Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Leanne’s voice is soft, slightly chiding but I can hear the love in it. “Lara… I’m a mum and I know things.”
Oh, wow. She knows about me and Reid, but why am I shocked. My mum figured it out. “Leanne… we were going to tell you. We wanted to get through this and face-to-face would have been better but—”
I’m interrupted by a clucking sound. “Now, hush. We’re not worried about that. Graham and I only ever want our children to be happy, and that includes you.”
Then Graham pipes up and I’m surprised by his conviction. “I think you and Reid were always meant to be together.” He chuckles to himself. “Dads know things, too.”
“We’ll talk to Lance,” Leanne says quietly. “Graham and I… we’ve been worried and we need him to know that we’re here for him.”
“I think Lance will actually really appreciate it,” I say, relief flooding my chest that the last of this mess has been handled.
“We’ll take care of it,” Graham says. “And Lara… thank you for the way you’ve handled this. I can’t imagine how hard that conversation must’ve been.”
“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” I whisper. “But it was the right thing.”
“We love you,” Leanne says, and I can hear the tears in her voice. “No matter what happens with Lance… we love you.”
I close my eyes, throat thick. “I love you too.”
We say our goodbyes and I set the phone down, letting the quiet wrap around me again. For the first time in weeks, it doesn’t feel oppressive. It feels earned.
Because now… I can finally breathe.
CHAPTER 26
Reid
Free practice sessions are where the real work begins on race weekends. They don’t count toward qualifying or points, but they’re just as critical. This is where we do last-minute testing—tire compounds, fuel loads, brake performance to name a few. The first session this morning was decent—clean laps, no traffic, and I got a baseline read on the track conditions after yesterday’s rubbering in.
But now it’s Friday afternoon and the second session matters more. This is when we run heavy fuel and mock qualifying laps and simulate different race setups. Temperatures are hotter now and more in line with the actual conditions of tomorrow’s race. Tire pressure, grip, braking zones—nothing stays constant. This session will give us the best glimpse of what Sunday might look like.
The cockpit is fucking hot.
Even with the fan pumping air into my helmet and the chill vest under my fire suit, sweat’s already beading at the back of my neck. The sun’s high, glaring off the tarmac in shimmering waves, and the second free practice session is about to begin. I’m strapped in, gloved up, visor cracked an inch while I wait for the pit exit to open.
Everything is tight. Controlled. Just the way it has to be for everyone’s safety.
As I have nothing to do but wait, Lara drifts into my head. Last night, just before I turned off my phone, a text came through from her. Good luck tomorrow. I love you.
I stared at it longer than I should’ve. Crafted and deleted about five different replies before I finally just wrote back, Love you too.
I didn’t ask how things were going. I didn’t ask if Lance showed up, or if she was okay, or if she was planning to come back. Because if I asked, I’d obsess. And if I obsess, I’ll lose focus. So I forced myself to leave it there, let it be what it was.
I might not know the outcome of tomorrow’s race but I know that after that, my life with Lara will truly begin, and that has to be enough.
“Thirty seconds,” Felix says in my ear.
“Copy,” I reply, rolling my shoulders to shake off the stiffness. I check my mirrors, flick through the settings on my steering wheel, thumb through the brake bias one notch forward.
Tariq’s voice comes through next. “Fuel set for a six-lap stint. Traffic ahead—Freedom and Titans both stacking. Expect outlap congestion.”
Which basically means I’ve got just enough fuel to run six laps—tight and fast, like a qualifying simulation. Nothing wasted. And of course, both Freedom and Titans are dumping their drivers onto the track at the same time. We’re all going to trip over each other on the outlap, weaving through traffic, trying to find clean air before the real push begins.
Classic.
“Understood.”
Pit lane light turns green. The engine’s already rumbling under me—alive, twitchy, waiting for release.
“Go.”
I drop the clutch and ease out of the box. Tires chirp as I cross the white line, and then I’m gone—roaring out of pit lane into the blur of Suzuka.
The first lap is a warm-up. I test the balance, weaving to generate tire temp, lightly dragging the brakes to get heat into the pads. Sector 1 is a blur of precision—five flowing corners back-to-back. No margin for error, no time to breathe. The car is neutral but light on rear exit, so I adjust the diff settings on the fly.