Revved (2 page)

“
I’M GOING TO MISS YOU SO MUCH, DARLING
.”

The emotional edge in my mother’s voice has my lips wobbling and my eyes misting with tears.

“I’m going to miss you, too.” I hug her tighter.

Leaning back, she takes my face in her hands, staring into my eyes. She’s crying. I hate seeing her cry.

“Are you absolutely sure you have to go?”

We’ve had this conversation a lot over the past few weeks. I know I’m hurting her—I hate that I am—but I have to do this. If I don’t, I know I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

“Mum, this is an amazing opportunity for me,” I say softly. “I know you’re worried, but I’ll be fine. I’ll be with Uncle John, and it’s not like I’m actually getting in the race cars and driving them.”

“I know…” She sighs.

It’s a worrisome sigh, and I know where it comes from. I know my leaving is hurting her for many reasons—mostly because she’s going to miss me, but largely because of where I’m going. It’s stirring up painful memories for her.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” I say softly. “I just…I have to do this.”

“I know.” She kisses my forehead. “You are so much like your father. He would be so proud of you, you know.”

Well, that just sets me off, and a tear spills down my cheek.

Mum wipes it away with her thumb. “I’m just being a silly clucky mother. I don’t want to let my baby girl go.”

“I’m coming back,” I reassure her. “I’m not leaving forever.”

“I know. Just take care of yourself, and be careful. You’re going to be in a lot of strange countries. You have that rape alarm I bought for you?”

“Yes. It’s in my bag.”

“And you won’t walk anywhere alone, especially at night.”

“I won’t.”

“And if you must take a cab, then check that it’s a city-approved cab.”

“I will.”

“And you’ll check in with me every day?”

“I will. I promise.” I give her another tight squeeze. “Don’t worry.” I pick up my bag from the floor, hanging it on my shoulder. “I’m going to go. Otherwise, I’ll miss check-in.”

“Okay.” She stifles her tears. “Bye, darling. Have a safe flight.”

“I’ll be home for a visit as soon as I can. I love you.”

I start walking backward toward the check-in gate, my chest heavy with emotion.

“I love you, too,” she says, wiping her face with a tissue.

“I’ll text as soon as I land.”

“Okay. I’ll miss you, darling.”

“Miss you, too.”

Then, I turn and walk away. Swiping a tear from my face, I hand my ticket to the guard and go through security.

I think I’d be exhausted after hours in an airport, waiting for my flight, which was delayed, before taking a twelve-hour flight from São Paulo to Luton, and now, it’s one p.m., UK time. My body clock is a little all over the place, but as I drag my suitcase along, pushing through the door into Arrivals, I’m filled with a sense of excitement that’s been building the whole journey here.

I’m thrilled to be back in England, buzzed at the prospect of starting my new job. But most of all, I just can’t wait to see Uncle John. It’s been a while since I last saw him.

I do a quick scan over the horde of people, looking for Uncle John, and then I see him. He’s a hard guy to miss—built like a bear with a head full of salt-and-pepper hair.

He catches sight of me, his face breaking out into a huge smile. He waves a hand. I pick up speed to him as he moves toward me, his arms opening wide for a hug.

I jump into that hug like a little kid.

Uncle John has always had that way of making me feel like I’m ten years old again.

“Hey, kiddo.” Releasing me, he smiles down at me, his eyes showing their age at the corners. Uncle John is in his late forties, but he looks good for it.

“Hey.” I beam.

“How was your flight?” He bends to take my suitcase from me.

“Good. Long.”

We start heading toward the exit.

“I’m just parked in the waiting area, so not far to walk.”

“Thank God.”

I shiver as the door opens, and a gush of good old English cold air hits me. I wrap my leather biker jacket around me, not that it’s providing much warmth. I’m just glad that I thought ahead and changed in the airplane restroom, out of the shorts and tank that I left Brazil in and into the skinny jeans and T-shirt that I’m now wearing. I’m also glad I freshened up with wet wipes and spray of deodorant. There’s nothing worse than feeling stale after a flight.

I forgot what it’s like to live in England, how chilly it is here in February. I used to be acclimatized to it, but it’s been fourteen years since I was last here.

I was born in England. I lived here until I was ten. After we lost Dad, Mum and I moved to Brazil, her home country.

“I’d offer you my jacket if I were wearing one.” Uncle John chuckles while he walks along in a short-sleeved shirt.

“I’m okay. Don’t worry.”

“Sure, but I’ll get the heat on in the car as soon as the engine warms up.”

I adore Uncle John. After Dad died and Mum and I moved away, he stayed in our lives with regular phone calls and emails, and he visited every time he was in Brazil.

Uncle John is the chief engineer for Rybell’s Formula 1 team—well, Carrick Ryan’s team. Each Formula 1 team has two drivers. Rybell’s other is Nico Tresler, a seasoned driver from Germany.

And Carrick Ryan is the playboy from Ireland, but he’s one insanely talented driver.

He’s way too handsome for any woman’s good. He’s a total womanizer and party boy. He’s in the press more for his late-night antics and bedroom play than he is for his driving abilities. He acts more like a rock star than a Formula 1 driver.

He doesn’t seem to have a sense of discipline that can be seen from other drivers. But his talent is unmistakable. His advancement in racing was so quick that he was making his debut with Formula 1 at twenty and taking home the trophy that same year. Now, five years later, he’s only lost one championship.

I’m going to be working on Carrick’s team, thanks to Uncle John. One of their mechanics quit suddenly a few weeks ago, and Uncle John offered me the job.

If you haven’t guessed, I’m a mechanic.

Ever since I started working for the Brazil Stock Car team three years ago, Uncle John has been saying that I should come and work in Formula 1, and the minute he got an opening, it was mine.

He wasn’t kidding, and here I am.

Formula 1 jobs don’t come up easily, especially not on Carrick’s team. He keeps everything close-knit, so I know how lucky I am to get the position.

“How’s your mum doing?” Uncle John asks.

“She’s okay…struggling with me leaving. Worried. You know how she is.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “I know how Katia gets.”

“Uncle John…you haven’t told anyone at Rybell who my dad was, have you?”

“No. You asked me not to, so I haven’t. I get why you want to keep it a secret, but honestly, I don’t think it’s necessary.”

For me, it is. My dad is regarded as one of the greatest drivers of all time. He was like the Messiah of Formula 1. People in the industry worshiped him—they still do—especially here in the UK. And I don’t want people thinking that, as a twenty-four-year-old female mechanic, I got the job off the back of my father’s name. I’d rather them think I was hired for my looks than that. So, while I’m here, I’m using my mother’s maiden name, Amaro, and telling no one that I’m William Wolfe’s daughter.

“I just want to prove myself without people knowing who my dad was.”

“Not necessary,” he reiterates.

I give him a look. “It is necessary. People will think I got the job because of my surname.”

“No, they won’t. You got the job because you’re one hell of a mechanic and no other reason.”

“You know that, but other people don’t. I just want the chance to prove myself before everyone knows who my dad was.”

“Okay.” He lets out a defeated sigh. “It’s your call. I’ll keep my mouth shut until you tell me I can open it.”

“Thank you.” I smile appreciatively at him.

Uncle John knows almost everyone in Formula 1, so asking him to keep this a secret is a big ask.

Uncle John has been with Carrick since he started karting when he was fourteen. That’s how Uncle John ended up back in Formula 1.

After my dad’s accident, Uncle John left Formula 1 and went to work in karting. I think being there, after my dad, was too hard for him. It was hard for everyone.

But when Carrick progressed and Uncle John saw the talent in him, Carrick and Owen Ryan—Carrick’s father and manager—persuaded Uncle John to move back to Formula 1 with them, so he did.

Working for Carrick is going to be such an honor.

Am I concerned about his reputation? Sure I am. But lucky for me, I’m used to horny drivers. Being a woman in a man’s world, I have to be. I’ve worked around men for long enough to know how to put them in their place. Getting involved with a driver is not an option for me.

After seeing what losing my dad did to my mum, I’m not exactly a relationship person. I tend to date here and there—a couple of months, maximum. It’s not that I’m averse to having a boyfriend. I just haven’t found anyone who I want to spend a lot of time with. And with my job, I travel around a lot, so it’s not really viable.

I’m either with other mechanics, who are all male—and I don’t get involved with coworkers, too messy—or I’m around drivers.

And I definitely don’t ever get involved with drivers. Ever.

They’re a slippery slope to heartbreak.

Uncle John comes to a stop outside a car I recognize instantly because I spent a lot of time driving around in it as a kid.

“Is that…your old Ford Capri?” I smile wide.

Uncle John had this car when I left for Brazil. A 1987 black Ford Capri with a red racing stripe down the side. I can’t believe he still has it.

“Yep, I still have her.” He grins. Popping the trunk, he hauls my suitcase into it.

“I can’t believe she’s still running.”

“You doubt the master.” He gives me a cheeky look before climbing into the driver’s side.

I get in the passenger side, putting my belt on. “No, I just thought you’d have upgraded by now.”

“You can never replace your first love.” He lovingly pats the steering wheel. Then, he turns the ignition, and she hums to life. “Okay, so where are we going?”

I give him a questionable look. “I thought you’d know that.”

“Well, I just thought I’d check and see if you’d changed into a normal person, one who just arrived here after traveling for the better part of a day and might want to go to her new apartment and get some rest.”

Uncle John has rented me a little furnished one-bedroom apartment, near Rybell’s headquarters in Heath and Reach, which is a little village in Bedfordshire.

“But if I’m guessing right and you’re not normal—like me—then I’m taking it, we’re going straight to Rybell?”

I look at him, a grin sliding on my face. “You guessed right.”