Page 13 of Start Your Engines

Dane’s reaction is something else. His lip cocks to the side again, and he gazes at me with a look that, on anyone else, I’d call admiration.

My dad’s words about how I should rule the team bite at me. These two wouldn’t treat him like this.

“I would terminate both of you, Antoine. Ask any of my former comms team what I’m capable of. You’re not special or important. I’m your boss and your god. Do you understand?” It’s like my dad is speaking. My words are full of confidence, yet inside, I’m cringing. My comms team would tell him we were a family and that I was a boss who was supportive, not cutthroat. This isn’t me. This isn’t who Ralf told me to be.

Antoine’s eyes tighten, and I briefly witness the sly, authentic version of him I’ve waited for. He returns to relaxed charm. “Yes, boss. The car is a dream. I shall enjoy driving it in a race.”

I nod, dismissing him. Dane’s cocked head and furrowed brow fascinate me.

Once Antoine leaves, I clear out the rest of the garage. Shakedown is officially over, and we’ve run out of time for Connor to drive because of the men’s fighting.

I busy myself, stifling a yawn.

“And, Dane,” I say, keeping my distance from Connor for fear of how my body will react. “Next time I tell you to speak to the press, please don’t question me or argue. Just do it. You need to get used to the fact that I am your boss. Not my brother. Not my dad. Me. Just show me some respect. I will tell you when you drive. I will tell you when you speak to the press. Fuck, if I tell you to wear a chicken costume and dance like a cat on speed, then?—”

“Then I do it. Although I’d be wondering why I’m dressed like a chicken if I’m dancing like a cat,” he says in a gravelly drawl that has me tapping my heel against the concrete. “But I’ll do it because you’re my god, boss.”

“Just go, Dane.” I point to the exit. “I don’t want to see you until Bahrain for pre-season practice.”

I turn and busy myself tidying my headphones at the desk.

“I hope I get to drive the car then,” he says.

I close my eyes and wait a minute.

“Has he gone, Jacs?”

“Yes, Sen.”

I slump to the floor, leaning against my chair.

“Connor Dane is why I gave up my childhood dream of being a driver. If the last week is anything to go by, he’ll be why I give up my dream of being a racing team boss, too. I’m not sure how long I can keep fighting with him.” I pull my knees against my chest.

I don’t voice my thoughts about his anxiety or how edgy he seemed about driving.

“It will get better. It has to,” she says. “I’ve got to go and deal with the car. But are you okay?”

I nod as my phone buzzes with a call. I don’t need to check it to know it’s my dad. After today, it’s probably just a matter of time before he finds a way to get rid of me.

Maybe I won’t even make it to the start of the season.

CHAPTER 6

Connor

I stretchout on my hotel bed in another nondescript hotel room in another city before climbing out.

The sheets may be luxurious and the hotel beautiful, but I’ve tossed and turned for hours. Pink flowers bloom from the vase in the corner. My lack of sleep and inability to control my thoughts, especially when combined with those flowers, trigger a flashback: watching Ralf marry Myles in Bali last summer. They stared at each other, tears rolling down their smiling cheeks as they declared their eternal adoration to one another. Everything in my body screamed that I wanted that—a love that changes everything.

Senna stood in the front row, hiccupping with sobs. All the love I’d once had, albeit the love of an eighteen-year-old lad with no understanding of the world, crashed over me.

Sitting in the back row at the small ceremony, I was enraptured by the woman I would never have. And I couldn’t speak to anyone about it, especially not to my best friend. A pink flower was tucked behind her ear. It matched her dress, which skimmed the floor, revealing she was barefoot when she moved. It framed her curves and reminded me how much had changed since we were close. I wanted to dab her tears. Unbeknownstto Senna, her presence chased me away that day when I only wanted to ask her to dance and find out how she was.

Even though Niki’s crash solidified my realisation that my feelings for Senna weren’t going away, I could push them far down—at least until the last fortnight.

I remember Niki’s shaved head. My head drops, and anxiety itches my throat. Niki’s crash also made me fear driving.

My phone tells me it’s three a.m. The morning of qualifying. The glamour in my life pales when loneliness sits so heavily on my chest. I used to have Niki when I needed company. My mum will be working at the hospital, but one other person will take my call back home at eleven on a Friday night.

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