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)
I shoot off a quick message to Lara. How are you holding up?
I’m immediately rewarded with a response. All good here. Getting some work done. Good luck at practice. I’ll be watching on TV.
Of course she will be. Lara loves racing. She grew up right beside the Hemsworth boys, always cheering us on. Smiling, I head back downstairs for our morning briefing.
The garage bustles with well-coordinated activity and the pressure everyone’s under is palpable. The bay doors are open, our two red-and-white Formula cars gleaming under the overhead lights. My name and number are stamped above the bay, next to Gunner’s. The space smells like fuel and rubber and focus.
“Reid!” someone calls.
It’s Max Riedel, our team principal—short, wiry, Swiss to the bone and always with an anxious expression on his face.
“Good morning,” I reply.
He nods toward the small briefing room at the back of the bay. “Meeting in five. Get settled.”
“On it,” I assure him. As I move past my car, I lovingly run a hand over her aerodynamic body. My voice drops to a whisper as I coax, “Don’t let me down today.”
Inside, the rest of the core team is already gathering. Anita Frey, our quiet performance analyst, is setting up telemetry feeds on a monitor. Tariq Masood, newly promoted to performance strategist, gives me a polite nod. He’s meticulous and scary smart, and I’ve always liked working with him.
Our chief race engineer, Felix Baumann, leans against the wall with a tablet in hand. He’s got silver hair, a stoic face and the kind of dry humor that sneaks up on you.
And at the far end, Sean Byrne, the head mechanic—loud, bearded and always the first to curse when something goes sideways—is hunched over the tire compound schedule.
Gunner slides in next to me just before Max starts the meeting.
“All right,” Max says, looking around. “Practice one kicks off in just under two hours. We’ve got a solid base setup, but I want both of you pushing data on the medium and soft compounds—corner exits especially. This track’s all about traction out of Turn 2, Turn 10, and Turn 13.”
Felix adds, “We’ll test aero adjustments in session two. Keep your feedback detailed. We’re chasing a tenth in sector two.”
Anita brings up a simulation on the screen. “High probability of a virtual safety car in this race based on previous years. We’ll have pit windows ready, but I want you both mentally flexible. If we pit early, it’ll be to undercut or jump traffic.” Her eyes flick back and forth between me and Gunner. “All good?”
“Understood,” I say, loving the special language spoken in this room. It’s a world of science, mathematics and pure gut instinct.
Sean chimes in. “And keep the damn car in one piece. We just got the front wing reset.”
We all laugh but as the meeting continues, we become tight and focused. My mind stays sharp, but the edge of distraction is still there, lurking just beneath.
Because no matter how much I love this—no matter how fast the car is or how good the run will be—part of me is still back in that hotel suite, wondering if Lara’s going to be okay.
Moreover, my thoughts have fixated on something I have no business considering. But being truthful, I’m already wondering… with Lance out of the picture, do I have another shot at something I stupidly left behind?
CHAPTER 6
Reid
It’s only practice, but you wouldn’t know it from how hard my heart’s beating.
First practice sessions are where you lay the groundwork for the whole race weekend. No points, no podiums—just data. Testing tire compounds, dialing in aero settings, finding the limits without stepping over them. It’s about learning the track in real-time conditions, determining where the tire grip is strongest, what bumps are waiting to make your life hell.
The engineers watch everything—steering angles, brake pressures, throttle traces—and they’ll spend the next two days crunching that information down to the millisecond, figuring out where we’re fast and where we’re bleeding time. The statistical analysis that goes into this sport is unmatched.
Each session runs for about an hour. There’s no lap limit—you can go out as much as you want—but tire sets are restricted, so you’ve got to be smart about how and when you run. You go out, log a few laps, come back in, the engineers make adjustments. Then you do it all over again.
We’re all out there at the same time—twenty cars jostling for clean air, even though none of us are racing. Some are doing long runs on heavy fuel, testing tire degradation. Others, like me, are hunting lap time—trying different setups, checking balance in high-speed corners.
You’ve got to stay sharp. Even in practice, one mistake can ruin your weekend—or someone else’s. Every corner, every sector, every run out of pit lane is a piece of the puzzle we’re trying to solve before Sunday’s race.