Redeemed (Dirty Air 4)

I don’t understand the smile on her face. I failed. Plain and simple. She wouldn’t be smiling if she saw what I used to be able to accomplish on the track.

“Oh my God. You did it!” She runs up to the cockpit and leans over the edge.

I pass the steering wheel to the mechanic and tug my helmet off my head. “Did what? Stall on the first turn?”

“No!” She laughs melodically as she grabs onto both my cheeks, forcing me to look at her. “You got in the car and drove. You. Did. It.”

I soak in her positivity like the earth soaks up rain after a drought.

Noah strolls onto the track, assessing the car before offering me his hand. “Nice work out there.”

“You’re both acting like I won a race rather than tested a car.”

Noah shakes his head. “I kind of miss the old cocky you. He was a hell of a lot more fun than this self-deprecating version.”

Chloe turns away, hiding her laugh.

I lift a brow. “You find this funny?”

“Who, me?” She presses a palm against her chest and flutters her lashes.

“Yes. Why are you laughing?”

She shrugs. “Because Noah’s right. You kind of kill the vibes.”

I frown. “You want me to be all self-love, now?”

“Honestly, yes. I think we owe it to ourselves to unapologetically love who we are no matter what. Because if you don’t love yourself, then why do you expect anyone else to?”

I contemplate what she says. Noah pulls Chloe’s attention away, talking to her about racing statistics and the secret behind the wheel he created.

If I don’t love myself, then who will? And what kind of love am I asking for if I’m hell-bent on showing the worst version of myself, time and time again.

Is that who I want to be? The guy who gives up after one time because things got hard?

No. The opposite of a winner isn’t a loser. It’s the person who allows the loss to ruin any chance of trying again. The defeatist attitude needs to stop. Right here. Right now.

I clutch onto the wheel, running a finger across the sensitive throttle paddle. “Hey, Noah?”

“What’s up?”

“Do you have an extra battery in the garage?”

“Of course.”

“What do you say about testing the car out again?”

Noah smirks. “I thought you’d never ask.”

36

Santiago

Something inside of me changed during my time on the racetrack. It’s as if everything clicked into place for me the moment I drove an F1 race car again. No car in the world can match that kind of speed, and all the fancy cars I have are only cheap imitations of the real deal. I forgot what the high after the race felt like. To have my skin itching from the rush building underneath, begging to be let out.

Driving earlier today fed the part of my soul that was starving for attention. The same part that desperately wanted to feel useful again. To feel needed and wanted.

I struggle with disbelief as I shower and then meet with the crew to discuss test-track statistics. Chloe busies herself with embroidering while I spend time with Noah and James, reviewing tapes and strategies. Every smile she sends my way has my chest warming. Her presence keeps me grounded because my mind threatens to burst from all the information.