Page 9

In the weeks since she joined the team, the photos Cherry had posted on our official Instagram page had gained a lot of traction.

Serena, being a marketing genius, had quickly seen the potential and made a separate page called Cherry’s Corner , which had already gained a faithful following.

By all reports, everyone loves the work that she’s doing.

She’s been a great addition to the team. If not my mental state.

“And thanks for looking out for her,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief when my teammate walks past solo. He’s finally stopped flirting and is finding something else to do. The kid needs to be more focussed on the race and less focussed on the red-haired goddess taking photos.

Hello, Pot. Meet Kettle.

“It’s been easy. I feel like we’ve been friends forever.”

That’s how she makes everyone feel. Like they are special. Like she’s invested in them. It’s how she makes me feel.

“We’d better get going. We need to set up.”

I nod and watch Serena tap Cherry on the shoulder, the two of them whispering together before glancing at me with matching smiles. I can’t help it; I smile back at them.

“Good luck today,” Cherry murmurs as she passes by me.

The smile grows on my face and without my permission, my fingers are tugging on the same curl that had fascinated Patrick so much.

“Thanks.”

She stops and peers up at me through her long sooty lashes, and I hold my breath, waiting for more. We stand and stare at each other until Serena pulls her away, looking between the two of us with her eyebrows raised.

“He only smiles like that at you,” I hear her whisper as they walk up the stairs to the media spot above the pit lane.

Uncomfortable with how much I’m giving away, I rub my jaw, the prickles from my stubble bringing me back to Earth.

“Get it together, Nicky,” I mutter, frowning at the rain being chucked down in front of me. “This race is going to be messy.”

· · · · ·

Forty-nine laps and most of my sanity later, my premonition is coming true. This race is a beast.

I relax my grip on my steering wheel, blinking the sweat from my eyes. As predicted, the rain had eased to allow for a standing race start and I was lucky to get off the line and into an early lead. But it hasn’t been easy since then. And damn, it’s hot in here.

“Nicky, we need you to lift and coast around turns 3 and 4.”

Paul’s calm voice comes over the radio and I swallow back a curse. My water supply stopped working twenty laps ago, and between the threat of dehydration and the threat from the car behind me, my patience is on a razor’s edge.

“I’m doing my best, man. Can you give me something more down the straight?”

“Copy. I’ll get back to you.”

Alone with my thoughts again, I watch Nate in my mirrors. The current world champion and my closest rival has been right on my tail the entire race and it’s really annoying.

“Come on, Nicky,” I urge myself. “Break the DRS. ”

DRS, or drag reduction system, enables the car behind to open its rear-wing and reduce its aerodynamic drag, allowing the car to increase its top speed and overtake more easily.

The wing can open during specific sections of the track, when the car is within one second of the car in front.

And Nate has been sitting in this zone all race.

Gritting my teeth, I focus on the upcoming corner. It’s where I’ve noticed the car behind lose a lot of speed and is my best chance to get ahead by more than one second. The corner rushes towards me and I pick my braking zone perfectly, shaving off two-tenths from my last lap.

“That’s it, Nicky,” Paul praises over the radio. “Just take that corner that exact same way every lap and you’ve got this race won.”

Excellent. I just need to be perfect for the next—check steering wheel—six laps and it’s done.

Easy.

Adrenaline flows through me, sharpening my eyes and slowing my heart rate.

It’s a weird phenomenon with race car drivers; the higher the stress levels, the calmer we get.

I sink further into this zone and try to enjoy the rest of the race.

With Nathan falling even further behind in my mirrors, it just may happen.

Lap fifty-one, I count, crossing the finish line and starting another lap.

I wonder if Cherry is enjoying this race.

Lap fifty-two.

She really looks good wearing my shirt.

Lap fifty-three.

Matt would kill me if he knew what I was feeling for his sister.

Lap fifty-four.

Damn, she’s so pretty .

Lap fifty-five.

Was that her red hair I saw in the crowd?

Lap fifty-six.

Thank God, that’s over.

I ease my car in front of the giant number one and stay in my seat for a long moment. Nathan parks his car behind the P2, also staying seated. A race like that drains a driver. Especially if their water supply cuts off mid-race. Someone will get a talking-to for that blunder.

Once my legs feel able to carry me, I leave the car and take off my helmet. Running my hand through my hair, I wince at how drenched it is. The curls bestowed upon me by my Greek ancestors are springing to life and I long for a cold shower.

“NICKY!”

The crowd screams my name and I wave to them, searching for the flash of red hair I swear I saw when I was out there.

Disappointed to not find her, I wrench my gaze to my team, who are beaming at me; their excitement about this win is almost greater than mine.

I run and jump into their arms, hugging each of them and thanking them for their hard work.

A race win like the one we had today takes more than just one man; it takes a village.

And although I rarely say it, I love my village.

“Nicky.” Maximilian “Max” Duvall, former F1 driver and one-time World Champion, calls me over to where he’s waiting with a microphone. Now comes the part I hate the most: the post-race interview.

“That was quite the victory,” he points out the obvious and I stifle a sigh. Max is a friend of mine; we raced each other for many years. I cut him some slack.

“You could say that.”

“The race had a bit of everything. Rain, sun, crashes, red flags. You had to stay focussed for a long time, and it felt Nathan was going to get ahead of you. Did you feel you were in control of the race?”

“I did,” I lie. There were times I thought the race was lost. “It wasn’t easy, but I knew with the car setup we had today, I was going to win.”

“You seem different this year,” Max says. “A bit more relaxed. What’s changed?”

I pause and take a long drink from my water bottle. Have I been demonstrably different this year?

“Over the break, I spent a bit of time back at home.” The words spill out of me before I can think better of them.

But they feel right. “That always grounds me. And I guess…” I search the crowd again, desperate for just a flash of her blue eyes.

“I think I’ve taken some of that peace along with me. ”

Peace?

Or perhaps, a piece of home with me. Having Cherry out on the circuit with me has already affected me in ways having Matt with me never did. I can’t pinpoint exactly what’s going on inside when she’s around, but I’m feeling things for the first time in a long time.

Things that I usually only feel when I’m behind the wheel of a race car. The adrenaline and the calm. That’s what it’s like being with Cherry.

“That’s great.” The interview wraps up. “I hope you get to hang onto this peace for the rest of the year.”

My eyes finally catch hold of hers and my heart triple-times in my chest. I may be in control when I’m in a race car; but with what’s happening off the track with Cherry, I’m not sure I’m ready for that ride.