Turns out, being a paddock ghost is harder when your girlfriend is the most recognizable driver on the grid. I'm trying to blend into the Zenith garage wall, hood pulled low over my face, as mechanics buzz around me like purple hornets preparing for Free Practice One. Outside, the Suzuka crowd roars in anticipation, their excitement vibrating through the concrete floor.
This morning, sports blogs exploded with grainy photos of Ivy walking the track with a "mysterious companion." The headlines ranged from curious ("Hunt's Secret Strategy Session With Unknown Advisor") to downright invasive ("Purple Queen's New King? Hunt Spotted With Mystery Man"). Ivy, predictably, found it hilarious. I'm still having heart palpitations.
"Just let me tell them," she'd said this morning, straddling my lap while I frantically scrolled through social media. "I want everyone to know you're mine."
That's exactly what I'm afraid of. The moment people connect me to Blair's ex, the narrative writes itself. Paddock bunny, team-hopping groupie, the shameless guy who bounced from one championship contender to another. I can already see the comments, the snide remarks about how I'm using Ivy for access, for fame, for whatever bullshit they'll project onto me.
Worse, they'll say she's distracted, that I'm ruining her focus. And if her performance dips even slightly? I'll be crucified.
"Nick?"
I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of my name ripping me from my thoughts. Bridgette stands before me, tablet clutched to her chest like always, her expression a careful professional mask that doesn't quite hide her discomfort.
"Jesus, you scared me," I mutter, tugging my hood lower instinctively.
"Sorry." She doesn't sound sorry at all. "Can we talk for a moment?"
I glance around nervously. "Is everything okay? Is Ivy…"
"Ivy's fine," Bridgette cuts me off. "She's on the track still." She hesitates, then takes a deep breath. "Look, I imagine you hate me, and that's fair, but I was hoping we could speak... professionally."
That catches me off guard. "Professionally? About what?"
Bridgette's eyes dart around the garage before settling back on me. "About Ivy's performance. Specifically, how you've... affected it."
I feel heat rise to my face. "I don't know what you mean."
"Please." She rolls her eyes. "Her lap times since Shanghai speak for themselves. I've asked her directly what changed, and she said…" Bridgette lowers her voice, leaning closer, "…that you helped her become the 'Lisan Al Gaib.'"
I stare at Bridgette blankly. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable with the silence.
"I... don't know what those words mean," she finally admits, her professional facade cracking slightly.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. This is exactly why Ivy shouldn't be allowed to watch sci-fi films the night before race weekends.
"We watched Dune last night," I explain, lowering my voice as a mechanic brushes past us. "It's about this girl who becomes the messiah for desert space people. The Lisan Al Gaib is their name for her, the prophesied one who'll lead them to paradise or something. Ivy's convinced I'm like... her mystical conduit to racing perfection."
Bridgette's perfectly sculpted eyebrows rise almost to her hairline. "Yes, but... how?" Her voice drops to a whisper. "What exactly are you doing to her?"
The bluntness of her question makes me choke on air. "Nothing! I mean… it's not…" I stammer, heat flooding my face. "I just... we just..."
A mechanic glances our way, and I force myself to take a deep breath. The last thing I need is for the entire garage to hear me discussing my sex life with Ivy's race engineer.
"Look," I say, regaining some composure, "I think it's just a psychological thing, okay? Ivy believes I help her somehow, so her confidence is through the roof."
Bridgette's eyes narrow as she leans in closer, her professional demeanor slipping completely.
"So it's just sex?" she asks bluntly, her voice clinical despite the intimate subject matter. "Is it something particularly exotic?"
The audacity of this woman never ceases to amaze me.
"I am absolutely not discussing this with you," I hiss, glancing around frantically to make sure no one is listening.
Bridgette sighs, adjusting her tablet against her chest like a shield. "Nick, I'm not asking to judge or gossip. This is purely professional. Whatever's happening between you two has shaved so much off her lap times. I need to understand the variables at play here."
I press my palms against my eyes, wishing I could disappear into the floor. When I drop my hands, Bridgette is still staring at me expectantly, like I'm a particularly interesting data point she's trying to analyze.
"If you're so curious about our sex life," I mumble, my voice barely audible over the garage noise, "talk to Ivy yourself."
Bridgette's shoulders slump slightly, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face.
"I suppose that's fair," she says with a resigned sigh. "Some mysteries of performance enhancement are meant to remain private."
She turns away and retreats into the sea of purple uniforms and carbon fiber. I exhale slowly, grateful for the reprieve from her interrogation.
A hand clamps down on my shoulder from behind, firm and decisive. My lips automatically curl into a smile, assuming Ivy has returned from practice. I turn, the words "How was the…" dying on my lips as I find myself staring into silver eyes instead of purple.
Blair stands before me, her electric blue hair much neater than before. She looks more put-together than yesterday, the dark circles under her eyes less pronounced, her Zenith uniform crisp and unwrinkled. But her mouth is set in a tight line, brows drawn together in a frown that creates a small crease between them.
"We need to talk," she says, her voice low enough that only I can hear it. "Alone."
My stomach drops as I glance around the garage, suddenly paranoid that Ivy might materialize at any moment. The thought of her finding me in private conversation with Blair sends a cold shiver down my spine.
"I don't think that's a good idea," I reply, taking a half-step backward. "Ivy wouldn't... I mean, I'm not comfortable with that."
Blair's eyes dart around nervously before locking back on mine. "It's about Melissa," she says quietly.
"What?" My heart skips a beat at my sister's name. "What about her?"
"Come here." Blair grabs my wrist with surprising strength, giving me no chance to protest as she pulls me through the garage.
I stumble after her, panic rising in my throat as we weave between mechanics and equipment. We exit the paddock into a secluded service corridor, the sounds of the garage fading behind us. It's a blind spot, no cameras, no prying eyes, just concrete walls and the distant hum of engines.
Blair releases my wrist and turns to face me, her silver eyes uncharacteristically vulnerable.
"Nick, I need to confess something," she says, her voice softening. "Melissa is fine. There's nothing wrong with her."
"Then why…"
"I lied." She takes a deep breath, her shoulders sagging slightly. "I just needed to get you alone because I can't stand this anymore. I'm sorry, Nick. I'm so incredibly sorry for how I've treated you these past few months."
The apology catches me completely off guard. Blair West doesn't apologize, not to competitors, not to journalists, and certainly not to ex-boyfriends.
"You're... sorry?" I repeat, my voice hollow with disbelief.
"I was horrible to you." Her voice cracks slightly. "I threw away something real because I thought my career needed it. I convinced myself you were holding me back when the truth is..." She swallows hard. "You were the only thing keeping me grounded."
I stand frozen, unable to process this sudden vulnerability from someone who discarded me so callously just weeks ago.
"Blair, I…"
"I can't sleep," she continues, words tumbling out faster now. "I can't focus. Everything's falling apart, and it started the moment I let you go."
She steps closer. "I made a terrible mistake," she whispers, reaching for my hand. "I want you back, Nick."
Her fingers brush against mine, and I jerk away like I've been burned. Something dark and unfamiliar surges through me, not just anger, but something deeper, more primal.
"Are you fucking serious right now?" I snarl, yanking my hand away completely. My voice echoes harshly in the concrete corridor. "You lied about my sister being in trouble just to get me alone?"
Blair's eyes widen at my tone, I've never spoken to her like this before. Good. Let her be shocked.
"I'm not getting back together with you, Blair. Not now, not ever." The words taste like freedom on my tongue. "You only want me back because I'm with Ivy now. If I wasn't dating someone else, especially your teammate, you wouldn't give a fuck about me."
She steps closer, desperation flashing in those silver eyes. "That's not true, Nick. Please, just listen…"
"No." I cut her off, feeling a strange new power coursing through me. "You'd just get bored of me again the minute things got tough. The minute your career demanded another sacrifice."
"No, we had something real, Nick," Blair insists, her voice cracking. Her perfect composure is slipping, revealing something raw underneath. "What we had was special. You know it was."
A shadow falls across Blair's desperate face, and I feel the temperature in the corridor drop several degrees. Blair's silver eyes widen in shock as she registers someone standing behind her.
"What exactly do you think you're doing with my boyfriend, West?" Ivy's voice cuts through the air like a blade, each word precise and deadly.
Blair whirls around, her body tensing as she comes face-to-face with Ivy. My heart hammers against my ribcage as I take in the scene, Ivy standing there in her purple racing suit, unzipped just enough to reveal the black sports bra underneath, her hair slightly disheveled from the helmet. Her expression is eerily calm, but her eyes burn with a fury I've never seen before.
"Hunt," Blair manages, attempting to regain her composure. "We were just talking."
"Is that so?" Ivy steps forward, closing the distance between them with predatory grace. "Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were trying to sink your claws back into what's mine."
Blair's jaw tightens. "Nick is a person, not a possession. And we have a history that predates whatever... arrangement you two have."
"Arrangement?" Ivy's laugh is sharp enough to cut glass. "That's what you think this is?"
I step forward, finding my voice. "Ivy, she lied about Melissa being in trouble to get me alone."
Something dangerous flashes across Ivy's face. She shifts her gaze from Blair to me, then back again, her purple eyes narrowing to slits.
"You used his sister?" The quiet in Ivy's voice is more terrifying than any shouting could be. "You manipulated his family loyalty to try to steal him from me?"
Blair takes a step back, her shoulders bumping against the concrete wall. "I needed to talk to him without you hovering."
"And yet here I am," Ivy purrs, moving closer until she's practically nose-to-nose with Blair. "Hovering."
The tension between them crackles like static electricity. I should intervene, should say something to defuse the situation, but a part of me, a dark, vindictive part I didn't know existed, wants to see Blair squirm under Ivy's predatory gaze.
"Nick and I were having a private conversation," Blair says, her voice steadier than her body language suggests. "One that doesn't concern you."
"Everything about Nick concerns me," Ivy replies, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. She reaches past Blair to grab my wrist, her fingers wrapping around it possessively. "And you need to understand something, West. He's not just some toy you can discard and reclaim whenever it suits you."
Ivy tugs me away from Blair, her grip firm but not painful as she guides me back toward the garage. I don't resist, relief washing over me as we put distance between ourselves and my ex. Something about Ivy's possessiveness feels protective rather than controlling, a shield against Blair's manipulation.
"Wait!" Blair's voice echoes down the corridor behind us. "Nick, you're making a terrible mistake!"
I keep walking, Ivy's hand warm in mine, but Blair's words chase us like angry wasps.
"She doesn't love you!" Blair's voice rises, cracking with desperation. "She's just using you as a trophy, can't you see that? When she's done with you, she'll toss you aside just like I did!"
My steps falter slightly, but Ivy squeezes my hand, anchoring me to her.
"You'll regret this, Nick!" Blair's voice grows sharper, more venomous with each step we take. "When she breaks you, don't you dare come crawling back to me!"
The concrete corridor amplifies her words, making them bounce off the walls and slam into my back like physical blows. Each accusation grows more bitter, more cutting than the last, transforming from desperate pleas to vicious threats.
"She'll never love you like I did!" The words are almost a screech now, Blair's composure completely shattered. "She's incapable of real feelings! She's a fucking machine!"
Ivy's pace never slows, her head held high as she leads me through the service door and back into the bustling garage. The moment we cross the threshold, the sounds of the paddock engulf us, mechanics shouting, power tools whirring, the distant roar of engines on track, drowning out Blair's final, furious curses.
"You okay?" Ivy asks softly once we're safely surrounded by the purple-clad Zenith team members.
I take a deep breath, surprised to find I'm steadier than expected. "Yeah, actually. I am."
"Good."