Page 139 of Until The Lights Go Out

“It’s unlike anything else,” I said finally. “The speed, the downforce, the adrenaline…there’s nothing that really compares to it. Every driver growing up dreams about Formula One. Getting into that car for the first time feels like stepping into the thing you’ve spent your whole life chasing.”

Maisey nodded gently along with my words, her expression softening in a way cameras probably wouldn’t even catch. But I did, I always did. Because behind the interviewer’s smile and the polished media training, there was something else flickering across her face. She’d probably imagined herself here too, not holding a microphone or interviewing drivers, but racing. The thought settled heavily into my chest as I looked at her standing there beneath the bright paddock lights, a media pass hanging around her neck while engines screamed around us. There was still something racer-like about the way she carried herself. The way her eyes tracked movement in the garages automatically. The way she unconsciously glanced toward timing screens every few seconds. She really had always loved the data side of it, the analysis and strategies. It felt right to have her here in Formula One in that way now. Funny how life worked that way, like a part of her had never really left this world no matter how hard she tried to run from it.

Maisey looked back toward the camera with another bright smile. “And how do you think Serena will handle it today?”

I snorted softly. “She’s a confident driver, shows huge potential, and has a stunning track record.” I crossed my arms loosely. “Which is unfortunate for the rest of us.”

“Think we have a potential new rival on the track?” she teased.

“Maybe in a few years. She’s definitely worth watching.” Her grin widened, and for a second, she forgot the camera entirely, looking up at me with this open warmth that made my chest ache. Interviews were easier with her, infinitely easier. Not because she asked softball questions or made things simple, but because talking to Maisey never felt performative. Around most reporters, I carefully measured every word, constantly aware that one wrong sentence would become headlines by morning. But with her…it just felt like talking. Like somewhere along the way, the PitSpark Paddock Report had stopped being media obligations and turned into stolen moments with the girl I was hopelessly in love with pretending not to look at me too softly on camera.

“Okay,” Maisey continued, flipping dramatically through her little stack of cue cards. “Very serious next question.”

“That tone concerns me.”

“It should.” She looked up innocently. “Who’s faster around Austria usually? You or Austin Rhodes?”

I scoffed loudly. “Me, obviously.”

Maisey laughed again, the sound swallowed partially by another car flying down the pit lane behind us. Wind whipped strands of her hair across her face, and without thinking—truly without even a second of thought—my hand twitched like I was about to tuck them behind her ear. I stopped myself barely in time. But not before catching the way her eyes flicked briefly to my hand and the tiny almost-smile she hid afterward.

A Kaz employee suddenly leaned out from the hall behind me. “Theo, two minutes.”

I nodded without looking away from Maisey.

“Looks like your freedom is up,” she teased softly.

“Tragic, honestly.”

She smiled before glancing toward the garage herself, and I watched the exact second she spotted the camera zoom in on Serena in my car. Her entire face changed almost imperceptibly, but I could tell how proud she was no matter the grief tangled up in it. I could also see the frayed nerves of watching her best friend in a car going three hundred kilometers per hour.

Maisey stared at it like it was both beautiful and painful all at once.

“You okay?” I asked quietly after clicking off the microphone, low enough that no one else would catch it.

Her eyes flicked to mine and she nodded once. “Yeah.”

But her fingers tightened around the cue cards anyway. I leaned a little closer. “It’s okay if it’s too much.”

The softness in her expression nearly killed me. “Do it scared, remember?” she whispered. My hand brushed lightly against the small of her back. Just for a second, telling her I was there, like she had done for me hundreds of times over the season. Maisey inhaled softly like the touch steadied something inside her.

Her phone began chiming nonstop after the cameras cut. I looked over at her, watching as shock rolled over her.

“Wow,” she whispered, turning the phone to me, the comments on her socials were coming in by the thousands, shouting Serena’s praises and how much they loved Maisey, how much they loved me and Maisey in interviews.

“Look at this one.” She pointed one pink manicured finger at a comment.

“Maisey Andrews is a miracle worker. I have never seen Theo Bauer look like he wanted to be in front of a camera before her. More of this please!”

“Look at you.” I smiled and swayed my thumb on her back.

“Me? Look at you! You’re no longer a PR nightmare,” she laughed.

“A miracle.” I rolled my eyes. “Someone has tamed me.”

“Careful Bauer, people might think you actually like me.”

“How awful that would be.” I smirked. Everyone had dispersed from the room. Only Evan and another producer were toward the back, facing the opposite direction. I couldn’t help myself, I leaned in, brushing a kiss against Maisey’s temple. I didn’t have all the answers, or know how we would handle this all publicly, but I didn’t really care. As long as Maisey was by my side, I could do anything.