Page 9

I know who it is before he takes off the helmet.

Jameson Ashford’s dark hair shines under the fluorescent track lights and the nearly full moon overhead. His body is dangerous—his muscles clear through his suit and every movement precise. Aggression leashed in service of performance.

Of course it had to be him driving like the car was built for him. He carves up the track, putting his car in exactly the right position.

It’s one more reminder that this world runs on selection, not merit. People like him are chosen. People like my dad and me scrap our way into the edges. We’re the last ones to earn a seat at the table, the first to be cut.

One of the most vivid memories I have of my mom is her reading me a story about a princess locked in a tower and promised to a haughty prince to save the kingdom.

I told her I’d pick the dragon every time. Entitled pricks have always been my least favorite brand of asshole.

I’m preoccupied enough I barely notice when another man walks out onto the track and says something sharp to Jameson, stabbing a finger at his chest.

Luca Ashford. Though I’ve never seen him in person, I recognize him immediately.

His long wool coat obscures most of his suit, revealing leather shoes that aren’t designed for the dirt. He has the same build as his son, but where Jameson is icy cool, Luca is all fire.

Luca raises his voice, angry.

I wait for Jameson to snap back. Instead, his shoulders tense and, eventually, he nods.

Though reading people might not be my strong suit, the relationship between them looks anything but easy.

I’m leaning over the railing, straining to hear details of their conversation, and perversely grateful we’re close enough to see their faces.

Which I would’ve done well to remember when Jameson turns this way.

4

Shay

Jameson Ashford cannot see me. He’ll recognize me, and he’ll end my future without a second thought.

The Ashfords are too important to care about my dad, but not too important to ruin him—and me—if they decide to.

I double over, ducking behind the railing and tugging the hat down over my face.

“What’s wrong?” Keane prods.

I search my brain and blurt the only thing I can think of. “Cramps.”

Both men groan in sympathy, or maybe it’s the sudden desire to be anywhere but here.

“Might have a couple leftover Percocet from when I split that tooth last year,” Bo grunts.

I would laugh if I wasn’t panicking. “I don’t need Percocet. But thanks.”

When I risk a glance up again, Jameson’s walking toward the parking lot with his father as mechanics wheel the car back toward the garage. My dad might not be the only person I need to worry about finding out what I’m up to.

I think about it all night and into the next morning when I get to campus, using my new parking pass to park in the lot in the back designated for people whose names didn’t make the building facade.

“Did you hear?” Megan drops into the seat next to mine as we wait for our first class to start, waving her phone in front of me. “ARI’s second F1 driver is out.”

I blink, scanning the headline: Ashford Driver Fired in Middle of Season.

The air evaporates from my lungs. “But Dekker was on a long-term contract.”

“They’re saying he violated it. Didn’t get enough points to meet his performance requirements.” Raj claims the seat next to Megan, and Zane the one next to him.