Downforce (Pit Lane Series Book 1), page 1
DOWNFORCE
PIT LANE SERIES
BOOK 1
HANNAH LILY
Copyright © 2024 by Hannah Lily
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters and events in this book are fictious and any similarity to real persons, dead or alive, is purely coincidental.
CONTENT WARNINGS
This book contains topics such as death of a parent (off-page, past event), dealing with grief, sexism and unpleasant comments towards women, implied eating disorder in a side character, low self esteem, sexual content (consensual), explicit language and alcohol use. This book is intended for an 18+ audience.
Edited by Caitlin Lengerich.
Cover illustration by Maggies Art.
ISBN: 978-1-7385259-0-4 (paperback)
To everyone who told themselves they couldn’t do it.
You can.
CONTENTS
1. Jonah | Monaco
2. Olivia | Monaco
3. Jonah | Monaco
4. Olivia | Barcelona
5. Jonah | Barcelona
6. Jonah | Barcelona
7. Olivia | Barcelona
8. Olivia | Montreal
9. Olivia | Montreal
10. Jonah | Montreal
11. Jonah | Montreal
12. Olivia | Northamptonshire
13. Jonah | Northamptonshire
14. Olivia | London
15. Jonah | Hungary
16. Olivia | Hungary
17. Jonah | Hungary
18. Jonah | Hungary
19. Olivia | Hungary
20. Jonah | Hungary to Zagreb
21. Olivia | Zagreb
22. Jonah | Zagreb
23. Olivia | Zagreb
24. Jonah | Zagreb to Pula
25. Olivia | Pula
26. Jonah | Pula
27. Olivia | Pula to Venice
28. Jonah | Venice
29. Olivia | Venice
30. Jonah | Venice
31. Olivia | Verona
32. Jonah | Verona to Nice to Monaco
33. Olivia | London
34. Olivia | London
35. Olivia | London
36. Jonah | London
37. Olivia | Belgium
38. Jonah | Belgium
39. Olivia | Monza
40. Olivia | New York
41. Olivia | Texas
42. Jonah | Texas
43. Olivia | Texas
44. Olivia | Texas
45. Jonah | Texas
46. Jonah | Mexico
47. Jonah | Mexico
48. Jonah | Mexico
49. Olivia | Abu Dhabi
50. Jonah | Abu Dhabi
51. Olivia | Abu Dhabi
52. Jonah | Abu Dhabi
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
CHAPTER 1
JONAH | MONACO
“Where the fuck is he?” I yelled as I stormed into Durand hospitality—fists clenched as if the nails digging into my palms were the only thing grounding me.
I was angry.
Fuck, I was beyond angry.
I was one lap away from taking my first win in three races, and that fucking prick ran me into a wall. Overtaking in Monaco is nearly impossible, and you certainly don’t do it on the hairpin, but Charlie fucking Moore seemed to think the laws of physics didn’t apply to him.
Charlie had joined the team this year and him claiming his first race win in three years, at Monaco of all places, was a painful reminder that not only did I have to focus on proving I was worthy of the Scott name, but also that I was still worthy of my Durand seat.
Durand hadn’t thought twice about dropping Mateo Moreno after two years without a trip to the top step of the podium. I’d proved that I could get to the top step, with a healthy number of podiums under my belt, but another year without a championship could end with me packing up and moving on, failing to join my dad and grandpa as Durand heroes.
I’d thought Charlie was an odd signing, replacing one driver in a winning drought with another, but Tom had claimed Charlie had potential that his old team hadn’t managed to unlock so everyone was expecting this year to be different. A new team, a new car, a new challenge. He wasn’t going to sit back and make it easy for me, that much I knew.
It was a big year for both of us, he wanted to prove he was worth the chance, and I was out of a contract at the end of the season. Tom Kitchi, the Durand team principal had made it clear that if I wanted to stay, the championship was vital.
Because what’s a little more pressure?
“Jonah, you better cool off before you come in here with that shit.” Tom didn’t even bother looking up from his phone as he barked the order at me, and that only made my blood boil even more.
“He pushed me into a wall and fucked up my race. He ruined a 1-2 for the team today, and that’s all you have to say?”
He locked his phone, placed it on the table and finally gave me the courtesy of looking at me—his eyes meeting mine. “Last time I checked, this was hospitality, where the nice folks of Durand are trying to unwind after a long weekend. If you want to be a baby and throw a tantrum, that’s fine, but you can wait until the debrief. Now go and get changed because you’ve got interviews to do.”
We were stuck in a stare-off for a few moments, him acting unbothered, while I stood, grinding my teeth as my nostrils flared, before I turned on my heel and headed back out the door.
“Oh, and Jonah?” Tom started. I stopped, turning my head slightly to indicate I was listening to him. “Make the team look bad, and you’ll have me to answer to.”
I tightened my fists by my side, pretty sure I was drawing blood at this point, but it was all I could do to keep me from punching Tom square in the face.
Tom took over as team principal at the start of my second season, and at first, he seemed like the change the team needed. He was supportive, listened to our thoughts, and made decisions we thought would propel us forward. But as time went on, his true colours started to show, and he slowly revealed what a jerk he was.
And I was at the end of my tether with his shit.
My eyes fell to The Formula Way coverage playing on the TV when I heard Olivia Fraser’s voice through the speakers. I missed the question she was asked but knew she was talking about me.
“The way his luck changes is so unfortunate. You know, he was so on form for the first four races—everything went perfectly for him and the team, and his driving was on point. But we can see the mistakes creeping in now, same as we have done for his previous seasons in Formula 1.” She opened her mouth to carry on speaking, but Oliver Jones, the prick of all pricks, cut her off.
“He just can’t handle the pressure. We’ve seen it four years in a row now. He starts off strong, and everyone is pulled into the false hope that Durand is back on top, and then the fifth race rolls around, and he drops the ball.”
“I don’t think that’s fair to say—” Olivia started before she was cut off again by Oliver rambling on about how it wasn’t fair I had a seat in the sport just because of my name.
The Formula Way had been a pain in my ass since the day I signed for Durand Racing four years ago. Every article, interview, and question they asked felt like a personal attack. They were the first to point out how I’d never be able to do what my dad and grandpa had done. And being in my fourth season of Formula 1, without a world championship, part of me was starting to believe them.
The pressure was a lot, and even though I wasn’t a stranger to the podium, it wasn’t enough—according to the media.
According to everyone.
The expectation as a Scott was huge. William Scott, my grandpa, had won his first world championship in his rookie season—the first of his five titles. Freddie Scott, my dad, also won his first world championship in his rookie year—the first of his seven titles. So me, not having a single world championship title four years in was unacceptable.
My two idols had never told me as much—they always said they were proud of me, that I was doing an exceptional job and that my time would come eventually. But I’d seen a shift in their body language, and how long they lingered at races and what they answered when people asked them about me. When they were asked the same questions I asked myself every time I got in the car. Especially my dad.
“Is he good enough to do what you did?”
“Is he worthy of that seat?”
“Does he have what it takes to do it?”
“Is he reliable enough?”
“Is he consistent enough?”
“Is he actually a Scott? Are we sure he’s not the milkman’s?”
The confidence in their answers had wavered over the years, especially where my dad was concerned. His fuse had grown pretty short, and he hardly entertained the press these days. He turned up to the track whenever he could, watched my sessions, congratulated or consoled me—depending on the outcome—and then went home.
“You’re staring again.” I could hear the smirk in my sister, Emily’s, voice as she bumped her shoulder against mine. “I can’t tell if that’s a glare or if you’re imagining doing very inappropriate things to her.”
“Fuck off, Em. I don’t know why you have t
“Please, if the way you look at her wasn’t a giveaway enough, the way you stalk her Instagram is.”
“I—” I started to protest, but when I looked down at Em and spotted her raised brows and smirking lips, I knew there was no point. I’d never admit it out loud, but I’d spent far too much time stalking Olivia Fraser online.
Objectively speaking, she was beautiful. I wasn’t blind or stupid enough to argue otherwise. Everything about her was captivating, from her chocolate brown hair that hung just above her perfectly round ass, to her deep brown eyes that felt as though they could stare right into your soul. I was willing to bet that if I spent enough time staring into them, I’d find myself under her spell, and, in another universe, I’d already be on my knees for her.
But in this one, I’d never let that happen.
She was also incredibly knowledgeable and good at her job, but she was one of them, and she wouldn’t hesitate to hang me out to dry for a good story.
“I think if Jonah Scott doesn’t claim his first world championship this year, it’s game over for him.” Oliver’s voice sounded over the speakers. I snatched the remote off the table and clicked the TV off, ignoring the sympathetic eyes that glanced over me.
“Ignore them, they know nothing,” Em uttered softly. “You’re doing great.”
“Yeah, tell that to the fucked-up car in my garage.” I groaned just as Kelly wandered into the room, meaning it was time to face the music. “Are you sticking around for the evening? Or heading back?” I asked my sister as I walked across the room to where Kelly stood. I stopped moving as Em shook her head.
“Dad wants to get a jump on the airport chaos so we’re heading out now. Just came to say goodbye.”
I scoffed a laugh, the words hitting me like a punch in the face.
“Of course he does. Let me guess, he told you to say goodbye for him, too?”
“It’s nothing personal, Joey. You know what he’s like with the crowds.”
“Mhmm. I’ve got to get to the media pen. I’ll see you next week,” I said as I weaved through the hospitality building, smiling and thanking those I passed by as they offered their condolences. That was the worst part about fucking up a race—seeing the genuine disappointment on the faces of the Durand team members. I’d grown up around this team, and some of the guys who worked here when my dad was on the team still worked here today.
When I signed for the team, there were huge celebrations. Another Scott to put the team back on top. When in reality, I was only capable of dragging them further down the standings. Despite that, they all still placed their belief in me as they offered excuses for what had happened and promised it would be my race next time. It was hard to shake the thought that their belief was misplaced in me.
“Please don’t do anything stupid, Jonah. Please.” Kelly’s quiet voice filled my ear. I could hear the pleading in it, but I almost didn’t care.
Kelly had worked for Durand for fifteen years but was promoted to head of PR the same year I joined the team. Back then, she’d done nothing but sing my praises and told everyone I was a PR dream to work with because I did, and said, all the right things. But after years of having the wrong things done, and said to me, it was hard to be that guy anymore.
“What’s the fine if we don’t do media?” I asked.
“Jonah, it was one bad race. You’re not going to hide away after one bad race. What kind of message does that send?”
I levelled her with a stare. We both knew it wasn’t one bad race. It was one race too many where a podium had been snatched out of my reach, so I was willing to bet skipping media would send a better message than the one I’m about to.
CHAPTER 2
OLIVIA | MONACO
“Olivia, what on earth are you still doing here?” Claire's voice filled the dark room I was sitting in, making me jump.
“Jesus, Claire. You know not to sneak up on me!” I snapped as I rubbed a hand over my racing heart.
“I didn't even know you were in here so how could I have snuck up on you?” She laughed, walking into the room and taking the seat opposite me. “Don't think I didn't notice you changing the subject either. What are you still doing here?”
“I was just getting a head start on my editing so I can focus on doing my research for next weekend.”
“Don't bullshit me, Liv. You forget I've known you since you were born, so I know you wouldn't leave that research until the last minute.” Working with your godmother had many perks, but her knowing you better than most people wasn't one of them.
Claire was one of my dad's best friends—she'd been my idol since I was old enough to know what the word meant. A badass woman among the men talking about Formula 1 on TV? I wanted to do that.
I'd spent every summer since I was sixteen interning at The Formula Way alongside her. She offered me a junior sports journalist role when I graduated from the University of East London with my BA (Hons) in Sports Journalism. After six years of working at the bottom, I was finally living out the dream Dad and I had spent years imagining, and he wasn't even here to see me do it.
My dad had loved the sport more than anything—my mum and I aside—and he raised me as a hardcore fan. Sundays in the Fraser household were always dedicated to Formula 1. If it wasn't a race weekend, Dad would put old races on the TV and teach me everything he knew about the sport. What became our weekly ritual also armed me with all the knowledge to fight shitty men who tried to intimidate me out of the sport.
There wasn't a feeling that came close to what I felt watching those cars out on track. The way my heart gradually beat faster as I waited for the red lights to go out. The way I held my breath until everyone had made it past the first corner. The way I lost my voice screaming for my favourite driver, rooting for my favourite team. Then watching them cross the line and take to the podium. It was a little bit of magic slotted into a Sunday.
“Liv, you know he'd be proud of you, right?” Claire asked, her voice quiet as though she knew she'd tip me over the edge if she'd said it any louder.
I nodded, worried that the lump in my throat would turn into a breakdown if I spoke. Part of me knew Dad would be so incredibly proud of me. I could picture him watching the coverage in the pub and telling anyone who'd listen: “That's my little girl, that is, look at her go!”
The other part of me knew it was my fault he wasn't here to live out this dream with me, and I didn't know what to do with that information.
The sound of my laptop slamming shut jarred me out of my thoughts. “Hey, I wasn't fini—”
“Yes, you are. We are in Monaco. The most glamorous Grand Prix on the calendar has just finished, and everyone and their dog is out celebrating. I will not let you hide away in here. You can finish editing on the way to Spain, but right now, we're heading back to the hotel, getting ready, and going out.”
“I don't have anything to wear.”
“Wrong again. Your mum and I went shopping for you before we flew out,” she said with a nod, letting me know her word was final. Before I had a chance to protest any more, she'd shoved my laptop into my bag and threw it over her shoulder before making her way out of the media centre, leaving me no choice but to follow her.
An hour later, I was standing in front of my hotel bathroom mirror, staring at the way the tight black dress clung to my body in all the right places. My hair hung in loose curls down my back as the red lipstick tied the whole look together.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd gotten this dressed up.
“Ready to go, Liv?” Claire asked as she wandered into the bathroom, a pleased smile overtaking her face when she looked over me. “I knew the black was better than the sequins. Here, let me take a photo,” she started, pulling her phone out of her clutch. “I need to say 'I told you so' to your mum.” I shook my head with a laugh, turning to face her so she could snap her photo.
“C'mon, before I change my mind.” I walked back into my hotel room and grabbed my clutch off the dresser on my way to the door, with Claire following behind me.
“She says you'll be fighting them all off with a stick.”
