Page 57 of Start Your Engines

Jimmy tips his head as he tries to read the note. “Sorry, I can’t read Connor’s writing.”

“Connor took the message?”

“Yeah. I was in the bathroom. It says, ‘Please tell her I’m looking forward to seeing Tiger in August,’ and there’s a number and a drawing of a bat or something.”

Shit. Connor thinks I’m staying with Mr. Vet in the break. I examine the piece of paper. It’s not a bat but a badly drawn cock and balls. Childish Connor used to scrawl those on Niki’s notebooks when they were in a mood with each other and he wanted to call him a dick but couldn’t because they were giving each other the silent treatment. My head drops on my desk for the umpteenth time that day.

“Is that all?” I mumble.

“Yes.” He walks out, pausing at the door. I can sense it even with my head on my desk.

“What now, Jimmy?” I sigh.

“As you’re away with your ‘Mr. Biceps Bigger Than His Head Vet’—Connor’s words”—I bite the inside of my mouth so hard that I taste blood—“I’ve asked Connor to catsit while I’m on holiday. He’s staying in his beach house for the summer break.”

Jimmy walks out.

My phone vibrates loudly from my drawer. As if life weren’t complicated enough with the Antoine issue, having to be in thetop six by the end of the season, and dealing with the memory of Connor’s kiss.

With all my thoughts snapping at once, one seed of hope remains. Connor isn’t going on holiday to surround himself with models during the break.

I can’t be with him, though, especially after Dad’s parting words.

CHAPTER 26

Connor

The last racebefore the summer break in one of my favourite cities.

Although I don’t love driving like I used to, I adore returning here. I had my first win at the Hungarian Grand Prix, and even though many of the stands are filled with fans of Vessa’s number-one driver, blue and red British flags wave for me. Ralf is here, too. We chatted on the phone this morning. Between him and calls with the sports psychologist, I’ve reduced some of the things I do before I race. I want to do them, and intrusive thoughts tell me I’ll crash if I don’t, but I’m practising mindfulness.

I breathe in and centre myself as I prepare to get in the car. The other drivers wear headphones, playing pre-race songs to get themselves fired up. I’ve not got one. I’ve spent hours searching for one, but nothing hits me right. Too many songs remind me of Niki, and then I remember his crash, and I’m back to square one.

I close my eyes and attempt calm, but I get flashes of Senna. I can’t forget that kiss. I’ve tried. I ensure she gets her dinners, and hang out with Jimmy in case she leaves her office. I can’t getenough of her laugh. I smile at her and stare at her eyes and lips and…

Fuck. I need to focus. This race counts.

I lick my lips and remember the taste of her cranberry cocktail. She jump-started my senses that night in the bar—her scent, her taste, and the softness of her thigh… I shake my head. That kiss was better than anything I’d ever imagined, and I’ve had a lot of kisses. I’ve enjoyed a lot of women and had them screaming my name. But that kiss was the one that deleted all the others from my memories.

“Time to get going,” Silas says, and I climb into the car. I’m not as focused as I need to be.

Macca says, “This is your race, Connor, but watch out for Valetini on the first corner. He’s gunning for you. And ignore Antoine.”

But I can’t ignore him. I’m starting ahead of him, and he hates it. Since we nearly came to blows, he’s threatened me multiple times. I don’t care what he says to me, but his promises of hurting Senna are the other reason I’ve hung outside her office.

I want to get on the podium again as a fuck you to him. And I want Senna’s praise before she heads off to Australia to be with that bloody vet for the summer break.

I struggle to concentrate as I drive my formation lap, warming my tyres and preparing to race.

“Focus,” Macca says through my radio.

I can’t, though. I squint and clench my teeth. I don’t want to drive anymore, but I need to for Senna. I need to protect her and?—

The lights turn green, and I go. All my thoughts fall away, and as much as I hate driving, it’s like I’m in the right space to do something great.

“Watch yourself, Connor,” Macca snaps through the radio.

I raise my voice. “He’s getting too close.” Antoine has been behind me for a lap. He can’t get around me, not that he’s trying. He slides behind me as if nudging me. “He’s trying to make me crash.”

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