Jax shook his head, leaning a hip against the railing beside her. “Don’t apologise. Seriously. I get it — holding onto shit until it feels safe to let go. And honestly? I’m not exactly winning at keeping my own stuff locked down tonight either.”
She glanced up at him, curious now.
He exhaled through his nose, gaze drifting out to the city lights for a beat before meeting her eyes again. “Been a rough season. Owners are breathing down my neck — want cleaner optics,more ‘commitment,’ less of whatever they think I am. Party boy. Headline chaser. Feels like I’m auditioning for my own bloody seat sometimes. One wrong photo, one off weekend, and suddenly I’m replaceable. Marcus, our Team Principal, called me in earlier this week — and basically said ‘prove you’re all in or we start looking elsewhere.’”
He gave a short, dry laugh. “So yeah. I’m walking around with that sitting on my chest too. Eighth tonight was decent, but it’s not enough to shut them up. Not when Lucas is out there winning like it’s breathing. I’m not telling the team how much it’s getting to me either. Don’t want them thinking I’m cracking.”
Aria studied him, empathy softening her features. “That sounds exhausting. Like performing with a gun to your head every time you step out.”
“It is.” He gave a half-smile, lighter now. “But I’m not giving it up without a fight. I’ve got too much left to prove. And honestly… talking about it out loud just now? Didn’t feel as heavy as I thought it would.”
She nodded slowly, a small breath escaping her. “Same. Weird how saying it to a stranger can feel easier than saying it to the people who know you best.”
“Not a stranger anymore,” he said, the corner of his mouth tilting up. “We’ve both just admitted we’re carrying something ugly. That’s gotta count for something.”
A photographer appeared — discreet, quick, professional smile. “Mind if I get a shot? Great energy between you two.”
They both nodded. Jax stepped closer — not touching, just shoulder-to-shoulder — and they posed naturally, smiles easy, city lights framing them. Flash went off once, twice.
The photographer moved on with a quick “Thanks.”
They turned back to each other, the moment settling again.
So,” Jax said, voice softening. “Different careers, same pressure cooker. You’re killing it on stage… while I’m just trying not to lose my car.” He paused, eyes gentle. “And I’m sorry about the breakup. It must still be pretty raw.”
She raised a brow. “We’re both auditioning for our own lives right now.”
“Pretty much.” He shrugged. “But we’re still here. Still showing up. That’s something.”
She nodded, the weight in her eyes a little lighter. “Yeah. It is.”
A beat of quiet stretched between them, comfortable now, less like strangers.
She glanced at her phone, screen lighting her face. “I should get back to my room. Early flight tomorrow—Lena just messaged to say she’ll meet me in the car.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Early start for me too. Next race waits for no one.”
They both turned toward the exit, walking side by side through the thinning crowd.
At the glass doors leading to the elevators, Aria paused, turning to him. “Night, Jax. Thanks for… listening. And for sharing your troubles. Made me feel less alone with it.”
“Night, Aria.” He gave her that easy grin again, warm and steady. “Safe flight. And good luck with whatever comes next. You’ve got this — and if you need to unload again, you know where to find me. ”
She offered a small smile — still guarded, but warmer. “You too.”
She stepped into the elevator first. The doors slid closed behind her.
Jax stayed back a beat, finishing the last of his beer. He watched the numbers tick down, then turned and headed for the other bank of elevators.
He leaned against the wall of his own elevator as the doors closed, the rooftop lights fading behind him.
Eighth tonight. Solid points — better than he’d managed in a while. But still not enough to quiet the noise from Marcus’s makeshift office. Tomorrow was a travel day ahead of the next race, then debriefs and sim sessions. He’d go over the data, listen to the engineers, show them he was serious. That he wasn’t just charisma and headlines. That he could still deliver when it counted.
But tonight, for the first time in weeks, the weight in his chest felt… shared. Not gone. Just lighter.
He pocketed the image of Aria: her soft genuine laugh, the emerald dress hugging her shape, and the quiet vulnerability that had appeared the moment she let the truth slip. She’d trusted him with something raw. He’d given her a piece of his own in return.
Tomorrow was all work.
