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SIX

LUCAS

Formula 1 is one of the few sports where, in the offseason, a driver can’t train in a traditional sense. Sure, we work on endurance and strength and use simulators to prepare, but as far as actually being in the car? That’s reserved for race weekends. Before qualifying and the actual race, we’re given three free practices to test and refine the car setup and familiarize ourselves and find a rhythm with the track. That means I have to make each moment I’m in the car count.

The Suzuka circuit is shaped like a figure eight, though there are several smaller curves throughout. The challenge makes it a driver favorite. My heart pounds as my engine roars and I launch into the straight, the rush of acceleration pushing me back into my seat. As I approach the first turn, I brake, and the weight of the car shifts, the tires biting into the asphalt. With practiced finesse, I navigate the curves marking sector one. My instincts guide me as I thread the needle through fast, sweeping corners.

With each lap, the rhythm of the track becomes second nature, my movements fluid and instinctual. The feeling of commanding such a powerful machine with precision and finesse is unparalleled. Sometimes I wonder if pursuing my dream instead of doing normal teenage stuff like sneaking girls into my room and applying to college was the right choice, but the moment I put on my helmet and grip the wheel with my glove-clad hands, any second-guessing ends. The freedom that engulfs me as I push the limits of what’s possible on the track makes everything I gave up worth it.

David waits at the entrance of the pit garage with his signature clipboard in his hands as I pull myself out of the car after the hour-long practice.

“Great lap time, Adler,” he says as a nearby team member tosses me a water bottle. “Only three-tenths of a second behind Hollis.”

I take a long sip, then tug off my helmet and nod. “Not too bad.”

Blake’s a fucking speed demon on the track. I may be a great driver, but Blake’s on a whole other plane. If he wasn’t one of my closest friends, I’d probably hate him a little.

Before leaving the track, the team meets to debrief; the engineers have access to the data from my car, but my feedback and feelings about how the car reacted to each portion of the track are what give significance to the numbers. With that information, the engineers can refine and enhance the car’s performance for the next practice.

“Wanna grab dinner and drinks with Martin, Christopher, and me?” Theo asks on our way back to the hotel. “Char’s running late, per usual, so we have an extra spot.”

I like Theo’s manager and performance coach, but a night out on the town with that trio sounds exhausting.

“Thanks for the invite, but I need a low-key night,” I reply, yawning for emphasis. “I’m beat.”

“No dramas,” Theo slaps me on the back. “I’ll text you when I’m back. I’ve been practicing my Madden skills and think I’m finally ready to kick your arse.”

Nudging him in the ribs, I joke, “So says the guy who doesn’t know the difference between a tight end and a wide receiver.”

He rolls his eyes at me, but he’s wearing a grin all the same. “Whatever.”

Back in my hotel room, I luxuriate under the heavy pressure of the shower spray. The pounding water relaxes some of the tension that developed in my upper back during practice. Even with the hours I put into training, the physical exertion of driving a car at high speeds takes a toll on my body.

When the water temperature dips to lukewarm, I force myself to shut it off. As I dry off, I consider texting Blake to see what he and Ella are doing for dinner, but I quickly nix the idea. Third-wheeling doesn’t sound particularly enticing tonight. I love them as individuals and as a couple, and they never make me feel unwelcome or inconvenient, but, as strange as it sounds, being alone feels less lonely than being the token single friend with a couple.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline still rushing through my body from practice or the image of Charlotte in that floral sundress this morning that I can’t shake loose—the one that made her look like the goddamn goddess of spring—or maybe it’s because I know she doesn’t have dinner plans. Regardless of the reason, I decide to shoot her a text. We’ve had plenty of meals together over the years. The only difference tonight is that Theo won’t be there.

Lucas Adler

Hey. Want to grab dinner? No worries if not, but if you’re interested, there’s a spot near the hotel that has great reviews online .

The moment after I hit Send, I rub my brow and let out a groan. What is it about Charlotte that turns me into a fumbling, bumbling teenager?

Thankfully, her response is nearly immediate.

Charlotte Walker

Yes! Definitely.

My blood sugar’s low, so I’m eating sweets I bought from a street vendor, but I should be ready to eat dinner by the time I get back to the city.

Should be about forty (ish) minutes.

Does that work?

Typically, receiving multiple texts in a row irritates me, but it’s cute when Charlotte does it. She texts like she talks: a full stream of consciousness. I chuckle at her messages, though when I reread the phrase “back to the city,” the sound dies off.

Lucas Adler

Are you not in Suzuka?

Charlotte Walker

I took a detour.

Of about a hundred and one miles.

Lucas Adler

Lol. No wonder you didn’t want Theo to have your location.

Charlotte Walker

I didn’t even think about that… oops.

I have to change trains now, so I’ll see you in a bit!

I kill time watching highlight clips of the Michigan v. UCLA March Madness game from yesterday before heading down to the lobby. It’s been an hour since we made plans, yet the lobby’s empty, minus a group of guys checking in at the front desk. I’m not the least bit surprised. Charlotte may have said forty minutes, but I’ve never known her to be on time.

I’m settling into a plush chair tucked off to the side when my oldest brother, Grayson, calls. Whether he’s calling to catch up or to talk business is always a crapshoot. He’s a lawyer and handles all my negotiations and contracts, so it’s possible he’s calling about that, but my spidey senses tingle as I study his name on the screen, considering we spoke about both yesterday.

Curious, I hit Accept on the call. “Hey, man.”

“Hey, little bro,” Grayson greets me with a yawn.

“You know, that’s not the personal greeting you think it is, considering you have four little bros.”

He snorts out a chuckle. “Sorry. Hey, Lucas. That better?”

“Yep, now I feel loved,” I confirm. “How’s everything? It’s what, six a.m. for you?”

“Mm-hmm. Madison woke us up an hour ago, ready for breakfast.”

He’s the only Adler brother with a kid, although it’s a wonder Finn hasn’t gotten anyone pregnant yet.

“At least Mads is cute.”

A muffled humph echoes through the phone. “That she is. Looks more like her mom every day.”

“So what’s going on? Always happy to hear from you, but I feel like you’re not calling to tell me about pancakes.”

He exhales, causing a staticky sound that has me pulling the phone away from my ear. “Jesse and Kylie broke up.”

My breath whooshes out of me when the words register. It’s a good thing I’m already sitting. My ass would be flat on the floor if I wasn’t. I thought I’d be punching the air the day they broke up, but instead of basking in the vindication of karma bitch-slapping him, I’m pissed. My brain won’t stop shouting “was it worth it?” Maybe it’s fucked up, but the idea that he’d damage our relationship in order to get his happily ever after is far more acceptable than knowing he was willing to cause the strife he did over a connection that didn’t even last.

“You there?” Grayson asks.

“Yeah,” I reply. “Sorry, I’m just surprised. Was it mutual?”

My brother sighs, the sound scarily similar to the sound our dad makes when he’s wondering how mad my mom will be if he smacks one of us upside the head for doing something stupid. “You could call him and ask for the details, you know.”

My gut twists. “You called me with this news, remember?”

“If you just talked to him?—”

“Can we not do this right now, Gray?” I bite out more harshly than I should.

I’ve kept what happened to myself, never bad-mouthing Jesse or doing anything that could strain his interactions with our brothers. Instead of causing a major family rift, I quietly removed myself from the situation, letting the cracks in our once-close relationship grow big enough to be considered a natural disaster.

“Okay, okay,” Grayson says. “Sorry. He came over for dinner last night and seemed upset. He’s still your brother, even if you two aren’t close anymore.”

I massage my forehead with my free hand, taking a moment to collect my thoughts, but am disrupted by a commotion in the lobby.

Shaking my head and chuckling, I watch as Charlotte wrangles herself through the revolving door, shopping bags dangling off her arms like Christmas ornaments.

She always did know how to make an entrance .

She scans the open lobby for a moment before she finds me. When she does, her eyes light up in a way that feels like a sucker punch.

I lift my hand and stand, then use her arrival as an excuse to end the call with my brother.

“Hi,” Charlotte says as she approaches, nearly out of breath. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I got on the wrong transfer train, and I couldn’t text you because my phone died, which, yes, is really stupid and dangerous. But in my defense, I wasn’t planning on venturing outside Suzuka. I wrote out the directions on my arm once I realized my phone was dying, but still. At least I had my glucose meterandteststrips on me. But I should’ve brought my portable charger?—”

“Roo.” I gently lift two bags from her arms. “It’s fine. Apology accepted. I haven’t been waiting long, and the extra time gave me a chance to catch up with my brother.”

Granted, the phone call was anything but fun, but there’s no need to make her feel worse.

“Oh, okay, good.” She puffs out a relieved breath. “Which brother? You have enough of them to form a rugby team.”

I chuckle. While it’s not technically true, we could start a basketball team. “Grayson.”

“He’s the oldest, his wife is named Jaclyn, and he’s Madison’s dad,” she says, as if reciting it from a notecard.

“Yep,” I confirm, my chest expanding with satisfaction and a bit of surprise that she remembers. “Instead of going out, why don’t I pick up food while you drop off your bags and charge your phone? We can meet at my suite to watch a movie and chill instead.”

Chill instead? Holy shit, get it together, man .

“Are you sure that’s okay?” she asks, nibbling on her lip.

Relieved she didn’t pick up on my inadvertent invitation to Netflix and chill, I scratch at the back of my neck and quickly reply, “I wouldn’t have suggested this if I wasn’t on board. ”

“Okay, then let’s do that,” she says, readjusting the bags on her arms. “I love this dress—it’s from this boutique in Sydney—but I have to wear a strapless bra with it, and they’re the absolute worst. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking when I put it on this morning. Well, I mean, I do, but”—she straightens, her eyes going wide—“oh, I should clarify that I will be putting on a bra for dinner, just a different one. One that won’t try to cut off my circulation or strangle me. If I go around with the girls unsupported, I’ll be at risk of knocking someone out. Death by D-cups, can you imagine?”

My lungs seize, and I choke on air. Oh, for fuck’s sake . It’s hard to miss how well-endowed Charlotte is in the chest department, but I didn’t need to know her bra size. That’s catnip to a breast guy like me.

“Anyway, what are you thinking for dinner?” she continues as if she hasn’t just casually talked about her tits for an entire minute. “Sushi? Ramen?”

Benjamin, my performance coach, would be banging his head against a wall if he knew I wasn’t going to eat the grilled mackerel, baked potato, spinach salad, and yogurt topped with mixed berries that he had sent up to my room when I told him I was staying in.

Now that I can breathe again, I pull my head out of my ass long enough to ask, “Anything you’re craving or want in particular? I’m open to whatever.”

“You can surprise me,” she says. “Wait, no,” she adds in a rush. “I don’t know why I said that. I do love surprises, don’t get me wrong, but I hate shrimp. I think I may be allergic to it since my throat gets kind of scratchy when I eat it. Sort of like I just did four hours of karaoke. So don’t surprise me with shrimp, please. Other than that, everything’s fair game.”

“No shrimp,” I repeat, biting back a laugh. “Copy that.”

“Oh, oops. One more thing. I love soy sauce, so feel free to get a lot of that. Like whatever you’d usually get, double that, and then add some more.”

“Anything else?”

Her cheeks flush the prettiest shade of pink. “Um… please and thank you?”

The grin that spreads across my face stays there all the way to the restaurant and then back to the hotel.