Page 55 of Until The Lights Go Out

“No,” I cut in, stepping forward before I could stop myself. “You weren’t. Don’t be a dick.”

I didn’t wait for a response, didn’t look at Maisey. I turned and walked out of the press pen, jaw tight, pulse hammering in my ears. Because if I looked at her—if I let myself see her reaction—I wouldn’t be able to pretend that it wasn’t about her.

“Jesus,” Sebastian said the second I stepped out. “You want to get fined, or are you just bored?”

I grabbed a bottle of water, twisting the cap off harder than necessary. “He deserved it.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It should be.”

He studied me for a second longer than I liked, something shifting behind his expression. “Oh,” he said slowly, “this is about her.”

I took a long drink, buying myself time. “Drop it,” I said.

“Not a chance.”

I shot him a look. “Seb⁠—”

“You just told another driver to shut the fuck up in front of half the paddock,” he said, like he couldn’t quite believe it, “for a girl.”

“It’s not—” I stopped myself too late.

His grin spread instantly, as if he got me to admit the thing I hadn’t said out loud. “So you wouldn’t care if say…someone was interested in asking her out?”

“Who?” I practically growled, anger rising immediately at the thought of someone else seeing her, getting time with her alone. Or, God forbid touching her, or fucking kissing her. By the time I clocked back into reality, Sebastian was grinning at me.

“Mmhm.”

“No. Why the fuck would I care?” I glared.

“Sure,” he said, delighted now, before his expression sobered. “Listen, I know things with Maise are complicated, you guys were inseparable back then, you talked to her about more than you did with anyone.”

I didn’t answer.

“But you also hurt her. This can’t be some flimsy crush or whatever, brother. You owe her an explanation; it’s gone on long enough.” He shook his head, sighing. I stared at the wall behind him. I had left her when she needed me most. I didn’t show up. I failed her and left her alone. I had royally fucked up. I was surprised she could even look at me, let alone be professional. I had craved every sliver of time with her since she showed up in the garage during preseason. The woman I thought I would never see again. The person who meant everything to me. The person I had failed.

“Just handle the media,” I muttered, brushing past him. “That’s your job.”

“I will,” he called after me. “Maybe don’t keep causing messes for me to clean up.”

I shook my head, walking away before I said something I couldn’t take back. But it felt like everything was crashing into me. Making messes for others to clean up.

Not enough, taking up too much space.

Not enough.

Not enough.

The visor on my helmet clicked into place with a familiar snap, sealing the outside world away. The noise of the grandstands became a dull roar, the mechanics disappeared from my peripheral vision, and every conversation I’d had that morning faded into nothing. This was the only place my mind ever truly settled. Racing demanded too much attention to leave room for anything else. There was no space for doubt at 300 kilometers per hour.

The five red lights illuminated above the grid.

I steadied my breathing, feeling the engine vibrate through the chassis and into my ribs. My hands rested lightly on the steering wheel, every muscle loose despite the adrenaline coursing through me. Years of repetition had turned this moment into instinct.

The lights went out.

I released the clutch and buried the throttle. The car launched cleanly off the line, the rear tires hooking up almost immediately. Cars fanned out on either side of me, each driver searching for a gap before we funneled into Turn 1. Someone dove toward the inside. Another tried squeezing between me and the edge of the circuit. It was the sort of optimism that only existed on opening laps.