Adrenaline

bonus chapter 01 | the very first night

BRENDON
2018

One of the more perplexing conundrums of my life is how I find myself at so many parties when I hate them.

The simple answer is that my friends drag me to them, especially when I'm back in LA during the F1 summer break. The more complicated answer is that while I love being in LA, I still often feel like I'm just a message in a bottle that's been lost at sea, waiting for someone to crack me open and realize I have something to say.

It's a paradox to feel like you're alone in a room full of people.

Scout Dancy shoves a cup of some unknown drink in my hands. If it were anyone else, I'd immediately toss the drink aside, but it's Scout and he's one of those good guys everybody trusts. Fortunately for him, his visit from across the pond—London, of course—is going much more smoothly than mine seems to be. Then again, this is Scout we're talking about. He fits in anywhere.

He doesn't notice the hypnotized stares of the women that walk by as soon as he starts talking, attuned to his accent even from only a passing glance.

"Mate, you look green."

"Thanks." I take a hesitant sip and fight back a grimace. I hate vodka. "Remind me why I'm here again."

Scout tosses his arm around my shoulder and drags me into the crowd. Clouds of smoke dissipate before my eyes and voices turn to static the further into the party I go. None of it quite registers to me the way it should, soaking up the nightlife and all that, and I find myself already itching to make a stealthy escape as soon as I can sneak away.

"We are here to celebrate getting your first win during your rookie year in F1 and help with the house hunting."

I look around. "How is being at a party going to help me find a house?"

"Please insert whatever answer suits my narrative." Scout laughs as I shove him off. "Honestly, though. You dragged that tractor across the finish line. P1, no less. Enjoy the summer break. You earned it."

Easier said than done. Generally speaking, I like to think of myself as someone who can live in the moment and forget all of my problems, even if it's just for one night. But when something as monumental as my first race win in F1 happens while my family sits at home because my father has found yet another reason to criticize me, it makes it difficult to want to celebrate.

Not even a congratulatory text after the race. Just an if you hadn't locked up in that one lap, you would've kept the fastest lap too. Fucking prick.

"I'll do my best."

"Cheers, mate," he says once we're fully submerged into the crowd, knocking his cup against mine so the liquid inside nearly sloshes over the rim.

The rest of our drinks go down the hatch, and I fight against the internal burn as we go through the motions of enjoying the party, his actions more authentic than mine. It suits him, the whole happy-go-lucky vibe. Brooding and elusive enigma is the archetype assigned to my personality in Formula One, not by any real design of my own. Sure, I'm not the most social driver out there, but it's not because I'm trying to hide anything for the sake of mystery. I prefer not to have strangers on the internet perceive me in ways completely out of my control as much as possible, and I like to think of it as a way of shielding those around me from having to suffer the burns of a spotlight. The people in my life didn't sign up for public life. That's why my ex-girlfriend broke up with me as soon as I signed with Windsor. She didn't want to deal with the implications of a relationship with someone likely to have some level of celebrity, even if I loathe that term. I don't blame her for it.