Page 42 of Formula Chance

CHAPTER 15

Nash

Sleep is nowhereto be found. I’ve been staring at Bex’s ceiling for what feels like hours, her soft breathing a quiet reminder of the peace I can’t seem to grasp. My mind keeps looping back to tomorrow—my first time behind the wheel on the test track. The pressure to perform is suffocating.

I can’t mess this up, not after everything.

I stare at Bex in the moonlight, resisting the urge to snuggle into her. Not that I’m averse to snuggling. We did just that for a few hours upon collapsing into a sweaty mess after our second round of lovemaking tonight. I’d brought dinner as planned—fish and chips from a local restaurant—but it went cold because as soon as I walked in her door, she was kissing me and well… I kissed her back.

Then I fucked her.

Twice, and it was so goddamned good that I know deep in my heart I won’t be able to give this up. Not the way things are in this moment.

But right now… I need something different and there’s only one place I want to be.

Sliding out of bed as silently as possible, I grab my clothes and slip into the bathroom to change. Bex doesn’t stir and moments later, I’m out the door, on my way to headquarters.

The evening air is cold, sharp, and it clears my head a bit as I drive. Guildford is quiet this time of night, and my destination looms ahead, the Titans Racing logo lit up like a beacon on the side of the massive glass, concrete and steel structure.

My destination within is planned.

I know exactly where I’m going—the simulator.

Once inside, I navigate the darkened corridors, not a single person to greet me other than the night watchman. The simulator bay is empty and dark, but with a flick of a switch, it comes to life. The giant contraption looms like a beast under the bright lights. It’s a cutting-edge piece of tech, designed to replicate the real-world experience of driving an FI car. It’s built around a full-size cockpit, mounted on a motion platform that shifts and tilts to mimic the forces of acceleration, braking and cornering. High-definition screens wrap around it, giving a three-hundred-sixty-degree view of whatever circuit you’re running. In fact, it’s so realistic, you can feel the subtle changes in grip or the snap of oversteer, making it invaluable for both driver training and testing car setups in a controlled, risk-free environment.

But I’m not here for data analysis or telemetry. This is only about me, the car and the track so I can have a perfect run tomorrow.

I boot up the system, the soft hum of machinery filling the space. I know enough to load the Silvercrest Circuit, choosing a race setup close to what I’ll have on the track. It’s not perfect and without the engineers, I won’t get real-time feedback. No sector splits, tire degradation models, or engine performance metrics. But I don’t need all that right now. I just need to feel the car beneath me, to find my rhythm before I get out there for real.

The screen lights up, the virtual Silvercrest track stretching out before me. I strap in, grip the steering wheel, and take a deep breath.

“All right, Nash. Let’s do this,” I mutter, pressing the throttle.

The first few laps are shaky. The car feels twitchy through the high-speed corners, and I overshoot the braking zones more times than I care to admit. “Damn it,” I grumble, adjusting my line as I approach Turn 9. “Focus.”

Lap after lap, I start to settle in. The sweeping left of Turn 11 feels smoother, the tricky braking point at Turn 13 no longer catches me off guard. I talk myself through each corner like I’m coaching someone else.

Brake earlier here. Power out… good. That’s better. Tighten it up.

I’m so focused, I don’t notice the door opening behind me. It’s not until I hear a familiar voice that I realize I’m no longer alone.

“Couldn’t sleep, huh?”

Startled, I glance over my shoulder to see Bex standing in the doorway, her arms crossed, her expression a mix of amusement and concern.

“How’d you find me?” I ask, slowing the car to a stop.

She steps up to the platform, the light catching the golden highlights in her hair, which is pulled up into a messy bun. She didn’t bother with her contacts, instead her large, black-framed glasses perch on her nose, making her look even smarter than the genius I know her to be. “You’re predictable,” she says with a chuckle. “You used to do this all the time at Bauer… late-night practice sessions. I woke up, saw you were gone, and figured you’d be here.”

I like that she didn’t automatically think I’d bailed on her to go back to my own place. I want her to know that when I stay the night, I’m all in for staying the night.

Unless I want extra practice.

I shake my head with a smirk. “You know me too well.”

Bex walks over, scanning the screens. “Are you running Melbourne or Silvercrest?”

“Silvercrest.”

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