Page 15 of Formula Chance

I don’t think I’ve ever fought with anyone the way I fought with Bex. I’ve never loved anyone the way I loved her either. Maybe that’s why it burned so hot, why every argument felt like a war we both refused to lose.

We were golden in the beginning—perfect, even. I met her when I was racing with Bauer FI, and she was running strategy for their FI2 team. Vienna felt like a dream back then. Late-night dinners after races, stolen moments in empty garages, and the kind of chemistry that made it impossible to stay away from her. She was beautiful, outgoing, kind and funny, but more than anything… I admired the hell out of her for her racing knowledge and genius in strategy. I was a goner and proposed after just a few months because it felt so right, and she didn’t hesitate in accepting.

“Yes,” she’d screamed, launching herself into my arms.

It had felt inevitable.

It was right.

Bexley was the one.

And thus began the best year of my life. We moved in together, planned the wedding, talked about how we’d conquer the world—me on the track, her in the paddock. She worked harder than anyone I knew, trying to prove herself in a sport where women had to claw for approval. I respected the hell out of her for it.

On the flip side, she was my biggest fan. Despite her long work hours with the FI2 team, she was there in the pit for every one of my races, cheering me on. She never failed to mention her pride in me, her love for me, and she validated me in a hundred other ways.

The best year of my life… until it wasn’t.

Things started to shift and I’m not even sure I noticed it. In hindsight, I can pinpoint it to my career excelling. My star began to rise, and I was in the running for the Driver’s Championship. I got sucked into the whirlwind of fame, which included a huge American documentary series on Formula International. I got a lot of TV time, and my fan base grew to astronomical proportions. There were media appearances, sponsor events, parties with other drivers, and well… it was addictive. I’d ask Bex to come to all of it with me, but she almost always said no.

She was working late, running strategy models, tweaking simulations. I tried to understand, but I was twenty-four, riding high on the adrenaline of winning and being recognized everywhere I went. I didn’t want to spend my nights staring at her staring at a laptop screen. I wanted her by my side, and she wasn’t there.

The arguments started small. I’d tease her about being married to her job, and she’d snap back that someone in the relationship had to be focused. I’d then accuse her of being close-minded. The arguments escalated. She’d call me out for partying too much, for getting caught up in the glitz and glamour. I’d throw it back at her, accusing her of caring more about her spreadsheets than about me. We’d fight, then make up. Every time I thought we’d fixed it, the cycle would start again.

Then came the night where everything fell apart. I was at a party with some of the other drivers. It was supposed to be harmless—a few drinks, some laughs—but of course, someone snapped photos. The pictures hit social media the next morning and among them was one of me with a stupid grin on my face, half-naked women dancing in the background. I wasn’t touching anyone, wasn’t doing anything wrong, but I was there, and that was enough.

Bex was livid. She stormed into the apartment, her face red, her voice shaking as she accused me of cheating on her. I tried to explain it was just a party, that I didn’t touch a single woman there, but she wasn’t hearing it, and I didn’t like her tone. It showed she didn’t trust me and fuck it all… if she wanted to make sure I didn’t stray, she should have been by my side.

“You shouldn’t have been there in the first place, Nash!” she shouted, slamming her hand onto the kitchen counter. “You knew this would happen—you knew it would look bad!”

“Nothing happened, Bex.” I scrubbed my hand through my hair in frustration. “I never even got near one of those women.”

“But you’d rather be out partying with them than with me,” she spat.

“You’re never home,” I yelled back at her. “You’re always working. You’re married to your damn job, and I’m supposed to just sit here waiting for you to give me a few minutes of your time.”

Her eyes flashed with fury. “Don’t you dare turn this around on me. You know how important my career is. I have to work twice as hard as any man to get the same recognition, so I’ve got to put the hours in. And let’s not forget, I’m not the one out there drinking with half-naked women while we’re planning a wedding!”

Guilt started to creep in because while I didn’t look at those women—didn’t want to because I had Bex—the truth was, maybe I was punishing her a bit for not spending time with me in my world. The words were out before I could even stop them. “Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you actually acted like my fiancée!”

It was below the belt, and I knew it the second the words left my mouth. But the damage was done and I could see by the look on her face she wasn’t going to forgive me for that. Bex pulled her engagement ring off her finger and threw it at me, but I didn’t have time to react. It bounced off my chest and landed on the tile floor, the tiny clink of metal hitting louder than any shout.

“This isn’t working,” she said, her voice breaking. “I can’t marry you.”

I stood shellshocked as she turned and walked into the bedroom. The next thing I knew, I was grabbing my keys and slamming the door behind me. I needed to get out of there, to clear my head.

I didn’t go back for two days. I was furious she’d dare take that ring off. I told myself I needed space, but the truth was, I was too proud to face her. This was on her, not me. I wasn’t the one who callously called off the wedding, and she would have to work hard to get back in my good graces and convince me to put that ring back on her finger.

On the third day, I went home, ready to talk about things, but she was gone. The apartment was half-empty, only my things remaining, and a note sat on the kitchen counter.

“I’m sorry this didn’t work out.–B”

I was stunned. I’d expected we’d fight and bicker and then make up with wild, passionate lovemaking to seal the deal. We’d persevere like we always did, and like a fool, I waited a few days to see if she’d come back.

She didn’t.

She didn’t call or text.

And neither did I. My pride wouldn’t let me.

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