Page 97 of Break My Heart

To timing.

Because now is when it matters most.

Leo lines up his move. I glance down at my tablet, knowing the system is feeding him the exact data he needs. I whisper under my breath, “Now.”

Leo takes the turn with no hesitation. He carries the speed through the apex, positioning himself for the exit. The overtake happens in a blur. On the other side, we see it’s undeniable.

“He’s through,” my father says.

I don’t answer because he hasn’t crossed the finish line yet.

During the final lap, pressure intensifies. This is historically where most mistakes happen. When driver fatigue causes doubt in their team and their cars. Leo doesn’t give it a chance to fester. He drives like there’s no separation between what he feels and what the car is doing.

Final sector. I stop looking at metrics and hold my fist to my mouth. My father murmurs, “He’s got him.”

I can’t speak. Leo is edging out Copse by at least two car lengths. I watch as Copse tries to make one last runaround. Instead of getting knocked down, Leo doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t second-guess himself.

A gasp passes my lips as he opens up his lead just a little more.

Every member of Apex Orion is already celebrating before I say, “He did it.”

34

AIR GAP: CLEAR TRACK SPACE FOR CLEAN LAPS

Iknow before Dario comes over the radio to confirm I’m holding the lead and am set to win my first F1 race at Silverstone. I’ve never felt like this before—even after winning in Barcelona.

There’s a moment, right before crossing the finish line, where nothing matters but the car. The track. The decision to trust what’s in front of me instead of what might go wrong.

I took the last corner clean. I hear her voice—practically a whisper compared to Dario and the rest of the pit crew, who are losing their proverbial minds. Christin’s muted, “Now,” penetrates. It urges me to drive the way I know I can. Still, after I cross the line, when the checkered flag waves, it doesn’t register all at once.

Not until Dario screams, “P1, Leo! P1!”

P1. First place.

I can’t believe I did it.

We did it.

My chest tightens hard, something sharp and unfamiliar pushing up through everything I’ve spent years controlling.

First place at Silverstone.

Yet the first thing I think isn’t about the podium but about how much I love Christin and want to celebrate with her. After I pull in, my hands stay on the wheel for a second longer so I can steady myself before removing the steering wheel from my car and climbing out.

Already, the celebration is loud. Champagne, noise, hands on my shoulders, voices overlapping in a way that usually feels like validation. Today, it feels like something I’m wading through.

Because I’m looking for her.

Dario gets hold of me first. After sweeping me up in a bear hug, he makes a crack that causes me to throw my head back and laugh. “You finally listened.”

“Occasionally, I do that.”

His hand lands on my shoulder, firm and grounding. “I’m proud of you, Leo.”

His words settle in my chest, taking up the empty places my family left. I pull him back in for another sweaty hug. When I let him go, I’m already looking past him for Christin.

That’s when I spot her. She’s standing beside her father with the brightest smile I’ve ever seen and tears streaming down her face. The second our eyes meet, I’m back in a different kind of blur. The celebration around me fades. I start in her direction, not caring that her father is right next to her wearing Apex colors.