Because Ross was lying. I could feel it in my bones.
And the worst part?
So was I.
Chapter Ten – Suzuka Race Day
Aleksandr Volkov – Suzuka Race Day
The lights went out and I launched off the line like I had something to prove.
Which I did.
But not to the right people.
The first corner came up fast, and I squeezed Kane just wide enough to make him think twice. P2 was mine to hold. But my lines were too aggressive. My throttle application too eager. I was chasing something that wasn’t there—and the car could feel it.
Lap five. Still P2. The radio crackled with data: “Tyres are good. You’re on target. Just keep it steady.”
I grunted back. Steady wasn’t in me today.
She kissed me. I kissed her back. I fucking meant it. And then I lied to my Team Principal, my engineer, and maybe even myself.
Lap nine. I missed the apex at Spoon. Half a second gone in a single heartbeat. My hands tightened around the wheel. I could feel my pulse in my gums.
Ross’s voice echoed from memory: You're paid to drive. Not think.
Lap twelve. I clipped the kerb too hard on the exit of Turn Nine. “Watch track limits,” came the warning from Mac. I didn’t respond. I wasn’t listening any more.
Elena's voice was in my head instead: I know about the mapping. I know about the fuel level. I have proof.
I just drive the car.
But did I? Or was I just the idiot strapped in while someone else rigged the system?
Lap sixteen. I pitted early. Not on the plan. I made the call.
“Box now,” I barked.
“Negative—”
“Box. Now.”
The tyres weren’t ready. I lost three seconds in the stop. Came out into traffic. I knew it was the wrong move, but I needed something—a reset, a break in the noise.
It didn’t work and I lost two places because of it.
“Get your head in the game, Aleks,” came Mac’s rough instruction.
I managed to pass Ramos and make up one of the places I’d lost but every lap felt like a battle I couldn’t win.
Lap forty-three. Contact. I went for a move that wasn’t really on, locking up into Turn Eleven and bumping the rear of Kane’s Hawthorn. Minor damage. No penalty, but I dropped three places on the recovery.
I stopped counting.
I was driving like a rookie with something to hide. Because maybe I was.
Lap fifty. I was in eighth. Tyres fading. Confidence gone.
