Windsor knows how to throw a party.

        An older man stands guard, checking off the names of everyone entering the party. Once he confirms we're on the list, a familiar man who entered earlier waits for us. With the dark and turbulent atmosphere, I don't recognize him until we're inside.

        He extends his hand. "We missed each other at the race. I'm Rix."

        Jun shakes it. "Hey! Jun. And this is—"

        "Don't worry, I know who you are," he interrupts with a laugh. "The whole grid was buzzing about you. And one of the Hemsworth brothers but I can never tell them apart."

        "One is the god of thunder," says Seira. "The others are....not."

        "You're a driver for Ventura, right?"

        "Yes, but I'm old friends of Windsor," he laughs, ushering further into the party. "Thought I'd pay them a visit before my team cracks down on us for the final races."

        Waves of triumph and euphoria wash over us. Neon lights ricochet off chrome decor, hurling streams of silver through the air like the inside of a disco ball. The music feels like it's playing within us, and I find myself swaying to the beat as we walk over to an empty table.

        Rix holds his hand up and a server comes to take our drink orders.

        "Do all of you leave tomorrow?" I ask.

        He rests his elbows on the table. "Most of us. We have another race next weekend. But at least it isn't a triple header. Those are rough."

        "I can imagine."

        Musicians know a thing about timing. Exhibit A: Team Principal Geoff walks up to the stage seconds after we sit down.

        The spotlight shifts to him as he clears his throat, snatching everyone's attention away from their conversations. In an instant, the group erupts into a roar of applause, and he humbly waves at everyone with a smile.

        "Hey, Team. Just want to thank all of you for showing up tonight. This year has been full of surprises and hardships, but we've worked through it together and that hard work is paying off. If next week goes well, we have a good chance of securing the Constructors' Championship!"

        Brendon is nowhere to be found.

        "We wanted to throw something special for this weekend, regardless of the race results, because we all missed the Melbourne race last year. And as one of the newest members of our team, we wanted to celebrate Bash's home race in style. Speaking of, where is our Grand Prix winner?"

        Brendon shoots out from behind a group of people on the opposite end of the club, and he walks up to the stage, waving his hand in the air.

        Geoff wraps one arm around his shoulder, showing him off like he's the gold sculpture sitting behind them on a table.

        "In his first year at Windsor, Bash has made us all so proud, pushing through a rough start to the year and ending up P1 at his home race. The first for any Aussie driver. I think that deserves another round of applause, don't you?"

        Rix whoops and hollers, pumping his fist in the air and, somehow, draws Brendon's attention, his eyes locking on all of us amid an adoring crowd.

        Brendon leans over to speak into the microphone. "And we can't forget about Idris. As one of my biggest inspirations growing up, I owe all of it to him."

        Following suit, Idris carves through the crowd and up the stage for a photo. No battle of egos or fighting to steal the spotlight. Even if I haven't heard much about their relationship, it's clear they respect each other.

        Geoff wraps up the speech after everyone has snapped their pictures, and Brendon cuts across the room to us.

        My drink ends up in front of me during the speeches, and before I glance down to take a sip, I spot a flash of a figure moving across the room, his dark eyes connecting with mine for a brief moment.

        Deja vu, maybe. It's hard to tell under these lights if I'm just imagining things.

        "What are you drinking?" Brendon asks, leaning over my shoulder to peek inside the glass.

        "Midori sour." I lift it to his lips and he takes a sip from the rim, pushing the straw off to the side. "Like a green apple Jolly Rancher."

        "I don't think I've ever had one of those in my life."

"What?"

        "Sorry." He shrugs with a guilty smile. I order another Midori sour for him.

        "There's our race winner," Rami says, walking around the table to give him a high five. "You looked good up there."

        "Thanks." Brendon returns the hug. His eyes flash over me for a second before looking at the rest of the band. "Glad you guys could make it."

        "We will never pass up free booze." Jun takes a sip of his beer.

        "Open bar. Help yourselves."

"Do you just leave that out in the open?" I ask, pointing at the trophies.

        He laughs and steps closer between Rix and me. "Don't worry. Security has their eyes on those."

        Rix adds, "Windsor's trophy display is overflowing. They could use a little help letting some of it go."

        Brendon shoves his elbow into Rix's side. "Says the two-time world champ."

        "Two?" I look at Rix, impressed.

        "It's been ages."

        Brendon steps in. "He's being modest. He's definitely top three on the grid and has the trophies to prove it."

        They volley banter between the two of them, trying to one-up the other in a game of compliments. Even though the high body count makes it difficult to breathe, the playfulness is sweet enough that I don't roll my eyes when Rami gestures with his finger toward the smile on my face.

        "Stevie," Rix suddenly says, dragging me away from my thoughts. "Did you know Windsor's favorite party tradition is karaoke?"

        "I see where you're going and it's a no."

        Brendon replies, "Oh, come on. You gotta."

        "Fine. I've reconsidered and change my response to hell no. First of all, my voice is my career," I point out. "You want me to sing, you gotta pay me. Second, nobody actually likes having a professional sing karaoke. It just looks like they're showing off. Listening to people sing My Heart Will Go On with the most off-key, ear-grating sound you've ever heard is what karaoke is about."

        Rix tilts his head to the side and points at me. "I don't think that's true."

        "It is. Trust me. A good singer who isn't a professional is the best you'll get. Anything more than that is boring."

        "Fine." Brendon makes a show of pulling out his wallet. Noticing he almost stumbles over in the process, I realize he's already drunk. "How much to get you to sing tonight?"

        I pretend to mull it over. "For a small fee of a million dollars, I'm all yours, baby."

        Brendon lowers his wallet.

        "You drive a hard bargain, Stevie."

        The music picks up again and since the server hasn't come back with Brendon's drink, he moves toward the dancefloor, his fingers tugging on the end of my coat in an attempt to coax me out of my seat.

        When I don't move, he takes a step back. "Come dance. I promise we won't make you sing."

        He's running high on adrenaline from his win so I don't blame him. I'm not sure what it is, but maybe I'm just too out of my element. It's not my usual style anyway, and Brendon of all people knows that.

        Suddenly, the air around me begins to stiffen until it feels like something pressing down against my chest. I shake my head, pulling back slowly until his hands drop to his side.

        "What's wrong?" he asks with concern.

        Guilt prickles at my conscience. We've only just arrived and I don't want him to feel like he has to stay behind to help me feel better about being at this party. He deserves to celebrate his win.

        It happens every once in a while. Most of the time, I can manage a quick getaway, often finding myself alone at a party with the man trying to convince me to leave my safety net. But being a staunch introvert in a band full of extroverts can be a difficult minefield to navigate. They don't pressure me to be present when I'd rather be a wallflower, but it's hard not to feel like I'm some sort of burden.

        I push him away with a playful shove. "Nothing. I'll come out later after I finish my drink."

        "You're not telling me something."

        "I'm taking advantage of this open bar."

        He doesn't look convinced. "You're sure?"

        "Yeah," I nod again. "You can show me that shiny trophy after and I'll even pretend like I'm one of your groupies."

        "I don't have groupies."

        "Really? But you're such a catch."

        "Now you're just teasing me."

        "It's what I do best."

        Before he can push for details, Rix comes and grabs him by the shoulders, shoving him into the sea of people until the current pulls him beyond our lonesome shore.

        I switch seats for the one Rix previously occupied, sliding my drink across the glossy tabletop. I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes for a brief moment to help wash away some of the anxiety building up. A spot on my wrist begins to itch and I pull up my sleeve to scratch at it.

        A chair scrapes across the ground, the grating sound muted by our loud surroundings. I peek my eyes open to see Rami lowering himself onto a stool. He rests his bottle of water on top of one knee.

        "Can I be honest? I hate parties."

        I turn to him without a shred of shock. "You? Not a fan of being surrounded by a bunch of inebriated people who can't stop shouting about wanting to eat chicken wings and cheese straight out of a can?"

        "That's oddly specific."

        "We don't always surround ourselves with the best crowd." Our current backdrop is better than most. "At least Windsor is more tasteful than the rest."

        "Rough night?"

        I shrug. "I don't know. Long day."

        "You seemed fine earlier."

        "You know how it is." I lean against his shoulder, welcoming his warmth. It's familiar, unlike the rest of the world. "I just need a rest."

        "I doubt you'll find any of that here."

        "A girl can dream," I reply with a stiff laugh. "But thanks for hanging back."

        "I'd love to take all the credit but I'm also just not in the mood to dance."

        "I'll give you it anyway."

...

I turn around, catching Bruno Tetuanui's eye before he drops beside me.

        He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a red pack of Marlboros, holding it out to me. After shaking my head, he slides a cigarette out for himself.

        I fight the urge to cough when he blows out a stream of smoke the wind carries into my face. It appears I wasn't suffering from some delusion earlier and Bruno was the figure I detected in the bar. "Good race."

        "Thanks. Not as good as Bash."

        "A podium finish isn't something to be torn up about." His expression reads darker than before, masked with disappointment. It's odd to see that on the face of someone holding a trophy above a screaming crowd a few hours ago. "You're a few points closer to third place in the championship, right?"

        Bruno exhales. "Not close enough. Being best of the rest is a consolation prize but it isn't winning."

        "You win some, you lose some."

        "The longer it's been since your last win, the harder it is to get yourself motivated to win the next," he replies. "I know disappointment is supposed to drive you to work harder but I think that's a romanticized way of looking at life."

        "When was your last win?"

        "Last season."

        I nearly roll my eyes. "So it hasn't been that long."

        "You're only as good as your last race." Bruno casts me aside, staring out at the night.

        "Did your team kick you out of your own party?" I ask, matching his snark. "Since you only managed to drag in a third-place trophy. Chump change."

        A smile tugs at his lips, but his pride keeps him from letting it reach its full potential. "Company parties aren't as fun as you think they might be. Thought I'd get away for a bit."

        "You made a great choice in going to someone else's company party then."

        He pauses to tap on his cigarette and I watch as the ashes float off into the wind. "We're all a little gluttonous for inflicting our own worst pains."

        "I don't know." I shrug, stretching out some of the tense muscles. "I try not to surround myself with people that don't bring me joy."

        "Must be hard to do when you're a celebrity."

        I tap two fingers against my temple. "The less you think of yourself as a celebrity, the easier it is to not get sucked into all of it."

        Bruno looks pointedly down at the Windsor-branded napkin in my hand from when I snagged a snack before heading outside. "But you take advantage of the good that comes with being a celebrity."

         "It comes with all of the success our band has gotten thanks to our hard work," I reply with ease. "But regardless, just because you're thrust into the spotlight doesn't mean you need to be okay with third-degree burns."

         "I think this conversation is veering off track from where we started."

        I cast him a side glance. "You're the one that sat down next to me."

        "You seemed like you wanted company."

       "Quite the opposite. Being around too many people for too long makes me nauseous, but you're not the worst company I've ever kept."

        "And who holds that prestigious honor?"

        I tap a finger against my lips shut tight. "Let's not speak his name here."

"Don't tell me it's Bash."

Despite the intrusion on my moment of isolation, I find myself laughing. I'm not sure his outlook on life is compatible with mine—case in point his views on disappointment for not achieving certain accomplishments, though I understand where he's coming from—but sometimes being around people who don't see life the same way I do makes all of it more engaging. I'm not sure what compelled him to join me outside, but I'll accept his company for a little while longer if it means not feeling like I'm drowning by myself out here.

        "You wish."