Until my Last Breath

55

Barcelona, spain

The weeks pass in a blur, a steady rhythm of training, stolen moments, and an unspoken understanding that whatever is happening between us is real. Solid.

Gavi and I have slipped into something that feels natural-too natural. It's in the way he texts me good morning before his training sessions and calls me every night just to talk about nothing. It's in the way I find myself waiting for his messages, in the way I watch every match, the way I always feel better when he's around.

And somehow, without even realizing it, we've become part of each other's lives in a way that feels impossible to undo.

But even with all of this, with how good things are between us, there's something else weighing on me.

Something I can't outrun-not even on the track.

The Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya is nearly empty, the grandstands eerily silent as I push my car through another lap. The roar of the engine drowns out my thoughts, the sheer speed forcing me to focus on the present. My grip on the steering wheel tightens as I take a corner, hitting the apex just right, the car responding smoothly beneath me.

"Good exit," Gary's voice crackles through the radio, steady and familiar. "You're shaving off time sector by sector."

I barely acknowledge him, my eyes locked on the next turn, my mind split between the drive and the uncertainty lingering at the back of it.

No contract.

Only one seat left.

The season starts in 2 weeks

I inhale sharply, pressing harder on the accelerator as if I can escape the weight of those thoughts.

I should have signed something by now. I should have something lined up. But instead, I'm here, running laps without a guarantee that I'll even be on the grid this season.

It's suffocating. The waiting, the uncertainty, the fear that I've come this far only to be left standing on the sidelines.

"Box this lap," Gary's voice cuts in again. "Let's go over the data."

I exhale slowly, trying to push my frustration down as I ease off the throttle and head for the pit lane.

The moment I step out of the car, I yank my helmet off, running a hand through my hair as I glance toward Gary. He watches me carefully, probably noticing the tension in my posture.

"You good?" he asks, handing me a bottle of water.

I nod, even though I'm not. Even though I feel like I'm racing against a clock that's running out faster than I can catch up.

-
After the long morning at the track, I finally make it back home, exhaustion settling into my bones. The ache in my muscles is familiar, comforting in a way, but my mind refuses to settle. Even as I move through the motions-showering, changing into something comfortable, fixing myself a quick lunch-the weight of uncertainty still lingers.

I poke at my food, my appetite dulled by the gnawing thoughts circling in my head. The single empty seat left on the grid. The dwindling time. The possibility that after everything, I might not have a place at all.

I shake my head, forcing myself to eat at least half of my meal before pushing the plate away. I need to stop overthinking.

I reach for my phone, planning to distract myself with something-anything-when a message pops up at the top of my screen.

Gavi: Come outside.

I blink at the text, my brows knitting together. What?

Me: Outside where?