Page 9 of Until The Lights Go Out

Angel and Aaron started talking with her, and I leaned over to my brother, lacing every whispered word with anger. “Did you know about this?”

“The PitSpark strategic analyst thing? Obviously,” he laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. “As for who it was, I kinda skimmed that part. PitSpark did all the hiring and whatnot, we just ya know…” I glared again. “…signed off on it,” he finished.

“We?” I seethed.

“Yeah, well, we both signed it, buddy.”

“Your literal job is to check these things for me,” I snapped, my voice slightly rising. Three pairs of eyes landed on me, and I laid on a thick fake smile. “Thank you brother, what would I do without you?”

“Alright so what does this look like for the team? How are we splitting media time with you for one-on-one interviews of the Kaz drivers?” my brother redirected toward the rest of the group.

“Hey, sorry I’m late!” someone shouted, pushing the door open clumsily and almost spilling the tray of coffees in his hand.

“Who are you?” I asked, trying not to roll my eyes and lose my damn mind at the absolute disorganization of this entire thing. I hated media, and now I needed to do extra. Which, sure, PitSpark was a huge sponsor for Kaz, the largest of any of them behind Kaz Energy, but fuck more dumb videos and interviews. I was here to race. I needed to focus, and not only did this derail my whole ‘doing as little media as I could’ thing, but I was also now in the presence of someone who occupied every corner of my thoughts. Now I was going to see her. Every single weekend. Before races. After races. This was a damn mess.

“I’m Evan! Hi! Sorry!”

“Here, let me take this,” Maisey offered kindly, taking the coffee tray from his hand so the impending fall of the briefcase on his shoulder didn’t splash the presumably hot caffeine over all of us. “We should sit,” she said, placing the coffees on a nearby table and beckoning us over.

We all moved to sit around the table after Angel smiled and excused herself. My brother sat himself right next to Maisey, and I was left with the seat across from her. Perfect, now I could just stare at the wall behind her.

Evan took a deep breath, looking like he was resetting himself, then sat up straight and held out a hand to me. “Good to meet you. I’m Evan, your new point of contact for PitSpark. I will be on track for this season, helping with our media team and facilitating this new platform, which will include a weekly interview and other casual-style vlogs through the eyes of Ms. Andrews here!”

“What the hell is a vlog?” I asked before I could stop myself. Maisey choked on the coffee Evan had handed her.

“You don’t know what a vlog is?”

“He’s not huge into technology. Intentionally analog, the people say, but he’s just technologically challenged,” Sebastian added, much to my dismay.

“I am not technically challenged,” I said, more annoyance filtering into my voice. I crossed my arms and leaned back into the chair with a distinct effort not to grunt or roll my eyes.

“Well, that’s why this is going to be great!” Evan interjected.

I could feel Maisey’s eyes on me, but I was very deeply focused on the texture of the wallpaper on the wall behind her. Really rather intricately done, I wondered if it was a local artist or⁠—

“Because you’re practically a ghost online, this is going to be a huge draw! A personal perspective race by race with the one and only Theo Bauer!” Evan’s hands were in the air by the end of his explanation, like it was the end of a grand show. I, yet again, repressed the need to groan.

“I don’t need to make any of those dumb accounts, do I?” I asked, directing my question at Evan, feeling the pinprick of her attention again. This time, however, he didn’t answer and instead looked to her, as if having some silent communication.

“Well actually, I was thinking you should make one, but you don’t have to do anything but be tagged as a shared account on the videos. We think that’ll create a lot of buzz and could make this new platform that PitSpark is launching have a big impact,” she explained quietly at first, but her voice gained confidence.

“The hope is that Paddock Report will be able to broaden its horizons with other drivers. Starting with someone so chronically offline will bring in not only the Formula One fans but also the Theo fans. People like to feel like they know the drivers, so any insight into their personal life is a big draw for fans,” Evan continued. Maisey cleared her throat, bringing my attention back to her and making me realize that I was glaring. I quickly tried to soften my features. I was a race car driver. I trained day in and day out to drive faster, to have faster reflexes, to withstand insane physical limits racing in a car rain or shine or even extreme heat. I did the media that was required by the team, but just the bare minimum. I didn’t have my own online presence because it was all useless to me. None of that would make me a better driver or help win titles. I didn’t particularly care what anyone thought of me. Sure, I was thankful for the fans; people cheering your name when you walk up to your job is pretty fucking cool. But why did I need to post online to please the masses?

“Only, of course, what you’re comfortable with. Share as little as you want about your personal life.” Maisey spoke up again, and her hand came up to her hair, playing with the ends of her long ponytail. My stomach dropped as my eyes scanned the motion and found the blooming of burn scars scattered across her hand and up her wrist. Regret and pain bloomed behind my own eyes. I’ll never forget seeing the crash on the replays after we got back to the paddock. I’ll never forget the day that changed the course of the rest of my life. Her eyes snapped up, and she pulled her hand down to her lap, fidgeting in her seat and tugging her sweater down to cover half of her hand. I averted my gaze, instead catching my brother’s, who was obviously looking at me with ‘Would you fucking be cooperative?’ eyes.

“Of course, of course. This is not a gossip column, we are here to report on drivers, the mindset, the training, the strategy, pre- and post-race interviews and such,” Evan assured me, as if it was supposed to be a good thing. I didn’t like my personal life being public, one of the main reasons I stayed far away from socials. But PitSpark wanted in on my life, wanted the fans to see a new side of me, which meant Maisey would be weaving back into my life. I didn’t know what to do with that information, let alone how to process it.

Details of the new segment were explained: how we would have a camera man and a small production team for the formal interviews, but others would be more of a one-on-one content in this so-called vlog style, which was just “video journals,” according to Sebastian. Evan was still talking, his voice animated as he flipped through a stack of neatly printed pages. He was explaining something about engagement numbers, audience demographics, and PitSpark’s goal to “humanize the drivers” this season. His hands moved enthusiastically as he spoke, occasionally gesturing toward the mock-up graphics spread across the table. I heard almost none of it. Because sitting across from me was the girl I hadn’t seen in ten years.

And somehow…she looked exactly the same.

Different, obviously. Older. The softness of childhood had sharpened into something more deliberate now, her features more defined, her posture more self-assured. But beneath all of that, there was still something unmistakably familiar about her.

Still her.

Still Maisey.

The same bows she used to wear tucked beneath her helmet when we were kids. I used to tease her about them constantly. She’d insisted they were lucky. I swallowed hard and forced myself to breathe normally. Her fingers curled around a coffee cup resting on the table, her nails painted a soft, glossy pink. When she shifted slightly in her chair, a stack of thin braided bracelets slid down her wrist.