Page 112 of Until The Lights Go Out

THEO | PRESENT

RACE WEEKEND TEN - BARCELONA GRAND PRIX

Something was wrong. I could feel it deep in my bones. Not nerves. Not pre-race adrenaline. Not the usual pressure simmering under my skin before lights out. This felt different, wrong in the way a storm felt wrong before it hit, like my body knew something my brain hadn’t caught up to yet. Preparation yesterday had been shit. My focus kept drifting during the simulator review, and my engineer asked me twice if I was listening while telemetry graphs blurred together on the screen. Sebastian had clocked it immediately, of course. He always did.

This morning, he’d clapped me on the shoulder outside the hospitality suite with one of those silent older-brother looks that saw too much. A silent look asking if I was okay. I’d only nodded once and kept moving because if I stopped long enough to think about why my chest felt tight, I was going to lose whatever grip I still had on today.

Which was pathetic, honestly.

Because I was Theo fucking Bauer. I drove open-wheel death machines at three hundred kilometers per hour for a living. I handled pressure better than most people handled breathing. And yet, one missing redhead had me feeling like my ribs were splitting open.

The Barcelona paddock buzzed around me in full race-day chaos: engineers with tablets tucked to their chests, mechanics weaving through the garages, camera crews setting up around the grid, even though we still had hours before race-start. Usually, the Spanish Grand Prix was one of my favorites. Later race start. Warm air. Familiar track. Crowds loud enough to feel in your chest. Usually, I loved it.

Today, it all felt muted.

Kaz Racing had been less furious with me lately. Mostly because I had stopped acting like an asshole in every interview shoved in front of me. Turns out, publicly fighting journalists and disappearing during media obligations became less appealing once I started looking for excuses to spend time with Maisey.

Funny how that worked.

I found myself volunteering for PitSpark interviews now just because it meant 20 uninterrupted minutes sitting across from her while she looked at me with those sharp blue eyes and secretly nudged my foot beneath the table where cameras couldn’t see.

The thought almost made me smile before the anxiety crept back in again. Because Maisey wasn’t here. No sarcastic text this morning. No coffee shoved into my hand between meetings. No quick stolen kiss in some hidden hallway while Sebastian loudly complained about “traumatizing him in public.”

Nothing. I’d expected a PitSpark interview this morning, but Evan had stopped me outside engineering earlier saying schedules changed. Post-race interview, maybe. They weren’t sure yet. The change shouldn’t have bothered me this much, and yet the entire day felt off balance.

I pulled my phone out again despite knowing exactly what I’d see.

Three unanswered texts.

My jaw tightened as I stared down at the screen.

Theo:

Think you can sneak a coffee break in my room this morning?

Theo:

Are you on track yet?

Theo:

Red, you okay?

I swallowed hard.

Then typed again.

Theo:

Missed you this morning. Hope everything’s okay.

My thumb hovered uselessly over the screen afterward like maybe I could force a response into existence if I stared hard enough.

Nothing.

A cold knot twisted lower in my stomach.

“She still ghosting you?” I looked up sharply to find Austin dropping into the empty seat beside me in the hospitality area, sunglasses pushed into his messy hair while he stole one of my protein bars without asking.