Breaking the Grid

Unreal

He gestures to the waiter, ordering another drink, then leans forward. "Listen, I've been going through the numbers from the first part of the season, and I'll tell you straight—you've impressed me. The average lap times, consistency under pressure, even your starts have improved. You're not just driving; you're fighting. That's what I like to see."

I smile, trying not to let my pride show too much. Compliments from Zak aren't empty. "I've been working harder. You know that."

He nods. "I do. But it's not just the numbers. It's your presence in the paddock. Sponsors notice when a driver looks engaged, focused, even when the cameras aren't on them. The way you handle yourself? That matters. And you've stepped up."

I tilt my glass of water, listening carefully. He has this way of speaking—half encouragement, half challenge.

"You're becoming," he continues, lowering his voice, "exactly the kind of driver this team can build a future around. And I don't just mean for this season. You're only at the beginning, Blair. We're planning long-term."

I raise a brow. "Long-term?"

Zak takes a slow sip of his whiskey, meeting my gaze across the rim of the glass. "Let's just say I can see you leading this team one day. Not just winning races, but being the name people associate with us. If you keep this up, the media won't define your story—you will."

Something stirs in me at his words. The frustration from earlier today, that article, the cheap shots—it feels almost laughable sitting here now. Because Zak sees me. Not the headlines. Me.

I smile faintly, leaning back in my chair. "Well then, I'll just have to keep proving you right."

He chuckles. "That's the spirit."

Zak leans forward, his tone suddenly less formal, almost teasing:

"So tell me—what really happened at that hotel, Blair? What's with that receipt? Don't tell me you smashed a bottle just to make the front page."

I let out a laugh, shaking my head. "No, no, nothing like that. It was just... a bottle to celebrate. An expensive one."

He arches a brow. "A bottle to celebrate?"

"Yeah." I clear my throat, smile playing at my lips.

Zak scratches the side of his head, puzzled. "In my memory, you didn't win the race."

I can't help but grin wider. "No, I didn't. But... I had something else to celebrate."

He chuckles softly, leaning back in his chair. "Well, I like that spirit. Sometimes the small victories matter even more. They keep us sane."

My eyes drift to my hand resting on my lap, the thin band of light catching the diamond Kyra gave me. I discreetly slide my hand behind my back as though hiding it from the whole world. But the thought bubbles up anyway, and the weight of it presses on my chest.

I glance back at Zak. "Actually... I wanted to see you tonight because of that night. Not the race. Not the article. Something else."

His expression shifts immediately, lines of concern marking his forehead. "Did something happen?"

I nod once, then exhale. Slowly, I lift my hand onto the table and turn it so the ring glitters under the dim light.

He leans in, squints, tilts his head. "Did you... hurt your hand?"

The laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. I cover my mouth, shaking my head. "Zak! The ring. Look at the ring."

His eyes focus on it again, this time really seeing it. For a few seconds, he doesn't speak—just stares. Then his jaw parts slightly.