Page 22 of Fast & Reckless
“Have a good ride.” Typical understated Paul. That “have a good ride” somehow managed to mean “good luck,” “don’t fuck this up,” and “you’d better make all my dreams come true” in four tiny words.
With that, Will headed to the car. Beata, the assistant who managed the drivers’ kits, gave a last check to his suit, making sure all the closures were secure. It was lined with the same flame-resistant material as his gloves and balaclava, and could protect him from fire for eleven precious seconds, which could be the difference between life and death in a crash.
“HANS okay?” she asked.
“It’s good. Thanks.” The HANS would protect his neck in the case of major impact.
When she finished and gave him the thumbs-up, he took a second to breathe deeply and scan the track one more time.
Today wasn’t about winning. As Paul had said, all he needed to do was go out and drive solidly, to provide plenty of data for the engineers.
But Will wanted more. The car wasn’t even perfected yet, yet he still wanted to show the world that the car was the fastest on that track and that he was the fastest driver.
He hopped into the cockpit and slid down into position, the custom-fitted seat hugging him like a glove. Two mechanics went to work strapping him in so tightly he could barely move.
Omar handed in his steering wheel. “Good luck out there.”
“Thanks, man.”
He clipped the steering wheel into its column and waited for the thumbs-up from Omar.
“Time to go!” Omar shouted.
Will pressed the button to fire the engine and felt it roar to life, the power pulsing through his body like it was pumping his heart. God, there was no better feeling on earth. Well, maybe it felt better when he was going three hundred kilometers an hour.
The pit crew surrounding him high-fived, as pumped up to see the car’s performance as he was. Now it was just him and the car. Time to see what they could do together. He pressed the throttle and the car shot forward.
Five moderate laps passed in a blur. He navigated back onto the track after fueling, listening to Paul and Tae chattering into his headset. As he neared the start/finish and everything still looked good, Tae gave him the go-ahead to open it up.
His adrenaline spiked as he shifted gears and let it go. The car screamed down the start/finish straight, gaining speed at an unfathomable pace. Will felt strapped to a rocket. As it neared the first turn, it felt as if everyone held their breath along with him. This was it. Clearly the new car had phenomenal speed in the straight, but could he manage that speed in the braking zones? He would, and he’d do it faster than Matteo had, dammit.
Smoke wisped up from the front wheel as the inside tire unloaded after braking into the turn. He released the brakes enough to let the wheel start to spin again. It felt as if he had far too much speed on entry, but he trusted his instincts.
Just when it seemed inevitable that he wouldn’t make the apex, somehow the car arced inward, tires nicking the paintat the edge of the asphalt. As he rotated out of the slow speed corner, he rolled the throttle open and the car powered out of the turn like it was on fire.
Yes.
Now that he knew he had it, things really got fun. Dancing between throttle and brake, he continued to shed tenths of a second as the fuel burned off. The last awkward set of turns was a punishing 6G deceleration that threw him forward against the straps. His neck and arms ached as he fought the gravitational force.
Turn after turn, lap after lap, Will kept it in check, just barely, pushing the car and himself to the limit. He’d never worked harder to keep control of a car, but it was worth it. He felt unstoppable.
Will Hawley hadn’t just come to polish his tarnished reputation. After three hard-fought years to get himself back to this place, he wasn’t just here to keep a seat warm. He was here to win it all, and he wasn’t settling for less.
And now the entire sport of Formula One knew it.
12
Mira rubbed at her eyes as the elevator descended to the hotel lobby. She needed caffeine and lots of it, as soon as possible. Testing had been an unqualified success for Lennox, but the first race of the season was a week away, so there was no time to revel in it. This morning, she was up early and headed back to the track to tackle the millions of issues sitting in her inbox.
The elevator doors dinged open and she squinted at the blinding light filling the lobby. She’d taken all of two steps when her eyes adjusted and locked on an imposing figure at the front desk.
No.Oh, no. From the second they’d left England for testing in Bahrain, she’d known this moment was inevitable. It had been seven years—a lifetime ago—but he wasn’t dead, no matter how many times she’d wished he was. Even after she’d stopped pining, stopped grieving, she’d still reluctantly kept track of him.
So far, she’d been so careful, managing to avoid ever being in the same place at the same time as him, which was no small feat when they were circulating in the same small pool ofpeople on the track. But he’d been staying in her hotel this whole week?
There was a time when just the sight of those broad shoulders and that shock of messy, red-gold hair had set her heart pounding. It was hammering now, too, but in a gut-churning combination of dread and panic. Getting to the hotel entrance would require walking right past him. Nope, not happening. Mira ducked to her left, through the door of the hotel restaurant off the lobby. She’d hide there until she was sure he was gone.
“Can I get you anything else, Mr. Hawley?”
