Page 146 of Wrecked (Dirty Air 3)

“I don’t know if I’ll ever truly be happy.” A life without Elena, even if I live by myself near my parents’ house, sounds lonely as fuck.

“Bullshit. You only need to find what makes you feel that way. If it’s not racing, so be it. If it means moving back to London and moving on with life, then have at it. You have a big enough bank account to not work another day in your life.”

“The biggest.” I wink at him.

Liam laughs up to the ceiling. “All I know is I’m going to miss you. Please beat Noah’s ass tomorrow so you can leave F1 in style. I won’t accept anything less.”

Sweat drenches my back as my engine rumbles against my spine. The lights shut off in front of me. I press my foot to the pedal and take off, the sounds of screeching tires echoing behind me. My car makes it through the first corner before my earpiece buzzes with activity.

“Hey. Keep up the pace and mind your tires. And watch out for Noah because he wants to ride your ass.”

I monitor Noah the entire time I race, making sure not to give him many opportunities to pass me. Turn after turn we battle for the first-place spot. He takes the lead once, but I beat him back after a successful pit stop.

“You’re turning too wide at corner three,” an engineer speaks through the team radio.

My breathing grows heavier as I continue to push toward the finish line. Blurs of crowds pass me, screaming as the rushing cars fly by.

Noah inches up toward my rear wing, but I smash the accelerator, flying through another lap. With one last go around the track, I need to push my car to the limit.

Chris makes his presence known again. “Steady. Don’t screw this up in the last lap.”

I concentrate on the track in front of me while minding my mirrors as I push the race car to its breaking point. Turn after turn, I keep my lead, not giving Noah much space to pass me. With one last turn, I surge down the final straight of the Prix.

Fireworks go off as I pass the checkered flag. The sounds of roaring crowds pull a smile from me as I run through the track for a cool down lap.

“You fucking did it. Damn, you’re a two-time World Champion. Good work, Kingston!” Chris yells.

I throw my fist in the air, enjoying the last lap of my career.

My eyes are deceiving me. There’s no other explanation for the apparition standing to the side of the podium, watching me.

Elena motherfucking Gonzalez, in the flesh. She smiles at me and waves, rocking a McCoy T-shirt with my number on it. Liam, Sophie, Maya, and Elías stand next her, cheering us on.

What the hell is she doing here? But more importantly, why is she smiling at me like I hung the fucking moon for her?

I attempt to ignore her as Noah pours champagne all over me, but my eyes find hers every time. When they hand me my trophy, I smile at her before lifting it in the air. The crowd goes wild as Noah and Santiago spray champagne on screaming fans.

The announcers call for the end of the celebration, and I exit the stage. I take a look at her. A good long look, wondering how the hell I deserved her visiting my final Prix despite everything I’ve done. I stroll toward her, soaking her in like the earth in the middle of a rainstorm after a year-long drought.

“Hey.” She offers me a small, nervous smile.

“What are you doing here?” I fight my smile and fail.

“I wanted to see what a World Champion looked like up close and personal. Figured it was worth checking out if the final podium meets the hype.”

“Did it meet your standards?”

“Not really. I expected better fireworks to be honest.”

I shake my head at her. What the fuck is she doing here?

She grabs my hand and tugs me away from my friends. A zing of energy courses up my arm at our contact. I’m tempted to pull away, but I allow myself the moment of torture.

Although I’m happy she came—elated even—I can’t exactly express it. I’m on standby as she pulls me through the crowds before leading me toward a dark motorhome.

“You don’t have to look conflicted about having me here.” She places her palm against my cheek.

I lean into it, craving her touch like the fucked-up man I am. What’s the harm in a few minutes of her attention, even though I know it will devastate me once she leaves? “I’m happy you’re here. Honest fucking truth.”