Page 2 of Formula Freedom
Of course he’s here.
Standing near one of the cocktail tables with a smug smile and a drink in hand, Lance looks every bit the corporate brand rep—his blond hair sleeked just right. The logo forZENZ, the energy drink brand he now works for, shining on the lapel pin he always wears like a badge of self-worth.
He’s talking to one of the merch reps for Titans Racing, white teeth flashing against tanned skin, using that easy charm he’s always relied on to get ahead. He’s my brother and I love him, but often, I don’t like him.
I turn away before he sees me, scanning the room—but not before I see her.
Lara.
She’s standing beside Lance, listening politely to the conversation, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes. Not like it used to.
Her flaming red hair is pulled up in a sleek twist, a few strands framing her face. She’s wearing a navy dress that hugs her curves and dips low in the back, elegant and understated. She’s always had that natural beauty—never tried too hard, never needed to. But tonight, it’s the way she carries herself that catches me.
Or maybe it’s what’s missing.
She stands with her arms tucked tightly across her stomach, her shoulders slightly hunched, like she’s trying to take up less space than she used to. Her smoky gray eyes flick around the room but her gaze never lands for long. She looks… smaller. Not physically, but emotionally. Like she’s pulling herself inward, dimming her light. It’s subtle, but I know her better than anyone.
Or I used to.
We were inseparable once, the three of us—Lance, Lara and me. Grew up together in Torquay, about an hour and a half southwest of Melbourne. Our dads co-own Hemsworth & Candlish Hardware, and our mums are best friends. Weekends were barbecues on the beach. Summers meant surfing competitions, bonfires and nights passed out on our trampoline under the stars. We were a team back then.
Family, really.
Lara was the glue—funny, fierce, the kind of girl who could out-surf both of us boys and still beat us atMario Kartwith a mouth full of Sour Straws. I don’t remember when I first started seeing her differently, but there came a day when she suddenly looked older and things changed between us.
But that was a long time ago and now she’s with Lance, engaged to be married next year.
I study Lara, gaze lingering too long. I should leave so they don’t see me, but I can’t seem to take my eyes off her and then her gaze flicks across the room and lands on me.
She freezes.
For a second, it’s just the two of us—no party, no noise.
Just history.
She gives me a small nod, polite. Distant.
I nod back and it fucking kills me that we’ve devolved into this.
Lance asks Lara something, but she ignores him, continuing to stare at me. His gaze follows the direction of her attention, and his expression goes blank as our eyes meet. He says something to the merch rep, grabs Lara’s hand and starts weaving through the crowd my way.
Fucking great.
Lance holds out his hand for me to shake, a move I find overly formal seeing as how we’re brothers but sending a clear message that there’s division between us now.
His opening words are meant to set the tone as he attempts to gain an upper hand that he so desperately needs. “Sorry you didn’t take first last week in Jeddah. A few sloppy mistakes.”
I ignore the dig, mainly because I raced like a fucking phenom last week and am proud of my efforts. My brother hates my success, and I hardly think landing third on the podium equates to failure of any sort.
Instead, I throw back my own barb. “I’m surprised you’re here. Couldn’t resist the free booze, huh?”
Lance’s eyes flash with ire. “I’m here working, actually. ZENZ has me handling all the sponsorship activities this week. Corporate loves a familiar face.”
“That’s one way to worm your way back into the paddock, I suppose,” I murmur.
Christ… that was a low blow, and I immediately regret it. I’m not a petty or vindictive man, and I have no right to be this way. I’m the one with a successful career in Formula racing whereas my brother flamed out four years ago. He can’t handle that I’ve excelled and he hasn’t, and I’m often on the receiving end of that bitterness. I should cut him some grace, I suppose, but fuck if he doesn’t like to make my life hell.
Plus, he got the girl and that makes me pissy.
