He didn’t let himself picture her in the Ascari garage across the paddock, quietly preparing talking points for some kid who didn’t know how lucky he was. He didn’t let himself wonder if she’d watched his laps today, if she’d noticed the difference, if she’d felt even a flicker of the old pride.
He buried it.
Deep.
Under layers of focus, routine, and the simple arithmetic of moving forward: wedding in December, title fight starting now, life continuing in clean lines.
He stood, switched off the screen, and walked back to the motorhome under the floodlights. The desert night was cool against his skin. Somewhere in the distance another engine fired up for a night run—someone else chasing the same thing he was.
He didn’t look back.
This season was his. Not because the car was perfect, not because the team had waved a magic wand. Because he’d decided it would be.
And whatever else lingered—whatever unfinished ache still lived under his ribs—he would outrun it.
Lap by lap.
Until it couldn’t catch him anymore.
???
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Mia
The first four races of the season passed in a blaze. Lucas was on fire—pole in Melbourne, dominant win in Jeddah, another in Suzuka after a wheel-to-wheel masterclass with the championship favourite. The paddock buzzed with it:He’s back. The old Lucas is back.
Mia watched from the Ascari garage, headset on, feeding Etienne calm, precise notes while the big screens showed Lucas crossing the line again and again. She felt the pride rise in her chest like a tide—quiet, fierce, unasked for. He’d rebuilt himself. She could see it in every clean apex, every perfectly timed DRS zone. The way he held the car through high-speed corners, the way his radio voice had that old edge of hunger again. She was proud of him in a way that hurt, because pride like that didn’t fade just because the story had ended. It lingered, sharp and tender, a reminder of what they’d once built together—and what she’d walked away from.
Ascari was finishing well too—solid points haul, P8 in the constructors’ after Japan, with Eddie scraping a P9 and Etienne a P6 in China despite a dodgy gearbox. Etienne was maturing race by race, listening more, oversteering less. The kid had a gamer’s reflexes—quick hands, fearless aggression—but he was learning patience, and Mia liked the small victories. She liked coming out of debriefs knowing she’d helped without anyone needing to shout about it. No drama, no spotlight glare, just steady work that mattered.
* * *
After the Chinese Grand Prix, the teams converged on Shanghai’s team hotel for the short turnaround. Mia was crossing the lobby with Etienne—him in a hoodie and cap pulled low, her in jeans and a team jacket—when a teenage girl in an Ascari cap spotted him.
“Etienne!” she squealed, bouncing on her toes. “Can I get an autograph? I watch all your streams! You’re so good at Apex Legends—teach me how to take the corners like you!”
Etienne grinned—boyish, easy, the kind of charm that made young fans adore him. “Hey! Yeah, of course.” He took her phone, signed the case with a quick flourish, posed for a selfie. “Keep grinding those licence points, yeah? See you in the chat.”
The girl beamed, clutching her phone like treasure, and scampered off.
Mia smiled despite herself. “You’re basically a rock star to the gamer girls.”
Etienne shrugged, sheepish. “It’s weird, right? I just play games and drive fast. They think it’s cool.”
“It is cool,” she said.
They kept walking—until she saw Lucas step out of the lift.
He looked tired in the way drivers only did after a triple-header: eyes shadowed, shoulders still carrying the weight of the weekend. But when he spotted her, something shifted. A small, unguarded smile broke across his face—then his gaze flicked to Etienne at her side, and it faltered. A flash of something sharper crossed his features: eyes narrowing just a fraction, jaw tightening. Jealousy, raw and unbidden, before he could mask it.
“Mia,” he said, voice even but with an edge she recognised.
“Lucas.”
Etienne glanced between them, oblivious, then grinned. “Hey, champ. Nice win today. You’re making the rest of us look bad.”
Lucas’s eyes stayed on Etienne a beat too long, assessing, before he forced a nod. “You’re not doing too badly yourself. P6 today—clean drive.”
