Page 139 of Crash Course

I have a chance coming out to gain the lead, but I miscalculate and we’re neck and neck again.

Pull it together.

The next corner, I do. I get there first, Theo has to back out.

The rest of the field is behind us, close enough I need to keep tabs on them too. If I let Theo past, I’ve got every other car to contend with. In theory, Knox could still steal a win.

But deep down I know it’s about me and Theo.

It’s always been us.

It’s a sequence, back and forth.

The curves are hypnotic. I’m pulling ahead, and every part of me that’s trained for this moment overrides my emotions.

I can win. I know it.

Suddenly, I’m thinking about being on the Ducati with Shay.

Luca would never give her a chance to tell someone. Not now, or next season.

What would my father do to keep her quiet?

What wouldn’t he do?

I look up at the screen and see him, triumphant.

What if.

What if.

My disorientation turns to fear. My hands tighten on the wheel as I switch gears—not on the car but mentally.

If I quit now, this is over. My career and future. Everything I’ve worked for my entire life.

If she’s not okay, I won’t have a future.

The realization slams into me.

I might not be the kind of man who deserves her, but I can be the man who cares enough to do the right thing. Whether or not I can have her, I can get out from under my father’s expectations and rules, the lying and the control. I thought if I played along, eventually it would be worth it.

It never will be. It’s not worth this. Not worth her.

The turn barrels up at me, the car flying along the straight. There’s the exit to the pit lane, where the ARI team would be startled but able to take the car from me. I could hand it off to them, but there would be questions. They’d stop me or slow me down.

Instead, I eye up a service alley.

I brake early, reversing to make my way. The car downshifts to a stop, tossing gravel in the parking lot.

Back on the track, Theo’s racing himself. Fans are still watching me from the stands, looking between the track and where I’ve gone. No one knows how to respond because they have no idea what I’m doing.

The loudspeaker system is crackling, imploring fans to stay in their seats. Whatever they say after that, I tune out.

I’m working to climb out of the car, throwing off my neck brace when my feet hit solid ground. There’s a team bike illuminated by the overhead lights, and I cross to it in a few loping strides.

A voice stops me when I reach for the handle. “Jameson.”

I spin to see my father running out of the service road, his hair and eyes wild.