The F1 Champion Wants to Claim Me for Herself in a Reverse World
Chapter 37: Let the Man Rest

Saturday blazed by in a purple-tinted blur, leaving me hollow as a discarded Red Bull can. My wife, God, that word still gives me butterflies, demolished the sprint race with her usual clinical precision. But something’s changed in the balance between her and Blair. The gap has narrowed to just 1.2 seconds, close enough for even the commentators to raise their eyebrows meaningfully at the cameras.

Now it’s Sunday, lap three of the Miami Grand Prix, and I’m slumped against the cool metal wall of the Zenith garage, trying to remember how breathing works. My legs feel like overcooked pasta, barely supporting my weight as I slide down to perch on an equipment case. The air conditioning blasts against my sweat-dampened shirt, but I still feel almost feverish in my exhaustion.

Ivy was... enthusiastic as usual before the race. “I need everything you’ve got,” she’d whispered, those purple eyes boring into mine with an intensity that bordered on desperation. “Every drop.”

She wasn’t exaggerating. I feel like she’s siphoned my soul straight out through my dick, leaving just enough life force for me to function as her cheerleader. Even my fingertips tingle with exhaustion.

On the massive screens above the pit wall, Ivy’s purple machine dances through Turn 7, Blair’s identical car shadowing her with unprecedented precision.

“They’re really pushing each other today,” murmurs a mechanic nearby, not bothering to look at me.

I nod weakly, not that he’s paying attention. The entire garage vibrates with tension, the air thick with concentration as team personnel monitor telemetry data scrolling across dozens of screens.

My gaze drifts across the garage, landing on Lucian’s lanky figure hovering near Blair’s side of operations. He’s been avoiding me since our confrontation Friday, keeping to the opposite end of any room we share. But I catch him stealing glances my way, his perfect features contorted with something between disgust and fascination. Those model-perfect eyes narrow whenever they meet mine, like he’s trying to solve some irritating puzzle.

I push myself upright with a groan, muscles protesting the movement. I need to head up to Paddock Club soon. I like to watch Ivy cross the finish line from the balcony. But first, I need a moment to collect myself, to transform from this hollowed-out husk into something resembling a functioning human being.

I take a step toward the exit, desperate for some air, when I collide with someone rounding the corner fast. Papers scatter across the floor as I stumble backward, my exhausted legs nearly giving out beneath me.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where…” The voice cuts off abruptly. “Nick?”

I blink, focusing on the woman standing before me. Tessa Keller stares back, her brown eyes wide behind wire-rimmed glasses, her neat braided ponytail slightly askew from our collision. Most surprisingly, she’s wearing a purple Zenith polo instead of the papaya orange I remember from earlier this season.

“Tessa?” I manage, stooping to help gather her fallen papers despite my protesting muscles. “You work for us now?”

She nods, a nervous smile flickering across her face as she adjusts her glasses. “Yeah, just started a few weeks ago. Mostly just spending my time training in Cambridge. The timing worked out perfectly with Miami being my first race on site.”

Her eyes narrow as she studies me, professional demeanor shifting to something more personal. “Hey Nick, are you feeling okay? You seem like you’re having some trouble.”

I straighten up, handing her the collected papers, but she barely glances at them. Instead, she presses the back of her hand against my forehead, the gesture so unexpectedly familiar it leaves me momentarily speechless. Her cool palm feels like heaven against my hot skin.

“You’re flushed, and you’re sweating,” she continues, concern etching lines between her eyebrows. “Maybe you should sit down.”

I step back, embarrassed by her mothering. We’ve known each other since we were kids, thanks to our sisters’ racing careers intertwining, but this level of concern feels oddly intimate.

“No, no, I’m totally fine,” I insist, forcing a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. “I was just working out with Ivy before the race.” Technically, it’s not a lie.

Tessa’s eyes flicker at my mention of Ivy, something shifting in her gaze that I can’t quite identify. She tucks the papers under her arm and takes a half-step closer, lowering her voice.

“Pre-race workout, huh?” Her tone is carefully neutral, but her eyes scan my face with an intensity that makes me uncomfortable. “That’s... quite dedicated of you both.”

“Yeah, well, championship lifestyle and all that,” I laugh weakly, trying to sidestep her, but she moves slightly to block my path.

“Nick,” she begins, then hesitates, chewing her bottom lip. “I just want you to know that if you ever need anything, anything at all, I’m here for you. No questions asked.”

The sudden earnestness in her voice catches me off guard. “Thanks? But I’m good, really.”

She doesn’t seem convinced. Her fingers fidget with the edge of her papers, and she keeps glancing over her shoulder like she’s afraid someone might overhear us.

“I know we haven’t really kept in touch since we were kids, but...” She takes a deep breath. “I care about your well-being. If things ever get... overwhelming, or if you need space, or just someone to talk to who isn’t...” She trails off, not completing the thought.

Something warm blooms in my chest as I look at Tessa. It’s comforting to see her concerned face, the same expression she wore when I fell off my bike as a kid. After all these years, she still sees herself as my protector, that motherly older sister-figure who’d patch me up when my own family was too busy for me.

“That’s really sweet of you, Tess,” I say, genuinely touched. “It’s nice to know some things never change. You’ve always looked out for me.”

Her smile falters slightly, something flickering behind her glasses that I can’t quite read. She opens her mouth to respond, but the words seem to catch in her throat.

“I…” she starts, then shakes her head. “It’s not exactly…”

A thunderous cheer erupts from the nearby monitors. I glance up to see Ivy’s purple machine setting a blistering pace through sector one. The sight of my wife winning sends a renewed surge of energy through my depleted body.

Tessa’s gaze shifts to the screen, her expression changing as she watches Blair’s car trailing Ivy’s.

“Wow, your ex has really closed the gap this season, hasn’t she?” she says, adjusting her glasses as she studies the timing data. “Look at that, only 1.4 seconds behind. Almost within DRS range.”

I follow her gaze, genuinely surprised by how close Blair is keeping pace. “You’re right. That’s... actually impressive.”

“You sound surprised,” Tessa notes, a hint of something unreadable in her voice.

I shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “I guess I’ve been so focused on Ivy lately I haven’t really been tracking Blair’s progress.”

The screens show Blair taking the next corner aggressively, shaving another tenth off Ivy’s lead. There’s a hunger in her driving I haven’t seen before.

“I wonder how she did it,” I mutter, more to myself than to Tessa.

Tessa’s fingers fidget with her tablet as she responds. “She’s spending all her downtime in the simulator, trying different setups. I’ve seen her there at all hours.” She hesitates, then adds, “You dated her through F3 and F2, right? Her results always showed she was adaptable.”

Something in her tone makes me glance at her. There’s a tightness around her eyes, a careful neutrality in her expression that seems forced.

“Yeah, she was always quick to adjust,” I agree, my mind connecting dots I hadn’t considered before. I’ve also been monopolizing Ivy’s time since our relationship began, especially this week with the wedding. All those hours she might have spent in the simulator, we’ve spent tangled together instead.

“It’s almost like she’s driving with a new purpose,” Tessa observes quietly, her eyes still fixed on the screen rather than me. “Something’s lit a fire under her.”

I wonder what that purpose might be.

“Maybe,” I say, not wanting to dive deeper into Blair’s motivations with Tessa.

An awkward silence stretches between us, filled only by the distant roar of engines and the beeping of equipment. Tessa shifts her weight from one foot to the other, still not quite meeting my eyes.

“Sorry, Tessa,” I say affectionately. “I should get up to Paddock Club before Ivy finishes. I know I said it before, but let’s catch up properly sometime, yeah? I’d love to hear how you ended up at Zenith.”

She nods, but her eyes have that same strange intensity. “Sure, Nick. We should definitely... talk.”

As I turn to leave, she calls after me: “Nick? Just... be careful, okay?”

“Of course.”

Tessa: