Wrecked (Dirty Air 3)

The mechanics run the last checks before the start of the race.

“Gotta go, mate. See you at the winner’s podium.”

The crew pulls off my tire warmers and rushes off the track. One at a time, five lights flash above my helmet before shutting off.

I push against the throttle while hitting buttons on my steering wheel. My car propels forward, screeching as I hold my spot behind Noah, the race leader. Tension courses through my body as my heart works to pump blood faster. The sound of engines roaring adds to my rush, feeding the demon inside of me that craves adrenaline.

“Good job getting out of turn one unscathed. Can’t say the same about a Sauvage driver. Mind turn two—that tends to be where you lost time during the qually round,” Chris speaks into my radio.

I keep focused, rushing up to Noah’s side on the straight, only to have him push me back into second. The blurring red car in my side mirrors tells me Santiago is too close to my rear bumper for comfort.

“Monitor Santiago behind me. I don’t like how he performed yesterday.” I tune into what the other engineer has to say. Santiago tends to take riskier moves that usually pay off, but I’m not up for him cocking up my home race because of an accident.

A swarm of people cheer from one of the stands as I pass them in a blur. Pride makes me push harder to overtake Noah at the next turn. It feels good to represent my home race with a front-of-the-grid spot. The British GP has always been one of my favorite races, with fans from all over Britain coming to cheer me on.

At the next turn, I drive on the outside of Noah’s car. Pushing against the brake a second later than suggested gives me the edge against him. I pull ahead of his car, securing the first-place spot.

I drive past one of the Grandstands with the roar of my engine. F1 fans cheering me on invigorates me, feeding my ego and the adrenaline rush coursing through me. The waves of blue, red, and white give me a sense of nostalgia and pride.

Lap after lap, Noah and I compete with one another. We both pit our cars, only to come back and compete for first place again. I take the lead once more and keep him in my side-view mirror.

My eyes slide from the mirror to the road a second too late. A piece of debris on the road catches on my tire.

“Shit!” I switch gears, hoping there wasn’t any damage.

Another lap goes by before I get the disastrous news.

“You’re losing tire pressure. We’re going to need you to pit,” Chris speaks up.

I clutch onto the steering wheel harder, anger replacing the rush of energy from earlier. Me pitting again means Noah gains his first-place spot back with little likelihood of giving it up to me again.

Fuck.

I pit, and the crew rushes to replace my tires. My car exits the pit lane and enters back into the race.

I race through the track, hitting speeds risky of collisions, attempting to regain my position in second place. There are only a handful of laps left for me to secure a home-race win. Santiago leaves a small opening on the inside of the next turn, which gives me the chance to drive past him.

Sweat trickles down my face into my protective mask as I secure the second place.

“Good work, Jax!” Chris’s voice booms.

The car rattles as I press my foot against the accelerator. Noah keeps in the center of the road, not giving me room to surpass him.

“Fuck. He won’t let up.”

“You have two laps left to try,” an engineer offers.

You don’t fucking say. Passing the next Grandstand fills me with dread rather than excitement. Fear of failing my fans eats away at my confidence to pull off a first-place win.

No matter what I try, I’m met with resistance from Noah. Being stuck between him and Santiago isn’t ideal, with the latter riding my rear bumper like he wants to fuck me from behind.

Noah seals my fate during the final lap. Both of us pass the checkered line seconds apart from one another, with him winning the Prix.

A flicker of disappointment runs through me at not achieving P1 at my home race. But unlike the past times, where anxiety reared its ugly head to bask in my frustration, I remain calm. While I’m bummed about not winning, I’m not bothered much by it. I have Elena and Caleb to hang out with when the festivities are all said and done, which excites me more than a trophy.

When Noah, Santiago, and I stand on the podium, I keep a smile on my face. I turn toward the side of the stage, finding Elena and Caleb cheering me on.

I may not have won first place, but the reward is just as great. My eyes find the woman who has kept me sane during this entire season. Elena looks at me with happiness instead of a burning dislike. And Caleb...well, Caleb looks like he might pass out from screaming and jumping around.