The guardrails felt invasive in moments like this. But they were also the reason I still had the job that let me follow him around the world.
Fair trade, I told myself. Even when it didn’t feel fair at all.
August 18th - Restless
By the third week of August, both of us were restless. Jonathan’s texts carried an edge of frustration with the endless technical meetings and simulator sessions. My own work at Apex was productive but felt incomplete without the immediacy of race weekends.
“Two more weeks until Zandvoort,” he said during one of our late-night calls. “This break is too long.”
“Getting bored with family time?”
“Getting bored without you.” He shifted on camera, and I could see he was in a different room now, in what looked like a home office. “I’ve been thinking about us. About how we’re handling this. “
“Okay…” I said carefully, recognizing the tone that meant he’d been processing something serious.
“The guardrails are working. We’re being transparent with Thea, you’re covering me fairly, better than fairly, actually. The Siripanit piece proved that.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that I’m tired of pretending our relationship is something we have to hide. I’m tired of careful choreography and disclosed text messages and worrying about who sees us together.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Waldo, outside of racing, this relationship is the most important thing in my life. And I don’t want to keep treating it like a secret.”
My stomach tightened. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying maybe we should stop hiding. Come out publicly. Let people know we’re together.”
I stared at the screen, processing what he’d just suggested. “Jonathan, that’s… that’s a huge step. Have you thought about what that means?”
“I’ve thought about little else for the past week.”
“What about sponsors? The team? Your father?”
“Dad already knows and approves. The team…” He shrugged. “Meridian’s progressive enough. And sponsors care about results, not who I’m sleeping with.”
“You’re assuming a lot of tolerance from a very traditional sport.”
“Maybe. But there are out athletes in almost every sport now. Rugby, football, even motorsport, there are out drivers in other series. Why not Formula 1?”
“Because Formula 1 is different. More conservative, more image-conscious, more…” I trailed off, trying to find words. “Jonathan, if you come out, you’ll be the first active F1 driver to do so. That’s not just personal, it’s political. It’s a statement. “
“I know. And maybe it’s time someone made that statement.”
I could see the determination in his face, the same focus he brought to racing. But this wasn’t a track where he could control variables and perfect his line.
“What about me?” I asked quietly. “What about my career? If you come out and everyone knows I’m your boyfriend, how does that affect my credibility as a journalist?”
He went still. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
“The guardrails with Thea work because it’s a private arrangement. She knows, she monitors it, it’s handled. But if it’s public? Every article I write about you becomes suspect. Every interview, every piece of coverage. People will assume I’m biased, that I can’t be objective.”
“You’ve proven you can be objective.”
“To Thea. To a few colleagues. But to the entire motorsport press corps? To readers?” I shook my head. “Jonathan, coming out would end my ability to cover you professionally. Maybe end my ability to cover F1 at all.”
The silence stretched between us, heavy with implications neither of us had fully considered.
“What do we do?” he asked finally.
“I don’t know. But we can’t make this decision in a video call two weeks before the season starts again.” I tried to soften my tone. “This deserves real conversation. Face to face.”
