Page 55 of Break My Heart

“It’s just…” I pause before I throttle the engine, lining up for the next section. “Most of my life I assumed anything good wasn’t meant for me.”

The radio goes very quiet. I should stop talking, but I can’t. Maybe because the race blur has stripped me down to nothing but fundamentals. I continue, “My father barely tolerated me. Took the piss out of it too. Every mistake was proof I had no business under his roof.”

I flick the brake balance again, setting up for Turn Eight. “I learned that reacting to it made it worse. I eventually was tossed out. Turned out to be a good thing.”

Dario’s voice booms through, reminding me, “You know this channel is still open, yes?”

“I’m just talking.”

“Yes,” he says. “To me and half the pit wall.”

And to Christin, even though she hasn’t said anything.

“Then half the pit wall can enjoy my childhood trauma.” There’s a faint burst of static, as if someone’s comm is off mute, before it disappears.

Dario says, “Keep going if it’s helping.”

“It isn’t.”

“Then stop.”

“I can’t.”

The Mercedes ahead of me pits. I stay out until it’s clean. Then, I push.

“I ruined the best thing I ever had because of fear,” I say, and the words taste like the dust I’m driving through.

I hate the silence after I confess my shame to my whole team. “I didn’t understand it then. Or maybe I was just too much of a bloody coward. I was afraid she’d abandon me, just like everyone else I once tried to love did.”

Turn Ten again. I breathe through it. “Bloody hell, I can barely talk about it.”

The car speeds through Eleven cleanly.

“You’re doing it now,” Dario says.

I almost miss the apex. “Don’t be nice to me mid-race,” I mutter.

“Don’t confess your childhood trauma at two hundred kilometers per hour.”

“Fair.”

“Box this lap.”

“Copy.”

I come out ahead of the Ferrari but behind the Mercedes team. Cold tyres make the first sector treacherous, the car squirming under braking, but I keep it under me. The Mercedes has warmer tyres and better traction, but by the next lap, I’m close enough to make him nervous.

Dario says, “Podium possible behind Mercedes.”

To ensure I stand on that podium, I continue to drop the hammer over the next six laps. Not dramatic. Relentless. I catch up to them through the middle sector. Turn One, I feign outside. He covers. I switch back. He compromises his exit.

Good.

I stay with him through Two and Three, then use the better traction onto the straight. DRS opens. The car surges.

He moves once.

I go the other way.