Jump-Start

jump-start A NOVEL BRIDGET L. ROSE Copyright © 2023 by Bridget L. Rose First Edition — 2022 No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted electronically, hard copy photocopying or recording or any other form without permission from the author, except for brief quotations for book reviews. This is a work of fiction, characters, names, places, and incidents that resemble anything in real life is purely coincidental. This book is not affiliated with the sport of Formula One. Whilst true aspects of the sport in terms of the format are included in this book, all characters, team performances, as well as the storyline are fictional. Editor: Selina Ruf Proofreading: Selina Ruf & Bridget L. Rose Cover Designer: Selina Ruf Formatter: Books & Moods contents 1. Leonard 2. Chiara 3. Leonard 4. Chiara 5. Leonard 6. Chiara 7. Leonard 8. Chiara 9. Leonard 10. Chiara 11. Leonard 12. Chiara 13. Leonard 14. Chiara 15. Leonard 16. Chiara 17. Leonard 18. Chiara 19. Leonard 20. Chiara 21. Leonard 22. Chiara 23. Leonard 24. Chiara 25. Leonard 26. Chiara 27. Leonard 28. Chiara 29. Leonard 30. Chiara 31. Leonard 32. Chiara 33. Leonard 34. Chiara 35. Leonard 36. Chiara 37. Leonard 38. Chiara 39. Leonard 40. Chiara 41. Leonard 42. Leonard 43. Chiara 44. Leonard Spoiler Alert Epilogue Acknowledgments Also by Bridget L. Rose About Bridget L. Rose This book is dedicated to every person who is barely keeping their head above water right now. Hold on to your dreams, they will lift you out of the water. CHAPTER ONE leonard Another race. Another win. Another critic probably ready to jump on the mistake I made in the third corner during the opening lap. I felt it in the car as soon as it happened. I didn’t leave enough space for my rival, and teammate, so he went off track and lost first place. I can already see the headlines. ‘Leonard Tick Only Wins Races By Cheating’. My entire life has been like this. Since I was a kid, people have attacked me and tried to tear me down. That’s what happens when you’re the first black race car driver in a predominantly white motorsport. I fucking love this sport, but there are so many things wrong with it. We still have a long way to go before we can truly be proud of it. I jump out of my Formula One car, briefly appreciating the sleek black colour my team went with this year. My eyes fixate on the Mercedes symbol on top of the nose, a wave of nostalgia running through me. I won my first World Championship with this team and hope to win more in the future. We’ve come a long way over the years I’ve been a racer at Mercedes, and I couldn’t be prouder of the team I have. “Leonard!” the post-race interviewer—Jason Dirk, I believe—starts, and I stare at him with my lips pulled into a thin line. Formula One has hardened me to the point of no return. One smile is all it takes for people to spin things out of proportion like I’m happy about the move I pulled in corner three, which inevitably led to my win. Sometimes shit like that happens, it’s normal in an aggressive sport like racing, but reporters don’t care about that when it comes to me making the mistake. I’m judged a lot more harshly than other drivers. “You drove a great race today and managed your tyres well. What a way to start the season! How do you feel coming back as a World Champion?” he asks, and I suck in an inaudible, sharp breath. “I feel great. My team and I have worked hard and restlessly over the break, which is why it’s great to see it paying off already,” I say, shaking my head at his next comment. “That incident in turn three sure did help. How do you feel about that?” I feel like I want to punch you in the face, I think to myself, but except for me grabbing my towel a little harder, no one would suspect how much his question bothers me. That’s why it’s great to have a reputation for never smiling. It allows me to hide how I truly feel. “I will have to review the incident before I can comment on what happened. From the car, it felt like a normal racing incident,” I explain, wiping away the sweat dripping down the side of my forehead. I’m exhausted. Today was a hot and long race, and I can’t wait to get back home and spend time with my family. After test-driving the car for the past few weeks and putting every available hour into training to get ready for the start of the season, I’ve barely seen them. My brothers, Mum, and Dad all miss me too—they make sure to remind me every day—and I have to get back to Benz, my three-year-old Pit Bull. I miss her. I miss everything about my home. Even that pain in the arse, Chi— “Well, congratulations on your win. Let’s move onto our second place,” Jason says, and I step over to where my performance coach, Quinn, is standing. “Great drive, kiddo,” she says before my hand slips onto her shoulder. Quinn is my best friend in the entire world. She’s hardly five years older than me but insists on keeping that nickname. “Yeah, you liked my move in corner three?” I ask, which causes her to laugh. We both know I’m joking in the only way I do—without showing it on my face—but she’s enjoying my playful attitude very much. “I did. Now go get your trophy, kiddo. I haven’t got all day,” she teases, and I pinch her side in response. She laughs loudly, the sound making a wonderful warmth spread through my chest. Before I can make my way to the cool-down room, Adrian Romana, a Formula One rookie I’ve only met a few times,