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Faster. Stronger.

My gaze drops down to where we’re touching. He follows my gaze, hesitating a moment before he releases me.

I swallow and get out of the car. There’s an awning overhead, but I’m more vulnerable than when I was walking to campus in the pouring rain.

10

Jameson

It might be the middle of September, but nobody at the academy is thinking about classes.

The first race is in less than three weeks, with a full circle of media. Despite Luca’s grandstanding at Legacy Day that next year’s ARI seat could be won by any driver in school, I’m determined to come out on top. I have the best race record, the best lap times in testing. My strategy is to do what I usually do, only better.

Still, everyone at ARI and the racing world has assumed for years that I would be the natural fit when there was a spot. Me included.

So what the hell is he playing at?

I won’t give him the satisfaction of asking.

Eden: Heard about the race series. You worried?

Jameson: I’ll handle it.

Eden: You always do. But if you need a meme of Luca with his hair on fire, I’m here.

At least Eden’s texts gave me a laugh. Of the three of us siblings, she’s got the right idea being halfway around the world instead of living in the same house as our father.

Being the only one of us without any intention of participating in the family business helps.

She rarely comments on ARI except when it directly impacts me or Theo. So when I get another text, it has me blinking.

Eden: Anything to these rumors that Dekker was pushed out?

Jameson: You know I don’t follow the gossip.

Eden: This wasn’t public. I heard it through my contacts.

I’m about to ask who her contacts are—Eden’s eighteen, and as far as I know, my sister doesn’t come close to racing if she can help it—but it’s probably nothing.

Jameson: His performance dropped this season.

Eden: All of a sudden.

Jameson: You’re too clever to have this much time on your hands.

Eden: You’re absolutely right

I have enough to think about without entertaining rumors about ARI’s former driver, so I brush off her words and focus on my job.

Anyone who thinks driving a race car isn’t a sport can go back to their boring Volkswagen lives. The human body isn’t built to withstand the pressures of F1 racing. Not the g-force, or the heat, or the repetition. Not the mental clarity and quickness to make split-second decisions, to remake them again and again under pressure from twenty other drivers who are also equipped with impossible speed and the singular desire to be the first one across the line, no matter the cost.

That’s why every week includes strength, cardio, reaction time, and mobility training. Our gym takes up an entire wing of ARI headquarters, with every machine and training implement known to man.

I’m on my second hour of pull-ups, rows, push-ups, and shoulder presses when Theo trudges in.

“You’re late,” I point out, glancing at the clock.

“He said it was okay.” He hitches a thumb to our trainer, who follows him in.