Page 74 of Formula Freedom
“She’s really good,” I say.
“Think she’ll handle the pressure?”
“She’s here, isn’t she?”
Carlos lets out a low whistle. “Gonna be a hell of a weekend.”
The rest of the day flies by and I only manage to think of Lara a few dozen times. I get a short text from her wanting to know how my day is going but I hold off responding because I don’t want to convey in any way that I’m still disappointed. Because as much as I’m put out she’s not here, I don’t want to pile more guilt onto her shoulders. She’s got enough.
After walking the track and doing a few press interviews, I head into the Matterhorn simulator bay. Not all teams have them, but we’ve got a high-end portable simulator that travels with us—a compact rig with triple screens and a full cockpit interface. It’s not the full-motion beast back in Zurich that tilts and jerks with every apex, but it’s good enough for visual runs and last-minute setup tweaks. The engineers feed it live data from the track so I can get an idea of how the car’s reacting before I ever hit the asphalt. It’s nowhere near as immersive, but in a pinch, it sharpens the edge.
The door shuts behind me with a satisfying click, cutting off the noise. I drop into the seat, pull the harness down, and fire up the system. It’s the first time all day that I’ve had a chance to sit and be still. One of the data engineers uploads the Suzuka track for me, and I start the run.
I barely push through two laps before pulling the brakes hard and yanking off the gloves with a frustrated growl.
I’m not dialed in. Not even close.
“You okay, Reid?” the engineer asks.
“Yeah, mate… just give me a minute.”
I lean my head back against the rest and stare at the LED ceiling panel. Then I pull out my phone.
There’s no further update from Lara and I haven’t answered her last text. I scroll to her name, thumb hovering over the screen.
But I don’t type.
Because I don’t know what to say and I wonder if I’m not answering so I can passive-aggressively let her know I’m hurt.
Such a fucking child, Hemsworth.
I drop the phone face down. If I can’t get my head straight by Friday, I’m not just going to lose a race. I’m going to lose control of everything.
I consider the situation as it currently presents itself. I wonder if Lara’s talked to Lance yet. She promised she would only do it at my parents’ house and wouldn’t be fully alone with him, so I’m not really worried for her safety.
Except… there’s a part of me that wants to be there with her. No, I think I need to be there with her. She shouldn’t have to face that asshole alone, and if I’m really diving deep, I realize I’m not mad she chose to go.
I’m mad that I can’t.
I’ve worked almost my entire life to get to FI. To sit in a thirty-million-dollar car, racing and having my guts pulled out of my body by g-forces. I live for this. I’d die for this life, because I put my life on the line every single race. This is who I am and it’s the only thing I ever truly wanted.
Except… I hate it because I have to be here and not with Lara. For the first time ever, I realize… I love something more than racing.
With a sigh, I pull myself out of the sim. The engineer holds out his hands, asking silently, “What the fuck?”
“Sorry, mate… I’ll be back. Got to do something.”
I leave the sim bay and make my way to a private room above the garage where Gunner and I can relax. Luckily, it’s empty, and I drop onto the couch, connecting a call to Lara as soon as my butt hits.
She answers on the second ring. “Hey,” she says, a little breathless.
“Hey yourself,” I murmur, already feeling a little better just hearing her voice. “You okay?”
There’s a pause. “Yeah. No. I don’t know.” She sighs. “Have you heard from him?”
I know exactly who she means. “No. That’s why I’m calling. I figured you would’ve seen him by now.”
She lets out a groan. “He’s still not here. Your parents have tried calling him. No one’s heard a damn thing. I’m a complete idiot for flying halfway across the world to talk to a guy who can’t even bother to show up.”
