Page 66 of Formula Chance

CHAPTER 23

Bex

Isit atmy parents’ kitchen table, picking at the orange scone beside my tea. I haven’t had much of an appetite the past few days and I’m still not sleeping well. I feel like I’m moving through a haze and having a hard time getting my bearings.

My homecoming wasn’t the open arms,we love and support you no matter whatreunion I thought it would be. My mum was optimistically supportive. “You’re going to bounce back from this. You always do. Maybe this is just a sign that something better is waiting for you. A door closes, and a window opens, right?”

My father? He was a bit harsher.

After showing up on their doorstep and telling them everything that happened, he stared at me with piercing eyes. “You made a stupid mistake,” he said bluntly, his voice cutting through the room like a knife.

My head jerked back as if he’d physically slapped me, not that he has ever done so in his life. My parents are the most loving, supportive people you could ever want in your corner. My mum was visibly shocked, but kept quiet.

“Excuse me?” I snapped, my spine straightening as the defensive fire ignited in me. “It wasn’t a mistake. It was the right call. Matthieu was too far back to make progress with a safe strategy. The data supported the risk. The tires just degraded faster than expected, and the traffic didn’t help. It was bad timing, not bad strategy.”

Dad didn’t react to my outburst. He was maddeningly calm as he set his glass down on the side table and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I’m not talking about the strategy,” he said evenly. “I’m talking about you quitting.”

The air left my lungs in a rush. “What?”

“You heard me,” he replied, his tone hard and unyielding. “The strategy didn’t cost you your career. Resigning did. That was the real mistake.”

I blinked at him, stunned into silence. He pressed on, his voice gaining an edge. “You didn’t even fight, Bex. You let Matthieu and Hendrik—two men who couldn’t hold a candle to your talent—push you out. And instead of standing your ground, you ran. You’ve faced tougher battles than this and won. So why the hell didn’t you fight this time?”

“Because it was…” I faltered, struggling to find the words. “It was untenable. I couldn’t… I couldn’t work with them anymore. They didn’t respect me.”

“And you think quitting will earn you respect?” he countered, his voice rising slightly. “You think walking away shows strength?” He paused, letting the silence weigh down on me. “It shows weakness. You handed them exactly what they wanted. You proved them right.”

I had no words. I mumbled an excuse about being tired and hightailed it upstairs to my room where I remained holed up the rest of the night. Granted, Mum brought me some cookies and sat with me while we chatted about anything but racing.

But my dad… well, I’m not sure how to talk to him about this now.

While I know my father loves me deeply, I am bothered by his disappointment in my actions. I never want anyone to consider me a quitter, my father being at the top of the list.

But unfortunately, his advice is a little too late. One does not hand in her resignation to a position that there are only ten of in the world and then go crawling on hands and knees, saying she made a mistake. There’s no way Luca would give me a second chance because it was such an immature, impulsive decision that speaks to my inherent character flaws, which are antithetical to good strategy. I seem to have thrown all my critical thinking and logic out the window and decided based on pure emotion and irrational fears. These things don’t belong in the race world, and I don’t know that they can be forgiven.

Resting my chin in my hand, I gaze out the window to the little courtyard garden and consider my future. I don’t know what is available out there. We’re at the beginning of a new race season and all the positions are secure. I’m not even sure I can find something back down in FI2, although I suppose a very low-level data analyst position might be possible. But what a fall from grace that would be. Going from the highest, most coveted position in strategy to the lowest. I’m not sure my bruised and dented ego can handle that. The humiliation would simply be too much.

Which brings up another possibility. I could move into open-wheel racing just the way Nash did before he came back to formula. Potentially, something might be available to me there, but that’s an American-only sport.

Do I want to move to the States? It was something I would’ve had to do eventually with Titans Racing, but that’s because I held an executive position, and the headquarters would be based in Pittsburgh. Would I be willing to relocate away from my family for something that would just be mediocre, not as well-paying, and certainly not as fulfilling?

And then the last possibility… a new career altogether. My degree can be applied across a broad spectrum of industries. I could transition into aerospace, analyzing optimization of aircraft systems. I could easily use my experience in data analytics for any number of tech companies or financial firms to predict markets, but that sounds so boring.

Or I could move into the renewable energy sector using my mechanical engineering skills and forte in predictive analytics to help improve efficiency and design for those types of technologies.

These are real possibilities—fields where my skills would be valued without the relentless pressure and politics that come with this sport. I know I could thrive in any of them, using everything I’ve learned about systems, data and problem-solving to make a difference elsewhere. But the thought of leaving racing, leaving everything I’ve worked for, twists something deep inside me. This isn’t just a career. It’s my passion, my identity. And yet, how much more can I take before the love for it all burns out completely?

It’s not a decision I have to make right now. I’m in the safety of my parents’ home and I might take my sister’s offer to come spend some time with her. Take some downtime and do nothing at all. Hell, I have enough in savings I could travel around for a bit, maybe head to Thailand and veg out on the beach.

Maybe join a cloistered nunnery. Something that would remove me far away from thoughts of Nash because one thing is clear to me… now that I am no longer with Titans Racing, I have no future with Nash. There’s no way I’d ever be able to handle the heartbreak of being by his side, being that close to the action and not be an integral part of it. It would be too painful.

When I gave my resignation to Luca, I was also calling it quits with Nash. Of course, I didn’t realize it at the time. Operating on pure emotion, I was only focused on my job. It wasn’t until I was packing up my belongings to head to London that I realized I was leaving him behind. I didn’t have the heart to call or text him, and he’s not happy about it.

He’s been blowing up my phone since yesterday when he learned I had resigned. He even went to my apartment looking for me. I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want to hear the same recriminations that I heard from my father, making me feel like shit about myself.

I knew it wasn’t fair to keep him in the dark or without explanation, so I did text him back.I’m so sorry I left without saying goodbye. If you haven’t figured it out yet, Hendrik was calling for my dismissal and Luca was strongly considering it. I thought it was best for me to resign. I’m in London at my parents’ and I’m safe. I don’t have a future in that industry anymore so I think it’s best that we part ways so you can focus on your racing. I love you, Nash. I’ll always be your biggest cheerleader.

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