“And now it’s time to help others with theirs. Sending love to those at the factory and all who’ve ever worked on my cars. Thanks to Macca, the greatest of engineers, to Connor, the best friend a guy could wish for, my parents, who supported and loved me no matter what, and to Senna, an epic team boss and sister. All my love to Rosie and Tabi. I’m coming home, angel.”
“Love you, baby,” I say into the radio. “Make donuts for me.”
He laughs in the warm way that turns me on while making me feel held. I don’t care that everyone hears the radio.
“Anything for you, Rosabella.”
CHAPTER 75
Niki
Iclimb out of my car. This will be the last time I do this at a Formula One race, and as much as I’m excited to be taking my family home later, the emotion wells up, burning my throat.
Crowds cheer as I balance on the front and wave at them. I keep my helmet on to hide the streaming tears, although I’ve got nothing to be embarrassed by.
I jump down to the track still lined with the marks from my donuts.
I kneel on the ground and press my gloved hand to the carbon fibre bodywork on the car.
The Coulter Team logo radiates from beneath my touch. As much as I’m saying goodbye to my supporters and crowds, I’m also saying goodbye to who I used to be, a man who thought he was invincible but who gained the world when he learnt he wasn’t.
“We survived, mate. Some days I’m not sure how. But we did.” I sob loudly. “Now to take the next step.”
My legs tremble as I stand because as much as I want thefuture, I’m scared of fucking up. I knew how to drive a car, and I still risked my life every time I got in. What if I fuck everything up now?
And what if you don’t?
That’s old Niki speaking. He’s inside me, taking risks and not worrying about the consequences. I’m a mixture of my past and present, with all the hopes and dreams and the love of a woman I’ll spend my life earning.
“Goodbye,” I whisper. I don’t know if I’m talking to my past, my car, or my pain. It doesn’t matter who.
Walking towards the garages, I spy my family jostling each other. I can’t hug them yet because I have to be weighed to ensure I meet the guidelines. I rush the Coulter Racing pit crew and engineers, who hang off the barriers beneath the podium I’ll sing from.
With my gloves and complete kit on, I’m okay high-fiving them. They tap my helmet and laugh as they cheer my win.
All the drivers are high-fiving each other, except Billy, who’s having an outburst, but Tawny shrugs off his complaints about our overtaking. He’ll get over it. We were all that punkass driver with too much arrogance and not enough respect for the car and how close we are to death once.
“Well done, GOAT,” Marco tells me.
Other drivers congratulate me as I take off my helmet and balaclava and meet the step of the official, who shows me the scales. As I weigh in, I catch Senna’s eye. She’s crying, and she’s not the only one. My whole family are in bits. A win for the team is magnificent, but we know what this means. My parents don’t talk about my accident often, but they watched me nearly die. This race is as much for them as it is for me.
And then I see her. Rosie isn’t crying. She’s glowing and laughing. Her hair lifts in the breeze, and my fingers itch to twirl it around my fingers and press kissesto her skin.
I’m waiting to be interviewed, but I’ve got time for my family and Connor. They rush over, their faces streaked with tears. Their praise is a bustle of words as they speak simultaneously. I hug each one gently. It still freaks me out to touch people, but therapy and working through it logically has helped. Through a gap, I spy Rosie hanging back. I cock my finger.
She runs at me, and my family part as I open my arms wide, and she jumps into them.
“You did it, Niki. You actually did it. You didn’t just come to the race, you won it.” Rosie buries herself against my neck, her soft laughter vibrating against the small patch of skin that the collar of my racing suit no longer covers.
Senna kisses Connor’s cheek, and I don’t roll my eyes at these two anymore, because I have what they have, and nothing compares to it, although winning my last Formula One race is close.
“You’re on in two minutes,” someone from the television crew tells me.
Rosie slips down, her feet hitting the ground, but I continue gripping her hand. Senna holds out the Coulter Racing cap.
“Is it okay if I don’t put it on until the podium? I don’t want to hide my scars anymore. They’re part of me.”
Senna nods. Her lower lip wobbles, and I squeeze her hand.
