’m just glad they’re okay. I mean, it’s not as thrilling to come in that way, but a win is a win, and I’m looking forward to more.”

He asks me a handful of standard fare questions, the usual stuff, and I give the appropriate credit to my team as they’re due.

I think I’m done when Gerhard drops a bomb on me. “Lex, before the race, a story broke about Posey Evans. I believe she’s been shadowing you for a supposed article about FI racing. We’ve learned she’s not actually a journalist but rather a romance author who approached Crown Velocity under false pretenses. Care to comment on that?”

I blink, my entire body going rigid. What the hell?

My head swivels, now frantically searching the crowd for Posey.

“Lex?” Gerhard prompts.

“I… I don’t know anything about that,” I stammer, thrown completely off-balance. “Excuse me.”

I shove the microphone into Gerhard’s chest and walk away, the world around me tilting as I search the crowd, panic rising in my chest. What the hell just happened?

Maeve appears, as if out of thin air, her face pale and her expression tense. She grabs my arm and pulls me to the side. “We have to talk.”

“What happened? Where’s Posey?” My voice is sharp, almost desperate.

“She’s gone,” Maeve says, and when she puts the diamond bracelet in my hand, my stomach rolls. “The press confronted her before the race. They found out her secret and descended on her like vultures. She left.”

“Left the race, you mean? Because that’s fine. I don’t blame her. She’s probably hiding out in the hotel, but I’ll smooth this over with Harley.”

“She’s not at the hotel,” Maeve says tightly. “They said she checked out.”

“What?” The pit deep in my gut turns to lead. “Who told them?” I demand, my mind racing. And then it hits me. There’s only one person who could’ve done it.

“She thinks you’re the one who told the press,” Maeve says and I jerk in shock.

“Why would she think that?” I murmur, my fingers rubbing the diamonds.

“Because you’re the only one who knew besides me and she could tell it wasn’t me.”

I glare at Maeve. “We weren’t the only ones.” I hand the bracelet to her. “Keep that safe for me.”

My blood boils, rage simmering under the surface as I march toward the cool-down room. When I step inside, I see Ronan and Sebastian, sitting on their stools with bottles of water in hand. They’re laughing together, oblivious to what’s about to happen.

With focus and purpose, I stride up to Ronan and throw a punch, my fist connecting with his jaw. His chair tilts backward into a curtained wall and he tries to overcorrect by leaning to the side, only to be dumped onto the floor.

I reach for him, intending to haul him up and hit him again.

“You fucking asshole!” I shout, but Sebastian grabs my arms from behind and pulls me back.

“Lex, stop!” he yells as Ronan slowly rises from the floor, rubbing his jaw.

And the fucker smirks at me.

I’m going to kill him.

Harley bursts into the room, her voice cutting through the chaos. “Enough!” she roars, putting herself in between me and Ronan. Her eyes are intense with the promise of retribution as she murmurs to me, “We are on live television right now. You can sort this shit out later.”

I glare at Ronan, my fists still clenched, but I back off. Harley glares at us, shaking her head in disgust.

“Excuse me,” a woman says from the open doorway that leads to the podium staging area. She’s one of the FI staff. “Everything’s ready for the podium ceremony.”

The last thing in the world I want to do is stand up on that stage and smile as if this is the best moment of my life when it feels like the worst. But it’s my job on the line and I have to balance that with the need to make things right for Posey.

The next fifteen minutes are a blur. Sebastian and Ronan take their spots out on the elevated stage to the roar of cheering fans. I come out last, waving in acknowledgment and step up onto the middle tier. Clasping my hands behind my back, I barely hear “God Save the King” being played—it’s tradition for the winner’s national anthem to be played first, then the constructor’s national anthem. Since Crown Velocity is as British as I am, the song is only played once, thank fuck, because I’m ready for this to be over. Trophies are handed out and I go through the motions, my mind buzzing with dreadful thoughts.

Large bottles of sparkling rosewater are handed to us to spray each other with, a small deviation from the tradition of using an Italian sparkling wine in recognition of the laws of Islam prohibiting alcohol in this forum.

But I can’t even bring myself to care to continue this happy farce. I’m smiling for the fans, but inside, I’m desperate to find Posey, to make this right. I do my duty, shake my bottle and spray it directly at Sebastian for all of two seconds before I drop it to the ground and walk off the stage.

I know that choice in and of itself created a dramatic scene that’ll play out in the press, but they already have the salacious details about Posey. Who the fuck cares what I do?

I ignore people trying to speak to me, making my way through the paddock and to the motorhome I rest in while on the premises. My phone is charging on the dinette table and I practically rip it from the cord so I can call Posey.

The door is thrown open and Harley’s walking in. Her face is hard to read, but I’m not in the mood. “Save it,” I tell her. “I fucked up by keeping this secret—”

“Fuck the secret,” she snaps back at me. “I knew Posey was a romance author and not a journalist from the start.”

Nothing could have shocked me more and my jaw sags as I look at her stupidly.

Harley rubs her temple, clearly staving off a headache. “When I got her request, I recognized her name because I read her books.”

My mouth gapes further than I thought my jaw hinges would ever allow. “You… read… romance?”

She rolls her eyes. “I knew what she was doing and well, I thought it was cute the lengths she was willing to go to so she could learn about FI. I did a phone interview and as you’re well aware, she’s too charming to say no to. So I opened up Crown Velocity and put her with you because she was the perfect person to keep you in line.”

“You set all this up?” I ask in shock. “How could you know that me and Posey…”

“I didn’t know. Not really, but Maeve filled me in after the reporters accosted her before the race. There was no way in hell I was going to tell you what was going on—”

“You should have,” I blurt out angrily. “I could have stopped her.”

“You would have fucked your head for the race and you wouldn’t have won,” she snaps at me. “Get over it. I’m here to tell you that I’ll handle the press fallout on this. I expect you to get your ass on a plane and go find Posey. I assume she went back home as Maeve said she checked out of her hotel, and she also confirmed a handful of flights that left for the States in the last hour.”

None of this makes sense. “You want me to leave? Avoid the media? You don’t want me to help do damage control with the press?”

Harley laughs and it’s not caustic but amused. “You think this is damaging, Lex? It’s a freaking love story that played out in dramatic fashion, although I’m pissed you clocked Ronan.”

“That asshole tipped off the reporters. He’s the only one who knew.”

“Be that as it may, you’ll be fined for that and we’re going to have to figure out some way for the two of you to patch things up because like it or not, he’s your teammate.”

“No way I’m fucking forgiving—”

“I don’t care if you forgive him. I only care that you operate as a good teammate. That means I don’t want you taking your grievances out on the track because if you do, you can find yourself another team.”

I bite my tongue, not willing to agree to anything. I’m still too pissed at Ronan and want to kick his ass too badly.

“Now, I’m going to have my driver take you back to your hotel. You can pack and head to the airport. I’ll have Rosalind ferret out a flight for you.”

I stare at her, astounded at this turn of events. My muteness also amuses her and she inclines her head. “This is where you say, Thank you, Harley, for being the best team principal a driver could have. Not only did I provide you with a stellar car to win the first race of the season, but I’m going to be mainly responsible for you salvaging this relationship with Posey .”

For the first time since I found out Posey left, I smile. “Thank you, Harley, for being the best team principal a driver could have. Not only did you provide me with a stellar car to win the first race of the season, but you’re the one responsible for me salvaging this…”

She cocks an eyebrow. “The next word is relationship .”

“Love story,” I correct, giving her an impish grin. “You know… since you like romances so much.”

“Got me there,” she mutters and throws a thumb at the door. “Now go.”

I don’t waste another second. I hurry into the bedroom, closing the door so I can change.

I’ve got a woman to race after.