Page 39 of Formula Freedom
Carlos shrugs. “Then it blows up. You rebuild something better.”
I snort. “You’re saying to just let it explode?”
“I’m saying quit worrying about the what-ifs and worry about keeping Lara because that’s the most important thing right now.”
I throw my hands out in frustration. “See, that’s just it. Is this something that we should be doingright now? It’s timing, mate. I mean, for fuck’s sake, we have a race in a few hours, and I’ve got my head all twisted over this.”
“Fuck timing,” Carlos says, an uncharacteristic use of the f-bomb from him. “I’m going to tell you a story because I know a little something about timing and regrets.”
Carlos shoves his hands in his pockets. “There was a girl once. Argentina. I was there for a few weeks between test sessions. We had this… thing. You know, the kind you don’t plan, but you feel it in your bones. Like the world narrowed down to just her.”
I blink. “What was her name?”
“Isadora,” he says with a fond but regretful smile. “She asked me to stay. Meet her family. Maybe travel south with her before I went back to Europe. I said no. I had commitments. Thought maybe I’d catch her next time the stars aligned.”
He pauses, gives me a very pointed look that saysYou better pay attention.“But life’s not a calendar. She moved on. Got married last year. I saw it on Instagram—she was glowing. And I’m happy for her, really. But…”
He shrugs, a little too slowly. “I had my shot. I didn’t take it. Been thinking ever since—maybe that was my chance, and I just let it go.” Carlos claps me on the shoulder. “You don’t strike me as the kind of man who wants to live with maybes, Reid. So don’t.”
Someone whistles and we both turn toward the Union Jack garage. One of the engineers is waving Carlos over. He holds up one finger in return, asking for a moment.
“Point is,” Carlos drawls, as he pushes off the side of the hospitality truck, “you never get to control the timing. You only get to decide what’s worth jumping for.”
My throat tightens. “And if I screw it up?”
Carlos grins at me. “You might. But at least you won’t be sitting here ten years from now wondering what would’ve happened if you’d just said fuck it and gone all in. I know what that’s like, and it isn’t good.”
I let that sink in, heart pounding with something close to fear—but also clarity.
“Catch you on the track,” he says and starts to turn away.
“You’re kind of a philosopher, you know that, right?” I call out.
Carlos cranes his neck to look back at me. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a brand to protect.”
We both laugh and then he’s gone. As much as I enjoyed our conversation and he put things into perspective for me, I have to push it all aside and prepare for the race.
I step into the Matterhorn garage and immediately spot Felix standing with a tall guy I don’t recognize—broad shoulders with longish blond hair and a beard. He has a gold VIP lanyard around his neck, meaning he’s someone important and is going to get the white-glove treatment.
Felix turns when he sees me. “Reid—come meet our guest.”
The guy flashes a grin and extends a hand before Felix can even finish the introduction.
“Drake McGinn,” he says. “Big fan of yours. Felix was kind enough to let me sneak in, in the hopes of meeting you.”
My grip meets his—strong handshake, calloused fingers. There’s something grounded about him, even as his presence commands the room.
Then the name clicks. “Wait—Brienne Norcross’s husband?”
He chuckles. “That’s me. I usually get ‘goalie for the Pittsburgh Titans,’ but I’ll take being known as the husband of a powerhouse.”
“That’s right… you play for her hockey team in Pittsburgh.”
Drake grimaces. “I did until I injured my groin a few weeks ago. Since I’m sidelined, I figured I’d tag along with Brienne to this race.”
“Your wife’s making waves in the Formula world,” I say. “Can’t wait to see what she does with Titans Racing, but I hope it’s not treasonous for you to be over here at Matterhorn.”
Both Felix and Drake laugh. “Nah… I’ve been poking around all the garages. I got to try the impact wrench under Felix’s watchful eye. I’m not saying I stripped a bolt, but they might not let me near the tools again.”
