Acceleration

The season moved incredibly fast after the win in Monaco.

The lines between one race ending before the next beginning began to blur. Nick’s calendar filled in blocks instead of lines. Flights, briefings, interviews, race weekends, everything stacked.

But the results kept coming.

A second-place finish in Belgium.

Then another win in Italy.

Then the Azerbaijan weekend where he finished just off the top step but still took more points than the championship leader.

The standings tightened.

P2 in the Drivers’ Championship.

Close enough that the math started showing up in headlines, everyone trying to calculate what results he needed to secure the championship early.

Nick tried not to let the pressure get to him.

But he did notice a shift, though. People spoke to him now with less guidance and more expectation.

“You’re right in it,” his engineer said after the race in Baku, almost screaming into the radio. “This is a real fight now.”

Nick nodded, the adrenaline high from the race still coursing through him. “Yeah.”

That was all he said.

He didn’t feel different in the car. If anything, things felt simpler; he didn’t need to think as much during races. His racing was more instinctual, an almost subconscious level of skill.

Off track, he had less free time than he was initially used to. He checked his phone whenever he could, but “whenever he could” meant different things now. Messages from Areum came in while he was in meetings, or halfway through simulator sessions, or late at night when his replies felt delayed even when they weren’t.

They didn’t argue about it.

Sometimes the call happened. Sometimes it didn’t.

Areum’s schedule was just as tight.

The European leg of the tour started in earnest, and the scale shifted immediately. Bigger venues. Longer press days. More interviews. The questions followed her from city to city, changing slightly depending on the venue but circling the same themes.

She answered carefully, she always did. Areum usually talked about the fans, or the music. Her only escape was on her phone late at night when she finally had a moment alone.

She watched Nick’s races whenever she could. Sometimes that meant backstage, leaning against a wall while hair and makeup worked around her. Sometimes it meant watching highlights hours later on a tablet in a hotel room. The time difference made it difficult to line their interactions.

Whenever she sent messages, she still put her heart into them.

🡺 Managed to catch the start of the race live. That was an awesome move on the third lap!

🡺 How did you guys know that there would be a safety car that late in the race????

🡺 I’m proud of you, you really deserved that podium.

Nick read them all.

He replied when he could.

🡸 Thanks. How was the show?

🡸You have to be tired after that performance—get some rest.

They were still connected, that was clear.

Nothing between them had changed; the world around them had.

By the time the next race weekend arrived, the championship narrative had fully locked in. Nick was no longer the surprise, rather he was being taken seriously by the other teams as a threat. Cameras lingered on him longer and interview questions sharpened. His name appeared in headlines alongside words like pressure and expectation.

He answered them the same way he always had.

“One race at a time.”

“Focus on execution.”

“Trust the team.”

For Nick, he was at the top of the mountain, and there wasn’t anything on-track that could threaten to dethrone him.

In the leadup to the Singapore race, the storms around the two had picked up immensely.

Nick was the young rookie who was contesting the championship for Enstone. It seemed that he was the only person who could give the defending TaurusForte champion a run for his money.

Meanwhile, Areum was coming back for the second Asia stint of her world tour. She was selling out venues all over the world, and was truly becoming known as the global phenomenon she deserved to be. Everywhere she went, it seemed as if every camera within 100 miles was trained on her.

However, in the idol world, everyone knew that there was one taboo that could completely derail someone’s career, no matter how innocent or innocuous it seemed.

The photo had been online for weeks.

It was the selfie Areum took at the restaurant in the U.S when she was with Nick. The photo itself seemed normal, a drink on the table, neon light behind her, and a soda cabinet along the wall.

At the time it was posted, no one cared. The comments were normal; they were mostly compliments, hearts, fans telling her to eat well and rest. Then, as Areum’s tour continued, the post moved down the feed.

Late one night, a fan account with thousands of followers reposted it…with a question.

“has anyone actually looked at this photo?”

A reply followed.

“looked at what?”

A screenshot appeared in a reply, cropped, zoomed in.

The photo was focusing on the soda cabinet in the background.

Another reply to the photo,

“Wait”

Another person uploaded another screenshot. In this one, however, the colors were sharpened and the contrast pushed up, revealing a faint reflection on the other side of the table from Areum.

“is that a person” read a response.

There were many more replies.

“that’s not staff”

“she said she ate alone”

“why would staff be sitting there”

Someone circled the reflection in red, and yet another account reposted it.

“how did we miss this”

The replies stacked fast.

“that’s a guy”

“look at the shoulders”

“that looks like nick young”

A comparison image went up minutes later. Nick at Monaco. Nick in the paddock. To netizens, it couldn’t be anyone else.

“it’s him”

People stopped asking questions.

They started stating things.

“so she’s been hiding this”

“she lied”

The tone shifted.

The word fans disappeared quickly.

It became us.

“we supported her”

“we deserve honesty”

“this isn’t fair to us”

The screenshots spread everywhere.

People tagged her account.

“explain this”

“why are you ignoring it”

“say something”

Anyone who pushed back got buried in the sea of negativity.

Screenshots multiplied. Threads popped up. Fan accounts went private. Others doubled down.

Reaction videos followed.

Titles in all caps, arrows pointing at the cabinet, red circles around the reflection.

“WE MISSED THIS”

The original photo didn’t change.

The meaning did.

By the time her team noticed, the post wasn’t a selfie anymore.

It was evidence.

The question wasn’t whether someone else was there.

It was why she thought to betray the love of her “fans”.

Nick and Marcus were between sessions, walking through the paddock when Marcus’ phone buzzed again. He glanced at it, slowed his pace, then stopped altogether.

“Hey,” he said, turning to Nick. “We need to talk.”

Nick knew the tone. Calm. Neutral. Too deliberate.

“What’s up?” Nick asked.

Marcus held up his phone. “There’s a photo. From Areum’s tour.”

Nick leaned in, scanning the screen.

He recognized it instantly.

He remembered the photo that Areum had taken, but he didn’t understand what that had to do with him.

“It’s Lee Areum,” Nick began. “Didn’t know you were such an avid follower.”

Marcus swiped on the next photo. “No, check this part out.”

Marcus swiped again.

The screen filled with a zoomed-in crop of the restaurant photo. The soda cabinet took up most of the frame. At first, Nick only saw the rows of bottles behind the glass screen, which was supposed to be normal as far as he was concerned.

Marcus tapped once, and Nick saw it, creating a drop he felt with his heart.

His own outline, faint but unmistakable, was visible on the glass screen. His reflection was staring intimately at what had to be Areum in the selfie.

Nick didn’t say anything.

Marcus didn’t either.

They stood there for a few seconds, the noise of the paddock moving around them. Engines firing in the distance. Tools clattering. People walking past without slowing.

“That’s… new,” Nick said finally.

Marcus shook his head. “No. That’s not all of the problem.”

Nick looked at him. “What do you mean?”

Marcus pulled up another screen. It was a list of notifications stacked on top of each other; it outlined screenshots of posts, comment sections, hashtags.

“This blew up overnight,” Marcus said. “The photo’s been there for weeks. But it looks like people have been coming back to it recently.”

Nick exhaled slowly. “So fans noticed.”

“Fans noticed,” Marcus repeated. “And, honestly, if it wasn’t you in the picture, I would be amazed at how they noticed that detail.”

Nick stared at the screen again.

He remembered the night clearly; it was the dinner they had back in the states. Areum angled her phone without thinking. When he joked about being careful, she rolled her eyes and told him no one would notice.

They both believed it.

“Is anyone saying my name?” Nick asked.

Marcus hesitated. “Not officially.”

Nick raised an eyebrow.

“But unofficially,” Marcus continued, “yeah. Plenty.”

Nick nodded once. “Okay.”

Marcus studied him. “That’s it?”

Nick shrugged. “What else am I supposed to do?”

Marcus didn’t answer right away. The two stared at the picture for a moment longer, before Marcus locked his phone and pocketed it.

“Let’s talk to the team,” Marcus said. “See what they want to do.”

Nick followed him toward the Enstone hospitality unit.

Inside, the atmosphere was relaxed. The engineers and other staff sat around laptops while the coffee machines were brewing in the adjacent room. Someone was watching a replay from Baku on mute.

Nick’s presence still drew looks, but they were familiar now.

The team principal, Reyes, stood near the back, talking with a sponsor rep. He spotted Nick and waved him over.

“Good timing,” Reyes said. “We were just talking about Singapore.”

Marcus didn’t waste time.

“We’ve got a situation,” he said.

Reyes frowned slightly. “With the car?”

“No,” Marcus said. “It’s more of an…off-track issue.”

Reyes glanced at Nick. “Everything okay?”

Nick nodded. “Depends, this isn’t something I ever expected.”

Marcus pulled out his phone again and showed Reyes the image. Reyes squinted at it for a second, then leaned back.

“That’s it?” he asked.

Marcus waited.

Reyes handed the phone back. “That’s what everyone’s worked up about?”

Marcus crossed his arms. “It’s trending.”

Reyes shrugged. “So did that rumor about you two years ago. Remember? The one about you and that influencer?”

Nick blinked. “What?”

Reyes waved it off. “Point is, this stuff happens.”

Marcus didn’t smile. “This is different.”

Reyes tilted his head. “Because?”

Marcus hesitated, then said it plainly. “Because it’s her.”

Reyes paused. “The singer?”

“She’s an idol.”

Reyes nodded slowly. “Right.”

He glanced around the room. No one else was paying attention.

“So what’s the ask?” Reyes said. “You want us to publicly announce something?”

Marcus shook his head. “Not yet.”

Reyes leaned back against the table. “Then what are we doing here? You two grew up together, and now you’re adults. Whether or not you are dating, as long as you’re not missing races, why is it a concern?”

“She doesn’t just sell records,” he said. “She sells availability.”

Reyes frowned. “Availability? I feel like that describes another type of job”

“Yeah,” Nick said. “The whole concept behind the k-pop industry is the idea that she, and other idols belong a little bit to everyone.”

Nick saw Reyes still didn’t get it, so he pushed on.

“Her fans don’t just like her music, they build their lives around her. They buy albums because she smiled in a livestream once. They fly across countries for a two-second wave. Some of them genuinely believe she’s theirs.”

“That’s… unhealthy,” Reyes said flatly.

Nick nodded. “Sure. But it’s also a business.”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“If she’s seen dating someone—or even the perception of an idea that she is—some fans feel betrayed. Like she lied to them. And when that breaks, it doesn’t just crack. It explodes.”

Reyes was quiet now, listening.

“Her company steps in,” Nick continued. “They don’t ask how she feels. They ask how bad the numbers will drop. Endorsements get nervous. Brands pull back. Interviews turn hostile. Every headline stops being about her work and turns into him.”

Reyes glanced at Nick. “Him being you.”

“Yeah. Me.”

Nick shrugged.

“And here’s the part that really matters,” he added. “She gets blamed. Not me.”

Reyes exhaled slowly. “That still seems unfair.”

“It is,” Nick said. “But that’s the world she lives in.”

He paused, then added more quietly:

“And she’s been living with that pressure since she was a teenager. Every move was watched. Every expression is analyzed. She’s trained to think three steps ahead before she even feels something.”

Reyes studied him. “And you?”

Nick gave a small, crooked smile.

“If I get photographed with her,” he said, “no one cares. I’m not the first F1 driver to have a relationship while on the grid.”

He looked down for a moment.

“If she gets photographed with me,” he continued, “she gets vilified as a traitor by people who used to love her.”

Silence hung between them.

Reyes finally said, “So dating you doesn’t ruin your career.”

“No,” Nick said. “But it could complicate hers.”

Reyes nodded slowly. “And she knows that.”

“Better than anyone,” Nick replied.

He straightened a little, voice steady.

“That’s why it’s hard. Not because we don’t want it. But because wanting it costs her more than it costs me.”

Reyes was quiet for a long moment.

Then he said, “I’m not going to tell you who you can or can’t date,” he said. “That’s not my place. You’re an adult. She’s an adult.”

Nick didn’t relax. He just waited.

Reyes looked back at him.

“But,” he continued, “I am going to tell you this—if you care about her as much as you say you do, you might want to think about whether staying with you actually helps her.”

Nick’s jaw tightened slightly.

“You mean that?” he asked.

Reyes nodded. “Because of the cost.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

“You can take heat,” Reyes said. “You’re built for it. Bad headline, tough question, you go drive faster next weekend and people forget.”

Nick didn’t argue.

“She can’t,” Reyes went on. “Not the same way. She carries it every day. Every fan, every comment, every ‘why did you do this to us?’”

Reyes held Nick’s gaze.

“And whether it’s fair or not, part of that heat is you.”

Nick looked away.

“I’m not saying break it off because it’s wrong,” Reyes said. “I’m saying ask yourself whether loving her means knowing when to step back.”

“That’s—” Nick stopped himself, then tried again. “That’s not really a choice, is it?”

Reyes gave a small, sad smile.

“It never feels like one,” he said. “But sometimes it is.”

He paused.

“You’re at the start of something big,” Reyes added. “So is she. And sometimes timing alone can ruin things that would’ve worked in another life.”

Nick swallowed.

“If I stay,” Nick said quietly, “I risk hurting her.”

“Yes,” Reyes said.

“And if I leave?”

Reyes didn’t soften it.

“You hurt her too,” he said. “Just differently. Maybe more quietly. Maybe in a way no one sees.”

Silence settled between them.

“I won’t stop you,” Reyes said finally. “I won’t threaten you, or push you, or make this a team issue.”

He placed a hand briefly on Nick’s shoulder.

“But if you decide to walk away for her sake,” he added, “don’t do it pretending it was easy. Do it knowing it’s the kind of choice people only make when they actually love someone.”

Nick didn’t answer.

He just nodded once.

Nick didn’t leave the paddock right away.

After the conversation with Reyes ended, he stayed where he was for a moment, hands in his pockets, eyes practically dulled. The noise around him continued like normal; engines revved, radios crackled, someone laughed nearby yet Nick couldn’t hear any of it

The world hadn’t slowed down, yet his life had seemed to speed up so suddenly.

Marcus lingered a few steps away, giving him space without disappearing completely. Nick appreciated that more than he could say.

“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” Marcus said eventually.

Nick nodded once. “I know.”

But he also knew that wasn’t entirely true.

He knew what the shape of the decision looked like now, but Nick didn’t know if he had the heart to accept it.

Singapore was still ahead.

This race would be critical to his chances at a championship. There was no room for distraction there. Not only was this race one of the most difficult street circuits on the calendar, but winning here would also propel Nick into 1st in the standings.

Nick wasn’t going to break before that.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it. Areum’s name sat at the top of his messages, unchanged. No new notifications, no missed calls.

He didn’t open the thread.

Not yet.

Marcus glanced at him. “You okay?”

Nick slipped the phone away. “Yeah.”

Marcus didn’t argue. “We’ve got the team meeting at twenty.”

Nick nodded. “I’ll be there.”

As Marcus walked off, Nick took one last look around the paddock. The Enstone garage; clad in black and gold, was full of the people who trusted him to deliver.

He could still do that.

He straightened his shoulders and headed back toward the garage.

Singapore came fast.

The city always did.

The heat hit him the moment he stepped out of the car. The air felt thicker here, heavy and wet with humidity that couldn’t be shaken off. Even at night, it didn’t cool properly, the air just simmered.

Nick welcomed the distractions of the race.

Track walk took longer than usual due to every corner being discussed in detail.

“Zero mistakes,” his engineer said. “That’s the goal.”

Nick nodded. “Understood.”

The photo situation didn’t come up again. From Enstone’s side, nothing had changed.

From Areum’s side, everything had.

Nick didn’t need updates to know that.

He saw it in the way his phone stayed quiet.

He saw it in the headlines he avoided reading.

He saw it in the way Marcus stayed nearby, just in case.

The qualifying came and went in a blur of heat and precision. Nick put the car on the front row with an unbelievably clean lap that the commentators had even briefly described as “the perfect lap”.

The media asked about the championship fight and the pressure that came with it.

Nick answered the same way he always had.

“I’m focused on executing. One session at a time.”

No one asked about Areum.

That silence felt temporary.

As race night arrived, Nick forced himself to tunnel vision on the race.

The grid was bright under the lights, the city glowing around them. The walls felt close even standing still. Nick settled into the cockpit and closed his eyes for a second as the crew finished final checks.

This was the one place where everything else fell away.

The lights went.

Nick launched cleanly, holding position into the first corner. The race unfolded the way Singapore races always did—slow, tense, unforgiving. Strategy mattered. Patience mattered more.

The engineer’s voice came through the radio.

“Three laps to go. The gap is one point eight. The tires are holding.”

Nick answered immediately. “Copy.”

He crossed the line to start lap fifty-nine.

The lights reflected off the halo and the walls blurred past in white and yellow. Nick had just spent an entire race locked in, driving with extreme precision. All he needed was three more laps.

Nick kept the car tidy through Turn 1. Braking early, he had a clean exit.

He checked the mirrors once. The TaurusForte car behind stayed where it was. It was at the perfect distance where one mistake from either side would decide it.

“Three laps," he said to himself.

He focused on smoothly transitioning through the braking points.

Turn 5 was taken tight and slow.

The heat inside the cockpit was brutal. Sweat ran down his back and into his eyes. His gloves were soaked. His arms burned, but he didn’t loosen his grip.

She’s probably watching this right now.

The thought came without warning.

Not now.

Turn 7. Nick exited, with his front wing coming within an inch of the barrier.

“Traffic is clear,” the engineer said. “Just drive your race.”

Nick nodded, even though no one could see it.

He approached the Anderson Bridge section, taking it flat out. The car twitched, just a little. Nick corrected instantly.

Don’t think about her.

Lap fifty-nine ended.

Two laps to go.

“Gap one point six,” the engineer said. “All good.”

Nick exhaled through his nose.

The tires were starting to fade, but evenly. Rear grip was going, forcing Nick to adjust his braking just enough to compensate.

Turn 1 again. Clean.

Turn 2. Short burst of throttle. Back on the brakes.

He could hear his own breathing inside the helmet now.

She’s probably asleep.
Or pretending to be.

Nick clenched his jaw.

Turn 5 again. He clipped the curb a little too much this time. The car jolted.

“Careful,” the engineer said quickly. “You’re fine. Just keep it tidy.”

“Yeah.”

The wall loomed on exit but he kept the steering smooth.

Through Turn 8. Turn 9. The car behind hadn’t closed the gap. Not yet.

Nick checked the dash.

ERS deployment looked good. Fuel was fine. Temps were high, but manageable.

Everything was under control.

That was the problem, the silence was making his mind wander.

She told me to be careful.

Nick tightened his grip on the wheel.

Not here.

The crowd noise filtered faintly through the helmet. He couldn’t hear individual cheers, but he could feel the pressure of them.

Lap sixty ended.

One lap to go.

“Last lap,” the engineer said. His voice was louder now. “Bring it home.”

Nick’s heart rate spiked.

The Anderson Bridge section came up fast. Nick took it flat again.

The car stepped out slightly on exit. His heart jumped and corrected without thinking. The wall passed close enough that he could see individual scuff marks.

She doesn’t deserve this.

Nick exhaled hard.

The final sector approached. The most unforgiving part of the track.

Turn 14. It's easy to make a stupid mistake.

He didn’t.

Turn 15.

Turn 16.

The final straight opened up and Nick planted the throttle. The engine screamed.

He crossed the line.

“P1,” the engineer shouted. “P1! You’ve won it!”

Nick let out a breath that sounded more like a laugh than anything else.

He slowed the car and waved once, mechanically.

The cooldown lap felt unreal. The lights. The crowd. The noise.

“You did it,” the engineer said. “That was perfect.”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t feel relieved. He felt heavy.

As he drove back toward parc fermé, the thought he’d been avoiding finally settled fully in his chest.

This is the last time I can delay it.

He brought the car to a stop. The crew surrounded him. Hands clapped his helmet. Someone shouted his name.

Nick smiled when he was supposed to.

But inside, he already knew what came next.

Nick smiled when he was supposed to.

On the podium, champagne was sprayed. The anthem played. The trophy felt heavy in his hands.

From the outside, it looked like joy.

From the inside, it felt like an ending.

It was well past midnight when Nick finally made it back to his hotel.

He skipped the afterparty. No one questioned it. Singapore took everything out of drivers; exhaustion was expected.

He showered longer than necessary, letting the water run until the noise in his head dulled. He changed into a clean shirt and sat on the edge of the bed.

The room was quiet.

This was the moment he’d been delaying.

Nick picked up his phone.

Areum still hadn’t messaged.

He didn’t read into that. He knew she was busy. He knew she was probably being told what to say and what not to say.

He opened their message thread.

Scrolled up.

He saw the older messages first.

The excited ones. The supportive ones. The ones that felt like another life.

He scrolled back down.

Nothing recent.

Nick stared at the call button.

He pressed it.

It rang once.Twice.

Then Areum answered.

Her camera was on. She sat on a bed in a hotel room that looked different from the last one he’d seen. Her hair was down, still slightly damp. She wore a hoodie pulled tight around herself.

She looked tired.

When she saw him, she smiled. It was small, but real.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” Nick replied.

They looked at each other for a moment. Neither rushed to speak.

“I saw the race,” Areum said. “Congratulations.”

Nick nodded. “Thanks.”

A pause.

“You okay?” she asked.

Nick took a breath. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

She nodded. “I figured.”

Silence settled between them again. This one felt heavier.

Areum broke it. “Is the picture why you called?”

Nick swallowed. “Yeah.”

Her expression shifted slightly. Not surprised. Just braced.

“Okay,” she said. “Talk to me.”

Nick didn’t drag it out.

“I think we should stop,” he said.

The words landed quietly.

Areum didn’t react right away. Her face stayed still, like she was processing the words piece by piece.

Areum looked down at her hands, then back up. “Why now?”

Nick answered honestly. “Because if I waited any longer, I’d keep convincing myself not to do it.”

Areum let out a slow breath. “So you decided.”

Nick nodded again. “I did.”

Her jaw tightened. “Without me.”

Nick met her gaze. “Not because I don’t care what you think.”

“Then why?” she asked.

“It’s because of what you would think,” Nick said. “I know you wouldn’t want to stop.”

Areum’s voice sharpened. “So you’re leaving because of the backlash.”

Nick shook his head. “I’m leaving because of you.”

That made her flinch.

“Don’t say it like that,” she said.

“It’s the truth,” Nick replied. “Your label called my team. Your fans are turning on you.”

Areum looked away. “That’s my problem.”

Nick stayed calm. “That makes it even more.”

Areum looked back at him. “I didn’t ask you to fix it.”

“I know,” Nick said. “I’m choosing to.”

Her eyes glistened. “You think this makes it better.”

Nick hesitated. “If it makes things quieter and easier for you, then yes.”

“That’s not the same thing,” she said.

Nick nodded. “I know.”

Silence again.

Areum hugged her knees closer. “So what,” she said quietly. “We just end it?”

Nick nodded. “Yeah.”

She laughed once, soft and bitter. “You win a race and then you break my heart.”

Nick’s chest tightened. “I’m sorry.”

Areum shook her head. “You always do this after you push yourself too far.”

Nick frowned. “Do what?”

“Decide things when you’re exhausted,” she said. “Like you know exactly how everything should go.”

Nick didn’t deny it. “Maybe.”

Areum stared at him. “Do you still love me?”

Nick answered immediately. “Yes.”

“You think you’re saving me,” she said quietly.

Nick nodded. “Yeah.”

Areum continued. “What if I just want you.”

Nick closed his eyes briefly.

“I want you too,” he said. “That’s the problem.”

Areum looked up, tears finally slipping free. The tears cascaded down, like a dam had just given way to a crack. She wiped them away quickly.

“I waited for you,” she said. “For years. Even when I told myself I was over it.”

Nick felt sick. “I know.”

“And now that we finally have this,” she continued, “you’re the one leaving.”

Nick didn’t have an answer that would make it okay.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

They sat there, staring at each other through the screen.

Areum spoke again, quieter. “If you do this, don’t half-do it.”

Nick understood immediately.

“No checking in,” she said. “No ‘just wanted to see how you are.’ No pretending we’re fine.”

Nick nodded. “Okay.”

Her voice trembled. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” Nick said.

Areum nodded once. “Good.”

She took a shaky breath.

“Be careful,” she said. “With the racing. No matter what, I will always want you to be successful and safe.”

Nick’s throat tightened. “You too. I will always be your biggest fan.”

She reached toward the phone, then stopped. Her hand hovered, then pulled back.

“Goodbye, Nick,” she said.

Nick swallowed. “Goodbye, Areum.”

She ended the call.

The screen went dark.

Nick sat there for a long time.

The trophy from Singapore sat on the table nearby, catching the light.

It didn’t feel like anything.

Nick leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head lowered.

He had won the race.

And lost the one thing he couldn’t outdrive.