If someone had told me a year ago I’d be standing on the F1 stage, hugging Noah Slade and my brother with each arm, I would have laughed until I cried. My brother stands next to me with the biggest grin on his face after placing third in the entire World Championship. He and Noah shower each other with champagne after winning the Constructors’ Championship together. Old rivals hugging like friends.
Funny how life has a way of working itself out. I joined the F1 schedule because I had nothing going for me, a post-graduate with a trail of failed attempts at jobs, stuck living in my brother’s shadow whether I wanted to be or not.
I can’t help looking over at the man who called dibs on me, the one with wavy dark hair and blue eyes that hypnotize me. A World Champion with a heart of platinum to match the trophy he carries above his head. The same man who says “I love you” instead of “good morning” every day. A self-proclaimed “sappy motherfucker” who begged me to wear his race car number today because he needs to mark me in every single way. A human wrecking ball who came into my life unannounced and smashed through all my expectations, leaving behind rubble, dust, and a fresh start.
But most importantly, Noah Slade, the love of my life.
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