Page 45 of Burn

The next day my luck runs out. It’s the second practice of the week, and I’m exhausted as all hell.

“Max, what the shit was that?” Jack says to me as I hoist myself out of the car and pull off my helmet. “I haven’t see you drive that poorly since your first year in the sport. Christ.”

Lucas stands by and stares in silence. I know exactly what he’s thinking.

Jack sputters and follows us into the garage, where I guzzle down some Gatorade. “Was it the car? I don’t think it was the car. Or was it the fact there was some dust in the air? Olivera went into the gravel before you and there might have been some debris—”

“No.” I cut him off. “It’s me. I feel like crap.”

“Oh Christ, are you sick? You seemed fine this morning.” Jack puts his hand on my shoulder.

I shake my head. “No, not sick. Had a really awful night’s sleep last night.”

After the previous night with Lily, when I’d slept better than I had in weeks, last night was spent tossing and turning in my own bed, alone, and I barely got a wink.

“Were you out late last night? I thought we talked about that when you came on the team. No late nights with girls.”

I shake my head vigorously. “I’m done with all that. I’ve been done with that for a while.”

“But you were at the sponsor party, right?” Jack eyes me carefully.

“Yeah, but only for a couple of hours.” I’d put in my time with the sponsors, smiled and posed for photos. Lily was there, too, but we barely said a word to each other. In fact, I’d been trying to avoid her since our evening together.

Once Lily left the party, though, I had little interest in staying. Afterward, I’d gone to my room, tried meditating, stretching, reading.

Jack covers his face with his hands, his fingertips rubbing his eyes. “We need to do better tomorrow during quali, mate. Don’t stay out late at that party tonight, okay? I know you have to attend and all, but skip out the minute you can. No screwing around, you got that? Lucas, make sure he gets rest.”

He and Lucas murmur to each other and study my laps on the track on a computer monitor. I continue drinking the Gatorade, parched.

Jack thinks I’m reverting to my old days, in my third year in the sport, when I was teammates with Jack’s old driver, Dante Annunziata. I’d been a wild man back then, and somehow managed to win on a few hours’ sleep. Now, though, age has settled in. There’s a big difference between twenty-two and twenty-eight in this sport because of how hard it is on a body. G-forces, dehydration, muscle strain . . . it’s all amplified the older I get.

“Max, I’m serious. No women. No wild shit.” Jack looks angry enough to coldcock me.

“I know, I know,” I mutter, then stalk off to my dressing room. Now I’m angry, too, because I’d finally figured out how to balance travel and sleep and racing, and then Lily came back into my life, upsetting that delicate balance.

Chapter Nineteen

LILY

It’s our third night in Austin, and I can say with confidence that the week is going fairly well. The high point has been my daily coffee meetings with Anh, who has tried to catch me up on the gossip. Unfortunately, since we’re both busy, that’s only taken about an hour out of each day. She’s gone out of her way to not mention Max, or ask about him, and for that I’m grateful.

Another check in the good news column: the team can replace the power component on Max’s car without incurring an on-grid penalty. And Jack doesn’t think we need to replace the power component in Esteban’s car, saving us buttloads of cash—a fact that Papa has already praised me for in an email.

Tonight I’m at yet another party, once again wearing my red boots. Only this time they’re paired with a little cream minidress, something billowy and boho that my mother would wholly approve of. I even took a photo for her before I left the hotel suite, and she messaged me back, asking if she could post it on her Insta.

Absolutely not, I want to reply. How I’m her offspring is sometimes a mystery to me. Instead, I tell her she can post away—Tanya had emailed me encouraging me to get Mumsy to post about me on her popular social channels. Gah.

I spot Max by himself for the first time tonight. He’s leaning on the iron railing of the terrace, his silhouette framed by the city’s skyscrapers. The entire outdoor lounge area smells like chlorine from the pool and exhaust fumes coming from the street below, tinged with expensive cologne. It’s so hot that the scents hang in the air, heavy and oppressive, kind of like how the team feels after Max’s dismal practice today.

I approach and mimic his stance but say nothing. Maybe it’s because we’re looking over the street, or because there’s a pool behind us, or due being smack in the middle of the city, but it’s swelteringly hot, even for nine at night. My cotton dress feels sticky against my back.

“I was going to say something about the weather, but it’s pointless,” he says softly.

His tone tells me everything I need to know; he’s despondent about today’s practice.

He glances at my hands. “Would you like me to get you another drink?”

“Thanks, but no. I’m thinking about heading to my room. This heat is sapping what’s left of my energy.”