Page 16 of Formula Chance

The next time I saw her was when I was in the hospital after my crash. She came to visit, but I was too mired in bitterness and pain—both physical and mental—to even accept her worry over me. I growled at her to get the fuck out of my room, and she did.

The next time I saw her was in Pittsburgh four days ago and my emotions have been jumbled since. I spend far too much time thinking about her and all the what-ifs.

“You need to grow up, Nash.” I blink, pulling out of the heavy memories to find Bex staring daggers at me. But then her expression turns worried, and she lowers her voice, almost in a pleading tone. “Please don’t mess this job up for me. This is my one shot to make it at this level, and if the other drivers or engineers see you belittling me, they’ll all think they can get away with it. So I’m asking you to please put your hate for me aside and just…” She looks around, searching for an answer, and with a sigh reluctantly returns her attention to me. “Just… can you please leave me alone?”

Christ, it feels like my chest is cracking because she sounds so tired and desperate at the same time. Several things hit me all at once—the biggest is the realization that I don’t want Bex to fail at this job. In fact, I’d really like her to succeed. I also need to rise above the past hurt. That was a long time ago and we’ve both moved on.

But probably the most important thing, although it’s really a tiny revelation, is that she’s brought a bit of clarity to my murky feelings. “I don’t hate you, Bex. And I hope you don’t hate me.”

I see the surprise in her expression, and she shakes her head. “I could never hate you.” She considers that, seems to agree with her own words, and nods. “I can totally be pissed at you, want to see you suffer chronic diarrhea right before a race, but I could never hate you.”

I wince at the diarrhea wish because that’s harsh, but I am relieved that Bex doesn’t hate me. It’s bothered me all these years, the way she left without a backward glance. I assumed she felt nothing but the vilest emotions for me.

A head pops out down the hallway and I see Hendrik pointing at Bex. “Do you have those notes ready?”

She glances at the sodden mess and shakes her head. “I’ve got a few more things I need to add. Can you give me twenty minutes?”

Hendrik’s mouth flattens in disapproval, but he shoos her away impatiently. “You have fifteen.”

Bex darts off without sparing me a glance. Hendrik’s gaze slides to me. “You coming to the meeting?”

“I’ll be there. Got to make a quick phone call first.”

Hendrik lifts his chin and slips back into the room. I head into the hospitality suite and make for the far corner to an unoccupied table with no one sitting nearby.

I pull out my phone and dial my dad. It rings a few times before he picks up.

“Hey, Nash,” my dad greets me, deep and steady. “Jeddah treating you okay?”

I grin a little at his familiar, no-nonsense tone. “It’s hot as hell but I had a great morning exploring some of the city. I’m at the paddock now and getting ready for a strategy meeting. How are things going there?”

My mom yells in the background. “Tell Nash I found the most darling lamp for his bedside table.”

I can envision my dad rolling his eyes as he calls back, “Yes, dear.”

Laughing, I ask, “So Mom’s going all out on decorating my new apartment, huh?”

“She’s a menace, dragging me from one store to the next,” he whispers into the phone.

My parents are currently in Guildford setting up my new apartment that the team found for me only a few miles from the headquarters. Things happened so fast, and my folks volunteered to hop across the pond while I’m in Jeddah to get my things settled.

Everything that I am as a race car driver is because of them. My dad, Matt, was a top mechanic working in open-wheel racing and got me involved in karting when I was young. My mom, Karen, is a school administrator, and while she frets over my safety, she’s been probably my biggest driving force and support in this career. Needless to say, they’re both thrilled that I’m returning to formula racing.

“How’s it feel to be back?” my dad asks.

“Weird,” I say, the first word that comes to mind popping out. “In a good way, but just weird. It’s like I never left, and yet everything seems different.”

“I imagine you’re trying to get your bearings,” he offers. “I’m glad they didn’t put you in the car for this race. You need a little more time to regain your formula legs, so to speak.”

“Agreed,” I say, and then launch into how my simulation runs are going. He asks thoughtful questions, buoyed by his expertise in the sport, and provides me with guidance and advice. It’s typical, and one of the reasons I cherish my relationship with him. He’s my go-to guy when I need to focus on what’s important.

I hear a faint rustling, like he’s checking something. “And how are things with the team? Getting along all right?”

I pause, staring out the window and down to the pit lane below me. “It’s… fine. Everything’s fine.”

There’s a beat of silence before my dad speaks again, his voice soft but perceptive. “You sure about that? You sound tense.”

I shift uncomfortably in the chair, rubbing the back of my neck. I’m not ready to admit to him just how much being around Bex is throwing me off. Hell, I’m not ready to admit it to myself. But my dad’s the kind of guy who always sees through the front I put up.

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