Chapter 1
Reid
Tonight, I’m standing in the middle of a private rooftop party in downtown Melbourne, surrounded by glittering city lights, champagne flutes and a crowd that reeks of wealth, ambition and the desperate need to be seen. I’m Australian—born and raised in Torquay—but Melbourne is my favorite city. It pulses with a kind of effortless cool that speaks to me. It’s my second full season on the FI circuit and the third race of the season is just three days away. The cars are faster in FI and so are the social events. This is a time for the drivers to mingle with the corporate sponsors and it’s not a part of the job I mind. I’m a natural extrovert and enjoy talking to people.
Of course, you have to balance that with keeping your focus sharp because truly… winning races is the best PR move anyway.
The city has come alive with Formula racing fever. Banners for the Melbourne Global Prix drape across every corner and the streets are filled with fans wearing their favorite team gear. We start practice rounds day after tomorrow and I’m already getting antsy, my nerves humming like a live wire. It’s a beautiful and terrible sensation all at once, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The sponsor party is in full swing, and I’m scanning for my buddy Carlos Moreno. He races for Union Jack Motorsports based in London and is about the nicest guy you could ever hope to know. He’s also quick-witted and funny… the kind of guy everyone considers a brother. Since I moved up to FI last season, we’ve become pretty tight, and he’s the person I tend to hang with during our downtime.
“Reid Hemsworth. There you are.”
A hand covers my arm—an elegantly manicured one covered in gemstone rings. I turn slowly to find a woman in a slinky silver cocktail dress with a neckline that plunges almost to her navel. The material clings to her like it was sprayed on and leaves nothing to the imagination. Blond hair in waves over one shoulder. Stiletto heels that make her nearly my height. She’s undeniably gorgeous and I’d have to be dead not to notice that.
I give her a welcoming smile because I assume she’s the guest of some important VIP or an actual VIP herself. “Hello.”
She squeezes my arm and slides closer than necessary. I peg her accent as Scandinavian. “I’ve been looking for you,” she says, lips brushing dangerously close to my cheek. “We didn’t get a chance to finish our conversation in Monza last year.”
I blink, any memory of her escaping me. Yes, she’s stunning in a way that most women couldn’t touch, but for the life of me, I can’t remember her. The Monza Global Prix was months ago.
She can tell I don’t recognize her, and she says, “My father owns Quantrex.”
Shit, right. One of the sponsors of Matterhorn FI, and I have a vague recollection of her being quite handsy when we met in Monza.
“Of course,” I say, offering a polite smile and stepping back just enough to break her hold. “Good to see you again.”
“You look delicious tonight.” Her eyes scan me openly, unapologetically. “Got plans after this? We could go to my suite for a drink.”
Normally, I’d flirt back. I’d have already ordered us both another round to see where the night might go. I mean, why would I pass up this offer? And why the hell did I pass it up in Monza? The best I can come up with is an attack of conscience—maybe it’s a conflict of interest. Her father is a sponsor for Matterhorn, and I’m one of two Matterhorn drivers.
Regardless, I’m not going there or anywhere. Not tonight. I’m too close to the race and I won’t let anything deter my focus.
I glance over her shoulder, scanning for a way out—and then spot exactly who I need.
“Gunner!” I call, loud enough over the music that he can hear me from where he’s standing at the bar.
My teammate, Gunner James, looks at me and then his gaze lands on the woman beside me. His eyes gleam and he makes his way over. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and has that easygoing American charisma that makes people instantly like him. He’s been with Matterhorn FI a few years longer than me. He’s fast, disciplined, and still rides the line between cocky and humble better than most.
As he approaches, I turn to the woman. “Have you met Gunner James? He’s one of the sharpest drivers on the grid.”
Her eyes shift with interest. “Is that so?”
Gunner arrives just in time. “What’s up?” he asks, grinning like he already knows I’m trying to escape.
I clap him on the shoulder. “Just making introductions. Gunner, this is… sorry, your name is slipping me at the moment.”
“Brita,” she says, her tone flirty and aloof at the same time.
“Brita,” I echo, backing away. “I’ll let you two chat—I need to check in with a friend.”
Gunner throws me a look like You owe me one, but to his credit, he steps into the conversation smoothly. Hell, maybe he’ll even bang her tonight. I like the guy a lot, but I can’t say I know him so well as to know if he’ll take advantage of that. Just because we race for the same team doesn’t mean we’re best friends.
The drivers are scattered among the clusters of guests and I move around, shaking hands and nodding to people as I look for Carlos.
I’m trying to blend in, keep it low-key. My black suit is tailored, my drink untouched. I’ve already done the rounds, shaken hands, answered the same five questions about the car and the season ahead. I’m an old hat at this and I’m relaxed.
Until I spot Lance and every muscle in my body tenses.
Of course he’s here.
Standing near one of the cocktail tables with a smug smile and a drink in hand, Lance looks every bit the corporate brand rep—his blond hair sleeked just right. The logo for ZENZ, the energy drink brand he now works for, shining on the lapel pin he always wears like a badge of self-worth.
He’s talking to one of the merch reps for Titans Racing, white teeth flashing against tanned skin, using that easy charm he’s always relied on to get ahead. He’s my brother and I love him, but often, I don’t like him.
I turn away before he sees me, scanning the room—but not before I see her.
Lara.
She’s standing beside Lance, listening politely to the conversation, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes. Not
like it used to.
Her flaming red hair is pulled up in a sleek twist, a few strands framing her face. She’s wearing a navy dress that hugs her curves and dips low in the back, elegant and understated. She’s always had that natural beauty—never tried too hard, never needed to. But tonight, it’s the way she carries herself that catches me.
Or maybe it’s what’s missing.
She stands with her arms tucked tightly across her stomach, her shoulders slightly hunched, like she’s trying to take up less space than she used to. Her smoky gray eyes flick around the room but her gaze never lands for long. She looks… smaller. Not physically, but emotionally. Like she’s pulling herself inward, dimming her light. It’s subtle, but I know her better than anyone.
Or I used to.
We were inseparable once, the three of us—Lance, Lara and me. Grew up together in Torquay, about an hour and a half southwest of Melbourne. Our dads co-own Hemsworth & Candlish Hardware, and our mums are best friends. Weekends were barbecues on the beach. Summers meant surfing competitions, bonfires and nights passed out on our trampoline under the stars. We were a team back then.
Family, really.
Lara was the glue—funny, fierce, the kind of girl who could out-surf both of us boys and still beat us at Mario Kart with a mouth full of Sour Straws. I don’t remember when I first started seeing her differently, but there came a day when she suddenly looked older and things changed between us.
But that was a long time ago and now she’s with Lance, engaged to be married next year.
I study Lara, gaze lingering too long. I should leave so they don’t see me, but I can’t seem to take my eyes off her and then her gaze flicks across the room and lands on me.
She freezes.
For a second, it’s just the two of us—no party, no noise.
Just history.
She gives me a small nod, polite. Distant.
I nod back and it fucking kills me that we’ve devolved into this.
Lance asks Lara something, but she ignores him, continuing to stare at me. His gaze follows the direction of her attention, and his expression goes blank as our eyes meet. He says something to the merch rep, grabs Lara’s hand and starts weaving through the crowd my way.
Fucking great.
Lance holds out his hand for me to shake, a move I find overly formal seeing as how we’re brothers but sending a clear message that there’s division between us now.
His opening words are meant to set the tone as he
attempts to gain an upper hand that he so desperately needs. “Sorry you didn’t take first last week in Jeddah. A few sloppy mistakes.”
I ignore the dig, mainly because I raced like a fucking phenom last week and am proud of my efforts. My brother hates my success, and I hardly think landing third on the podium equates to failure of any sort.
Instead, I throw back my own barb. “I’m surprised you’re here. Couldn’t resist the free booze, huh?”
Lance’s eyes flash with ire. “I’m here working, actually. ZENZ has me handling all the sponsorship activities this week. Corporate loves a familiar face.”
“That’s one way to worm your way back into the paddock, I suppose,” I murmur.
Christ… that was a low blow, and I immediately regret it. I’m not a petty or vindictive man, and I have no right to be this way. I’m the one with a successful career in Formula racing whereas my brother flamed out four years ago. He can’t handle that I’ve excelled and he hasn’t, and I’m often on the receiving end of that bitterness. I should cut him some grace, I suppose, but fuck if he doesn’t like to make my life hell.
Plus, he got the girl and that makes me pissy.
Lance smooths out his features. “Yeah, not quite as flashy as spraying champagne on the podium, but hey—someone’s gotta keep the lights on.” His arm goes around Lara’s waist. “Besides… I got all I need right here.”
Fuck… that’s the lowest of blows.
The tension is thick and I focus on Lara, trying to soften the moment. “Hey, Lara. You look… great. Doing okay?”
Lara attempts a bright smile, her gray eyes smoked with resolve. “Thanks, Reid. It’s good to see you. It’s been a while.”
“Yeah, I don’t get home too much these days to visit. You been traveling with work?”
What little light her eyes held dies. “Mostly sticking close to home. I’m able to work remotely, but I have to travel to Sydney once in a blue moon.”
Lara graduated college with a degree in architecture and from what I understand through the grapevine—meaning our mums—she’s very good at what she does.
Lance looks down at Lara, his tone patronizing. “We decided it was best for her to stick closer to home, especially after the wedding.”
I don’t know what the fuck that means, but I can see Lara’s eyes darken with sadness. She’s clearly not on board with that, but it’s not up for me to interfere.
I mean, I’d like to interfere. Punch my brother in the nose because he’s an ass and Lara deserves better, but she’s his and not mine.
It’s a reminder that I need to make an escape. “Well, glad you’re here. Hope you enjoy the race.” I look around, desperately seeking Carlos, but he’s nowhere in sight. I do see a woman, however, that I very much would like to meet. “Actually… if you two would excuse me. I need to talk to Nash for a moment.”
I cringe when Lance’s eyes land on Nash and glow with predation. “Great, I’ve been meaning to introduce myself to him. I’m trying to land a deal with Titans Racing and it can’t hurt to bend his ear.”
I can’t say no but I’m already very sorry for bringing this salesman to Nash’s doorstep. After Lance didn’t get a contract renewal down in FI3 racing, he floundered for a bit. But his determination to make it back into racing was undiminished. He simply doesn’t have the talent, but he thinks hobnobbing with the best will get him back in.
I could give him some brotherly advice and tell him not to bother because he doesn’t have the talent to make it, but who am I to crush such tender dreams?
I move toward Nash and the real person I want to meet, the Titans’ chief strategy engineer, Bex Toliver. She’s making waves in the racing world and I’ve heard her intellect and foresight are beyond compare.
“Nash,” I call out, and he turns my way. I’m aware that Lance and Lara are following me.
Grinning, Nash offers his hand. “Good to see you, man. Have you met Bex yet?”
“I have not, but that’s the reason I beelined over here.” I turn to the pretty Brit. “The new Titans’ strategy mastermind. You’re the talk of the circuit these days.”
Bex’s laugh is husky. “I’m not all that interesting, but it’s great to meet you. I’m a big fan.”
I’m painfully aware of my brother behind me and I need to make introductions. I angle my body, sweeping my arm. “This is my brother, Lance, and his fiancée, Lara Candlish.”
More handshakes and, once again, Lance pulls Lara into his side, an obvious show of possession. I hate that I notice the look on Lara’s face—she’s clearly uncomfortable—but I hate it even more that she doesn’t do anything to break away.
“Having fun tonight?” Nash asks.
I glance back over my shoulder, see that Gunner is still talking to Brita. I toss my thumb that way. “Trying to escape a woman who doesn’t know how to take no for an answer.” My eyes cut briefly to Lara, but she shows no expression. It’s like she’s disconnected. “She’s handsy and won’t leave me alone.”
Nash nudges me in the shoulder. “Come on, mate. It’s a perk of the job, right? To get as many track kittens after you as possible.”
Bex’s eyes twinkle. “How about you just tell her you’re gay? That should nip it in the bud.”
I bark out a laugh. “That’s a great idea. If she approaches me again, I’m going full-on gay mode. Guess those big strategy brains of yours are good for more than just winning races.”
We lapse into race talk and I’m fascinated by Bex’s knowledge. I try to include Lance in on the conversation because, while he wasn’t that great behind the wheel, he knows the sport. He wanted an in with Nash and I’m providing it, but he’s weirdly standoffish. Instead, he seems to be glaring at me, but I shrug it off.
“I need to use the restroom,” Lara says, and my stomach bottoms out when she looks up to Lance quietly… as if… asking his permission?
No fucking way. Lara is her own person.
Bex steps toward Lara and takes her hand. “So do I. Come on, let’s go find it together.”
Lance’s eyes narrow as Lara pulls away from him and we all watch as she follows Bex through the crowd. I’d expect that would be a good opening for Lance to talk to Nash, but instead, he says, “If you’ll excuse me,” and then he’s off following Lara and Bex.
“Your brother isn’t the friendliest.”
I turn toward Nash, sighing. “It’s complicated.”
“Let me guess. He’s jealous of your success.”
My eyebrows rise over the conviction in that statement. “Yeah… how’d you know?”
“Only a lucky guess, but it’s usually the cause of strife in most sibling relationships.”
“He races too but never could make it out of FI3.” In fact, he was tossed out just as my star was rising in FI3 and he’s never forgiven me for it.
“But he came here to support you?”
I can’t help but snort. “He’s here to make contacts. Thinking he can talk his way onto a team, but honestly… he’s washed up and has a bad reputation for being too inconsistent to take a chance on.”
“His fiancée seems nice, though,” Nash says lightly.
“Yeah… Lara’s the best. The three of us grew up together in Torquay, been surfing since we learned to walk. Lara’s quite good. Better than me and Lance.” I glance toward the bathrooms but can’t see my brother. Not wanting to talk about him anymore, I ask Nash, “So, how does it feel to be back in Formula, and do you miss Indy?”
Nash is the hottest topic in racing these days. After walking away from a fiery crash a handful of years ago, he never came back to Formula racing, instead making a career in Indy. However, the new Titans Racing owner, Brienne Norcross, apparently swooped him up in a deal that has him back in the big leagues.
“I don’t miss it at all, but I guess I could ask you the same… do you miss rally?”
I grin at the question, but I don’t answer right away.
Do I miss rally? Yeah. Parts of it. The chaos. The grit. The way your heartbeat syncs with the hum of tires ripping over gravel, not knowing what’s around the next bend until you’re already halfway through it.
But my path here wasn’t exactly typical.
I started in karting like everyone else—small circuits, bigger dreams. But instead of jumping straight into open-wheel like most of the guys on this grid, I veered sideways.
Literally.
Took a sharp left into rally. Dirt tracks. Forest stages. Mud. Breakneck speeds. I spent years in it—earning every inch with nothing but instinct and a white-knuckled grip on the wheel.
It made me fearless. Maybe reckless.
Eventually, someone noticed. I was twenty-one when I got my first shot in FI3. From there, it was a grind—FI2, then finally here. Formula International.
“Nah, mate. I cherish those experiences, but I don’t miss it at all. This is where I’m supposed to be.”
“That’s how I feel too,” Nash muses.
Bex appears out of nowhere and throws her thumb over her shoulder. “Reid… your brother said they were going back to their hotel and he’d catch you sometime tomorrow.”
“No worries.” I don’t know why the thought of him and Lara leaving abruptly bothers me so much, but it does. I’m uneasy, but I try to slough it off. I wonder if I can catch up with them, make sure she’s okay.
I clap Nash on the shoulder, tell a little white lie. “I see someone I need to talk to. It was great catching up with you.” I then turn to Bex and kiss her knuckles, giving her a playful wink. “Bex… it was an absolute pleasure to meet you, and I hope I’ll be seeing you around.”
I move through the crowd, eyes peeled for my brother and Lara. I don’t know why I’m doing this. Lara hasn’t been a part of my life for a long time and while I’ve seen her here and there over the years on the few occasions I’ve been home to visit, I haven’t been overly drawn to her.
But something about tonight claws at me. There’s something off and I’m worried.
And the truth settles like a stone in my chest—I’ve never stopped wanting her or caring about her.
And seeing her belong to Lance…
That might just be the most unbearable thing yet.
