Page 3

It’s day three of pre-season and I finally feel like I’m getting back in my groove. It’s good to be out on the circuit again and in the familiar tight space of the cockpit. For someone who doesn’t like to be crowded, I should probably feel beyond claustrophobic, but it’s actually the one place where I feel completely in control.

These test sessions have been incredible. I’ve seen the improvements they’ve made to the car for this season, and putting it through its paces has made me feel more than confident for what’s to come in my fourteenth season. The media can suck it with their speculation about me bowing out anytime soon.

I’m pulling up into the exit lane and steadily climbing out of the cockpit when I spot Harper James. Lingering. Again.

He. Is. Everywhere.

There’s no escape now. Nothing I can do to avoid him, not even if I tried. I can’t even get out of my car without him hovering around me.

I take a second to hang back, adjusting to being upright again after over an hour whizzing round the track. I stretch out my back and my legs, loosening the muscles that have begun to tense, all whilst surreptitiously studying Harper’s side profile.

His eyes keep darting towards me and I can tell he’s waiting for me to walk past him. I can’t deny I’ve been watching him, too. I’ve watched several of his laps this weekend. On the track he’s something else. He seems to have no self-control at all as a person, but he’s always in control of the car, making decisions that look bold and strategic but which could also just be reckless – and the result of natural talent and instinct. Annoyingly, I watched these decisions have incredible payoffs. After day one, I went back to my hotel room and watched some of his footage. He’s a circuit genius. I wish I could see what goes on in that head of his when he analyses the track, because he drives like he has every twist and turn of the course imprinted on his brain. He always seems to know exactly what’s coming next, and yet he doesn’t overthink things. It’s a level of driving intelligence I’ve seen from only a handful of champion drivers. My reluctant admiration of his technique grows every time I watch him.

And then he opens his mouth and ruins it all.

‘Man, you can really see that you got all the good Tyler Heath genes.’

He’s rushed over to me in my moment of contemplation, my race engineer, Cole, following hot on his heels. I see Cole wince from where he’s crouching to get feedback on the tire feel and I have to stop myself from snarling at Harper as he steps between us.

Harper clocks the look Cole gives me, but is either stupid or deliberately trying to wind me up, because he continues to run his mouth.

‘You take corners just like your dad, man! I’m so jealous. Got that proper fearlessness he used to have.’

Eyes closed, I take a deep breath and slowly remove my helmet. I look straight at Cole, ignoring Harper completely. ‘The C4s felt really good on those laps. I think they’ll be good for qualifying but maybe C2s for the start of the Grand Prix.’

Cole nods. ‘Good to know. We noticed some graining from the tyres in the final laps, so this is something we can take into consideration with our final choices for Bahrain.’ He makes some quick notes on the iPad he’s carrying. Our best technicians and engineers are gathered around the screens, already analysing data from the car and scribbling down stats.

I’ve pushed out close to 120 laps across two sessions today, making my total for the three days 347 – almost as many as my third season record of 368. And if I need to do more then I will, because commitment and dedication and self-discipline are just as important as whatever natural talent you might have. Harper James needs to learn that this is a completely different league to the lower categories, and he won’t last long if he twats about and doesn’t take it seriously.

I’m presented with so many screens showing lap times and data, including my fastest and slowest ten for the day, and all the senior technicians are gathered around. I want to get a proper look at them and take it all in, but Harper’s positioned himself in front of the screens like it’s his information they’re reeling off. He’s all wide-eyed and excited like a puppy, and it sucks the energy out of me. Was I like that in my first higher-category season? His enthusiasm makes him seem so young, and makes me feel like an old man. Not that there’s a huge age difference – he’s twenty-five and I’m about to turn thirty-four – but when it comes to racing careers and our levels of experience, it”s a lifetime. And I just love feeling like an old man when I’m already having to dodge questions about when I’m going to retire.

‘This lap –’ Harper taps at the screen, motioning to my second fastest ‘– was insane. The car looked so aerodynamic as you took the second and third bend that I thought you were going to fly off the circuit, but you seemed so in control.’

There’s awe in his voice and I probably should be flattered by how he’s raving about me, but I’m used to the way Elijah and I worked as teammates. We would take some proper wind-down time and then reconvene back at the hotel to analyse the data with clear heads, calmness and objectivity.

Sometimes I just need a little bit of space when I climb out of the car. Quiet is often impossible when straight away there are cameras in your face and all the pit crew and officials are hovering. I always take myself off to an empty corner, drop into a chair and just breathe for a couple minutes. Everyone who’s been part of the team for a while is used to it, and I wish someone would take the boy wonder aside and tell him to chill the hell out, because he’s really beginning to piss me off. So much of this sport is a mental game and I know what conditions I need in order to perform at my best – and Harper bloody James is definitely messing with the set-up that Elijah and I have honed over the last year. But I’m not good at confrontation so I tell myself that ignoring Harper is the way to go.

He’ll get the message. Or one the race engineers will tell him straight when he pushes too far.

It won’t be me, though. Confrontation isn’t good for the mental game, either. It doesn’t come easy when anxiety plagues the soul. Ash or Cole will fill him in. I trust them, they know what’s best for me.

I turn away from Harper and keep my mouth shut. He was clearly expecting a response, and the surprise is enough to keep him quiet for a couple minutes. To cover his confusion, he leans over one of the technicians, Kev, and immerses himself in the way the graphics are showing off how I’ve performed in the new car.

‘Don’t worry, man,’ Cole says quietly to me. ‘We’re already putting together your pre-season binder for you to look at later. Just let us know all your thoughts over the next couple of days.’ Cole doesn’t miss a trick – he’s been here almost as long as I have and I appreciate that every season he goes above and beyond to keep me happy.

‘You’re a star. Thanks, Cole.’ I clap him on the shoulder and grab my bag, rifling through to find my earbuds. With both in my ears and the noise cancelling mode on, I can leave behind the chaos for a bit. Visualisation has become everything for me when I can’t be on the track or in a simulator. I imagine every bend, I feel the sensation of the drag on the track and how my body responds when the G-force is stronger than anything I’ve ever experienced before.

I pick a guided meditation from my Spotify favourites and sink into a comfy chair. Controlling my breathing, feeling the tensing, and releasing of my muscles, I work from head to toe focusing and relaxing. It’s the ultimate calm and it’s exactly what I need after the adrenaline rush of the circuit.

Except the calm doesn’t last long because no more than a couple minutes into the track, I feel a big hand shaking my shoulder and know it can only belong to one person. I don’t even need to open my eyes to be sure it’s him. This seems to be his favourite mode of ambush.

‘Harper?’ I take out one earbud and crack open one eye.

‘Wow, sorry. I’ve been stood here for, like, three minutes and you didn’t even move. I thought you were in a trance or something.’ He’s like a kid, vibrating with energy and eager enthusiasm. I get it – it’s his first higher-category pre-season. But he also did three hundred laps this weekend and I thought he’d be a bit more burnt-out.

‘Just trying to have a bit of peace.’ The point does not hit home, though. Either he’s doing it intentionally or he doesn’t know how to read the room.

‘A couple of the guys are going to go get dinner and drinks tonight. Are you gonna join us?’ He’s changed out of his racing suit and into a pair of gym shorts and a thin vest which is cropped at his navel. I’ve never seen anything like it in the Hendersohm pit in my entire career.

I’m not quite sure who he’s talking about when he says ‘the guys’. I’ve seen him over the last couple of days becoming pally with drivers on other teams and I’m fairly sure I’ve seen a hundred pictures of him with Johannes from the Red Bull Ford team.

‘I’m good. Have a great night, though.’ My tone is dry and clearly indicates that I want to be left alone.

We have two weeks’ free time in Bahrain till the first Grand Prix weekend, which gives the technicians time to make final adjustments on the cars and tweak the set-ups. The luxury of racing is that we aren’t stuck sharing a hotel suite like I know some other sports teams are when they’re travelling.

‘No worries. I’ll see you in an hour anyway for the Sports mag interview.’ He takes off after Ash, a torrent of questions about the choice to include a sidepod in our car falling from his mouth. I don’t envy Ash right now.

Then his words hit me. I quickly pull up my calendar and it’s right there: Sports UK magazine interview with Harper. I don’t even know how I missed that this morning. Probably because breakfast consisted of nonstop yapping in my ear from a certain rookie rather than my normal routine of readying myself for the day.

Reluctantly, I heave myself out of the chair and track down Kelsey. She makes all the travel arrangements and I need to get back to the hotel to shower and change.

‘Looking good out there, Ki.’ She’s always full of compliments, though it’s me that should be complimenting her – all the travel and accommodation so far has been flawless.

‘Thanks, Kels. Could I trouble you for a ride back to the hotel?’

‘You’re in luck. I just called a car round for Harper. If you”re quick you’ll catch him.’ I wrestle with the decision for a second. Kelsey’s great, and I don’t want to create double the work for her, but this is the last thing I want. Yet I still just smile and say a quick thank you before I turn and head in the same direction as Harper, groaning inwardly. Annoyingly, I’m just in time, despite dragging my heels. Harper is just opening the back door, and I wish it wouldn’t be rude of me to climb into the front.

‘Knew you couldn’t keep away,’ he says with a grin.

Did he…? Was his tone flirty?

The upheaval caused by Elijah’s medical emergency and Harper’s sudden arrival on this team is making me overthink everything. It’s one of my worst habits, and the reason I spend so much time meditating and developing my mental focus. I quickly shake it off.

‘Kels said she’d just organised a car for you and I wasn’t about to make her call me another one when we’re going to the same place.’

‘If that’s what you need to tell yourself, Kian. I know you’re excited to get to know me. Maybe you’ll come out for dinner after all?’ His teasing eyes are so bright and enthusiastic – and this close up, in the golden hour of daylight remaining, they shimmer a clear turquoise blue.

Mesmerising.

Reluctantly, I see why every man and his wife are so keen to bed him right now.

I turn away from his gaze, remembering how much he annoys me. Maybe his superpower is actually persistence. He never seems to take no for an answer.

‘Not really my thing. I need to get showered, do this interview and make it back in time for my class.’ He clearly isn’t good with subtle so I try to shut him down clearly but firmly.

‘A class? What’re you studying?’ he asks, leaning into the conversation just as I’m trying to put an end to it.

‘Yoga.’ Flexibility is vital for athletes, and it’s not like my training activities aren’t already public knowledge, so I’m not sure why I feel so uncomfortable talking about this with him.

He studies me, his languid gaze drifting up and down the length of my body. Studying me from head to toe. His eyes flicker with excitement, like he’s enjoying what he sees, and I don’t know how to take that. That is absolutely not allowed.

‘James!’ I snap at him.

‘Sorry. Just trying to imagine you doing yoga. You don’t exactly scream elegance.’

‘It’s yoga, not ballet. It’s about control and breathing and exploring the limits of our muscles and limbs. Sound familiar?’

I know I’m being snippy, but my headspace feels warped, and I’ve really had enough of him. It makes me miss Elijah even more.

For once, Harper doesn’t have a reply. Maybe because he agrees with me or maybe he’s finally got the message. Or maybe it’s because the heat in his eyes is still blazing and he can’t quite look at me. Whatever, I’m just grateful for the silence.

It’s only another five minutes to the hotel, but the atmosphere feels so awkward that those five minutes feel like forever before we’re pulling up at the front entrance of the hotel and the driver is opening the door to let us out.

We both stride quickly across the foyer, only to end up in the same lift going to the same floor.

As I overtake him in the corridor on the way to my room, he grabs my arm.

‘You wanna meet back out here in half an hour to go to the interview?’ he asks, hovering at the door to his suite, keycard braced in the swipe lock. The space between us wreaks of sweat and the rubbery Nomex that imbeds its scent into your skin regardless of how long ago you took the suit off.

I’m not sure why, but I relent. You can’t kick a puppy, after all.

‘Sure.’ I think I catch him off-guard because he fumbles his keycard at the same time he goes to walk through the door, gifting me with the sight of him smacking his head against the wood when the door doesn’t click open.

Thank you, universe.

It’s my reward for enduring his relentless presence, and I enjoy every single second.

His face is a picture of embarrassment and confusion. He opens his mouth to say something, but instead, wordlessly, swipes his card again and disappears into his room.

* * *

Half an hour later, we meet back in the hallway. I shut down his attempts at conversation – or fangirling over my dad to be more precise – straight away and we walk the rest of the way to the lift in silence. It’s peaceful, and I hope maybe, just maybe, Harper’s finally got the message. But the second we step into the lift he presses the buttons for every single floor on the way down.

‘What is actually wrong with you?’ My exasperated outburst shocks us both.

‘Wrong with me? What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you being such a dick?’

‘Excuse me?’

I’mbeing a dick?

‘It’s our first interview together. Could you maybe seem like you’re the teensiest bit excited to have me on the team?’

‘It’s just going to be the usual shit. How are you feeling about the season ahead? Are you ready for next weekend? Who’s your biggest competitor this year? Just trot out some stock answers and you’ll be fine.’

‘Well, excuse me, Mr Fifteen Years in the Business, but some of us haven’t had as much experience as you.’

Okay, well that’s actually fair enough.

‘Right. Well, the interviewer, Ava Gonzalez is a pro. But she’s also respectful. Not even you could fuck this up.’

Harper visibly recoils out of the corner of my eye.

Maybe I am being the asshole here, but everything he does seems to rub me up the wrong way.

We stand in silence again, but this time the quiet makes my skin itch in a way it never has before. I sigh as we get to the media suite, but it’s time to put my game face on and I refuse to let him get to me. This is going to be my season.

After hair and make-up, we’re led over to the set and presented with two tiny stools to balance on before exchanging pleasantries with an interviewer who I’m sure I’ve met but can’t quite place. I go to tell Harper it’s not the reporter I’ve prepared him for, the warning on the tip of my tongue, but it’s clear they’re already waiting for us to start. I’ve done a hundred of these things and they’re always the same. It’ll be fine.

Little do I know that it’s the calm before an absolute shipwreck of a storm.

‘So, Kian, how are you feeling about all the changes? Especially with Elijah out and Harper in just a short time before the season starts?’

It’s a question I’ve prepped for since the news about Elijah’s injury broke. The answer is straightforward: send my love and best wishes to Elijah, react positively to change, tell her you’re still looking forward to the season. Easy.

‘Before I let Kian answer your question, let me start by sending my well wishes to Elijah,’ Harper cuts in before I can even move my mouth, stealing my lines.

Like he even cares about Elijah.

I feel my blood start to boil.

‘The whole team is wishing him a speedy recovery and sending him and his family our best,’ Harper continues.

To my knowledge, they’ve maybe met once or twice, never hung out and barely know each other.

I can’t add anything to that without sounding insincere and just uselessly repeating him so I don’t say anything at all.

‘You must be missing your long-time teammate and friend?’ the journalist asks me.

‘He won’t be missing him for long with me on the team,’ Harper interrupts again, this time including a cheeky grin that seems to charm the interviewer, whose name I still can’t remember.

‘Of course I miss Elijah,’ I say before the idiot can add anything else. I clear my throat and shoot Harper a death stare. ‘Elijah Gutaga is one of the world’s best drivers – and the best teammate that I’ve ever been lucky enough to race with. They don’t make many like him anymore. He’s going to be deeply missed on the circuit this season – by me most of all. But he’s recovering well and I’m sure he’ll be back before you know it.’

There’s an awkward beat of silence and I become uncomfortably aware of the multitude of video cameras set up to capture every angle, ready for clips of the interview to go up on their social-media channels right away. It’s nothing outside of the norm, but I hate these stupid little stools and I suddenly feel so self-conscious next to Harper right now. Every time he tries to invade the space between us, I lean the other way. He throws me off-balance. He’s too familiar. Too in my face. All the damn time.

‘It sounds like you don’t think Harper James is ready to step into Gutaga’s place.’

I snap my attention back to the interviewer.

Oh, hell.

‘That’s not what?—’

But Harper scoffs angrily, and before I can continue, she turns her attention to him.

‘Harper, how do you feel about stepping into Elijah’s place in the team? You’ve got a lot to live up to, according to your new teammate.’ The tone of her voice is cleverly goading and I don’t like it. My words in the lift come back to haunt me.

‘I’m not worried at all. Elijah Gutaga has had a great career, but it’s time for some new blood in the Hendersohm team and the higher-ups clearly think that’s me.’

What the hell?

I swivel my head to face him. The interviewer’s grinning and the guys behind the camera look ecstatic with the footage they’re capturing. It’ll probably send them viral.

I’m not going to stand for this.

‘New blood doesn’t necessarily trump skill and experience. Had Elijah not broken his leg, we’d be on track for another fantastic season, especially with all the work the team have done on the car in the last couple of months.’ I’m not about to sit back and let this dipshit bad-mouth one of the greats, my closest friend, and the driver whose seat he’s stolen!

‘But Harper, you did have a great season with Hendersohm last year in the category below, your first podium win, and there was already a lot of speculation about you being drafted as the back-up driver this year for the Championship team,’ the interviewer says. She can clearly smell drama, and she’s going to do everything she can to turn this into a story.

I’d seen that speculation, too, but I’d also heard whispers that management didn’t like Harper’s attitude and were divided about whether to take a chance on him or not. And I couldn’t agree more.

‘When you say great, you mean record-breaking, right? The best second category season a driver has ever had. The points were insane,’ Harper boasts, looking at me with a distinct challenge in his eyes.

I’ve never had much of a poker face, so I’m sure it’s obvious to everyone by now what I’m thinking.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ the interviewer coos. ‘And in fact, the record before then was actually held by your dad, Kian. Tyler Heath.’ She turns to me.

Until this second, I was determined to keep it professional, to keep my mouth shut, and pray that the mic wasn’t picking up on the way I was grinding my molars to pieces. But with her casual mention of my father, all bets are off.

‘What a legend!’ Harper cuts in. ‘It’s an honour to be compared to Tyler Heath. I was a big fan as a little kid. He was one of the reasons I got into karting in the first place. He wasn’t afraid to take risks and try new things.’

Harper’s dig hits home, and I feel my control slipping.

‘There’s calculated risk on the track, and then there’s whatever you call what you do off the track,’ I say coldly. ‘Maybe they’re calling you the new Tyler Heath for all the wrong reasons.’ The thought was never supposed to leave my brain, but it’s too late now. There’s no way in hell we’ll be able to get that clip edited out.

‘And what exactly do you mean by that?’ Harper demands. ‘I proved it last year and I’m already starting to prove it in this category, too. Stats don’t lie.’

His ass is in his hands, but he has no clue what he’s talking about. I had a better rookie year than the so-called great Tyler Heath, and it’ll take a better man than Harper James to beat that. Harper doesn’t measure up.

‘I’m just saying.’ I shrug in a half answer.

‘Sounds like you’re saying I’m not good enough to be here, Walker. I earned my spot the same way you did, and the way I drive is all that matters,’ Harper protests, and the interviewer leans into the developing row, as if our microphones aren’t already picking up this catastrophic mess. Harper turns to face me, but I lean back a little. It’s time he learnt to have a bit of humility.

‘No, you’re here because Elijah Gutaga broke his leg. You’d still be languishing in the lower category otherwise.’

I let the words hang in the air.

‘Okay, let’s call a time-out there,’ says Anna stepping in. She’s using a tone that says she won’t take no for answer, and I’m left wondering why she allowed the interview to go on for as long as it did. It’s been a disaster from start to finish. I’m sure the magazine is thrilled as this footage will be aired over and over again, drumming up endless column inches and screen time about drama and rivalry within the Hendersohm team.

Anna steers me out of the room by my shoulders, her hands like claws.

I assume I’m being led into a side room to cool off or whatever, but instead I’m handed over to a driver who’s told to take me back to the hotel.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, immediately contrite. ‘What about the rest of the interview?’ I ask, as the driver opens the car door.

‘We’ll reschedule,’ Anna replies. I already know we won’t.

I duck into the back seat of the car and lean back against the cool leather headrest, eyes closed. I’ve been asked many leading questions during my career as a driver. When I was just getting started, journalists loved to make comparisons between Tyler Heath and me. They loved to go on about how lucky I was to have a dad who had inspired me and helped make my dream a reality.

I’ve always bitten my tongue, held on to my control, and used deep breaths to get through it without revealing what I really think of Tyler Heath and the crap he used to pull. It’s been years – almost two decades since I started being interviewed – and I’ve never had a problem.

Yet, a couple of words from Harper James and I’m close to losing it. On camera, just to top it off.

Shit.