BREAKING NEWS

In a shocking turn of events and rocking the world of motorsports in the process, Idris Johnson has announced his retirement from Formula One at the end of the 2022 season.

After helping build Windsor Formula One Racing from the ground up, he's helped lead the team to a record-breaking eight consecutive constructors' championships, which includes six of his (also record-breaking) seven drivers' championships. That's not to mention the hard work he's don't off-track to help improve the sport, including being an outspoken advocate for inclusivity within the grid, paddocks, and upper-management. As the first Black driver the sport has ever seen, he's largely credited for the push to see a more diverse grid, as well as work on opportunities throughout all of motorsport that will allow those from marginalized backgrounds to receive more support while coming up in the ranks. Johnson is also a vocal LGBTQIA+ ally who uses his platform to call attention to the many issues the community faces.

Before he takes his final bow, Johnson hopes to secure another win for himself as well as the team to extend their records, and by the way the season has been going, it's looking pretty good.

Although, teammate Brendon Ellis has only been a handful of points behind and has been showing an overall better pace as the season progresses. Even if Johnson isn't able to obtain that coveted drivers' championship, he'll still leave behind a legacy with a lasting impact on the entire sport.

That begs the question: who will take his place? It seems Windsor already has an answer for that, and it's one we've all been waiting for.

Hours after Idris Johnson's retirement was announced, Windsor also broke the news that Rix Tsui has signed with Windsor for a two-year contract, something that fans have been wanting for a long time. The fan-favorite, self-proclaimed comedian of the grid has been long-time friends of the team, and though he insists he won't be in F1 by the time he's forty, he's still got a fair few years left in him, and Windsor is looking to capitalize on his championship-winning knowledge while they can.

While this does pair Ellis up with yet another championship-winning driver while he has yet to secure a title himself, 2022 has been marked as the year that boy wonder is showing just what a powerhouse he is on the track. Title or not, he's giving guys with far more years of experience on him a run for their money, and we're interested to see where this pairing will go. The two drivers have been known to be friendly off-track, but we all know how easily those things can change when there's a championship dangling in the air.

We still have a long way to go in 2022, but things are poised to be just as exciting for 2023. Who are you rooting for? Let us know in the comments!

...

"Sucks to suck, Idris."

I toss the controller onto the carpet and grab the bag of chips on my side while the seven-time F1 world championship driver sulks at the loss. Honestly a little embarrassing on his part. Baby Mario dances on the screen while adult Mario bows his head in shame.

"I didn't even know dodging a blue shell was possible," he says of his attempt at beating me at the last minute. It was luck on my part since super horns are rare, especially since I raced my way at the front of the pack the entire race. Also, a bit of a Hail Mary on his part since, if you're far enough behind to have a blue shell in your arsenal that late in the game, you've got just about no chance of making up any time.

"You taught me well." I lift my chin proudly before popping a chip into my mouth.

Since the area in Yeongam where the Korean Grand Prix was built is still being developed, there isn't much to do around the track that's easy to get to, hence why we've been locked up inside the Windsor facilities and motorhomes. Thankfully, it's not unbearably hot this time of year, so it makes it easy to convince myself that walking across the paddock in search of food is a good waste of my time, even when I'm not particularly hungry.

If there's one thing that stands out above the most as something about our current lifestyle to appreciate, being able to travel around the world holds significance to me. For the longest time, I was convinced all I'd ever see were our islands. Even moving to Los Angeles was a huge step for me, and the first time we went overseas was an even bigger one.

Idris has been keeping me company while Brendon has been summoned by his team for a personal strategy session. It's only the first race back since the summer break, but there's a renewed urgency for the entire team, and with how close the two Windsor drivers are in the standing—the team itself has pulled far enough ahead of the pack that they're not as concerned on that front, but there still isn't any complacency in this sport because things can change at a moment's notice—there is no doubt some excitement even within the team. And this point in the season, they're a hell of a lot closer this time than they were last year, so the pressure is building.

Glancing up at the clock and seeing it's nearly eight p.m., Brendon should be back any minute so we can head back to the hotel for dinner. Most of the workdays don't last this long, or, at least, not any that I've been to, but Brendon came to the track a little later than usual so I don't complain.

"Monthakan's family said thanks for the fruit basket, by the way."

"Oh, great. Did they like it—"

"It was gone within thirty minutes."

"So, that's a yes?"

Idris nods. "A resounding one."

"God, I miss Hawaii." I lean back against the seat of the sofa since we're seated on the floor. "The longer it's been since I've been back, the less of myself that I feel." I glance to the side. "Do you ever get homesick being on the road all the time?"

Idris is one of the few American drivers from the United States, born and raised in Boston, but, from what I've seen, he doesn't spend much time back in the States anymore. I don't blame him since, aside from the 1-2 races on the calendar each year, the entire grid doesn't spend much time on that side of the globe unless it's for leisure, like Brendon choosing to spend his time off in LA. And when they've got a home as gorgeous as the one they own in Monaco, it's hard to justify going anywhere else.

Still, home is home no matter how long it's been, and the time away must weigh down on him at times.

Although, I suppose, now that it's been announced he's retiring at the end of the season, he'll be able to split his time between the two continents more easily.

"One of the things I'm looking forward to," he replies. "First thing I'm doing once the season is done is spend a month back in Boston. No plans. Just relax."

Escape Velocity still being a relatively new release means I don't have many moments to relax as of late—managing to sneak away to South Korea for the race is a rare feat and took a lot of arm-twisting for Marty and Jenny to agree—but I'm looking forward to that for Idris. After his long career, it's well deserved.

"I still have to clean up the house first but," he shrugs, "I should still have some time to unwind after that."

"Clean up?"

"Yeah, my dad's house. He passed away last year and I haven't had the time to go back and give it a proper clean." Idris steals a few chips from the bag. "Kind of one of those things you need to do with a clear mind and a lot of time, yeah?"

I nod. As larger than life as he is, I've never heard this story before. "I'm sorry. I hope it goes well."

"Oh, don't worry about it," he says with a laugh. It reminds me of the one I make whenever I talk about my dad—not quite fake, not quite real, existing somewhere in between. "My mom passed away when I was in high school so I think that helped me work through this a little easier. Didn't have him as long as I wish I could have but it was a good run. At least he was still around to see me break those records."

There's never a logical time to lose someone, as even if it happens as late as humanly possible, it still never feels like enough, but there is a universally understood very much not enough amount. It's a terribly unfortunate thing to bond with someone over, but it's one of the most significant events that forge a person's path in life, and suddenly I feel like I understand Idris a lot more.

"I lost my dad when I was young," I admit quietly. It's not like it's a secret, but I doubt he's heard about it. Vaguely, I add, in a way I know he'll understand, "Never really feels like it's enough, huh? You always want to do more for them. Maybe they'll somehow know it's all for them."

Idris smiles. "Always." Pausing, he adds, also in a way he knows I'll understand, "Trust me, they know."

After talking for a few minutes longer, we realize it's past time Brendon should be finished by now, and Idris needs to head back to his room anyway to give Monthakan a call, so I head downstairs in hopes of finding Brendon.

When one of the crew members advises that he ran out to talk to one of the other drivers for a quick minute, I venture outside, glancing up at the night sky and welcoming the cool breeze that dances past me.

My phone rings as soon as I walk in front of the Forza trailers. And it's in front of the Forza trailers that I almost drop my phone on the ground.

With a foggy brain for the past couple of weeks, I haven't had a chance to think about much outside of the band or Brendon and his upcoming races, so an upcoming date slipped right past me.

Grammys nominations have just been announced. Hence my phone going off.

I remember the exact moment I found out about our first Grammy nominations. I remember where I was, what I was wearing, who I was with, how it smelled, and how it felt. Admittedly, I'd shed quite a few tears; the memory of seeing the wet spot it left behind on Jun's shirt from where I clung to him and wept is seared in my brain.

There are a lot of things that musicians dream about growing up. That moment was one of them, and it'd felt even sweeter than any of those visions of it had felt before it came to life.

I'm a professional singer and a former band geek who still dabbles in playing other instruments during my free time. I know how to hold my breath for an impressive amount of time. Even won a few beats on it when I was a reckless teenager.

But how long I stand there without taking a single breath because it's caught in my throat is almost terrifying.

I ignore the onslaught of texts still incoming even as I read the headlines. Every time something new happens and I think my phone can't get any busier, I'm proven wrong. To avoid the headache of sifting through any of them, I click on one of the top articles instead. To my luck, though not to my poor, struggling heart, the first bullet point is what I'm looking for.

...

GRAMMY NOMINATIONS: WINNERS & LOSERS

WINNERS — MARS & ESCAPE VELOCITY

To absolutely no one's surprise, MARS has obliterated the field this year with a whopping eight nominations, the most of any act, including top honors of Album of the Year for their newest effort Escape Velocity. Since the album's release at the beginning of June, it's been holding its spot at the top of the charts and breaking records all around the world. The album debuted at the top of Billboard's Hot 200 with the biggest opening week of the year so far earning 1.89 million album-equivalent units in the US alone, 1.67M of which were pure album sales. Escape Velocity's three singles—The L feat. Maverick, Overnight Rush, and Thousand Miles—have all broken Spotify records as well, on top of the album and singles earning some of the highest critical reception that we've seen from any artist in the past decade. MARS earning this many nominations is not a surprise, but simply inevitable. At this point, we won't be surprised to see them take it all the way home with a clean sweep.

FULL LIST OF MARS GRAMMY NOMINATIONS

↳ Best Music Video—Overnight Rush

↳ Best Alternative Album—Escape Velocity

↳ Best Duo/Group performance—The L (featuring Maverick)

↳ Best Alternative performance—Thousand Miles

↳ Song of the Year—Overnight Rush

↳ Song of the Year—Run the Red

↳ Record of the Year—Overnight Rush

↳ Album of the year—Escape Velocity

For more MARS adjacent news, members Stevie and Jun, lead singer and lead guitarist respectively, also earned additional nominations for their features on Ghosts, a track by sibling duo Mick & Moxie that earned a Grammy nomination for Best Duo/Group Performance, the first nomination for the two. The L's nomination is also the first for Maverick.

...

The world of F1 orbits around me with an endless stream of crew members running around like they're gunning for fastest laps in the paddock, but I remain stationary, trying to corral my thoughts into something even remotely sensible.

Album of the Year.

I stare at those words until they blur together through the sheen of my tears. After losing out on an award the first time we were nominated, I'd told myself that winning Grammys isn't what makes someone a great artist—hell, Queen never won a competitive Grammy—and not winning one doesn't mean someone isn't great as well. They're incredibly subjective and on any given year, it's an award that can go to multiple deserving artists.

But it feels really fucking gratifying to see our hard work recognized. Whether these stay nominations or lead to something else, it doesn't matter. I'll always remember this feeling in my chest like I'm floating on cloud nine and never want to come back down.

The tears fall freely down my cheeks, and I don't bother wiping them away or caring if anyone sees them. Hell, I'll tell the entire fucking paddock if I can. Escape Velocity is an Album of the Year nominee. Take that, self-doubt.

With all of the excitement building up, I search for a release knowing I need to scream about it with someone, a friend, anyone.

My finger swipes quickly across the screen and brings up Jun's number, but just before I press call, I stop.

Temporary bliss often manifests in guilt. Flying to the Korean Grand Prix wasn't just about seeing another one of Brendon's races. Truthfully, there was some escapism involved in the decision-making, and it is at that moment that the realization sinks like an anchor to the bottom of my stomach.

It's been two weeks since I've had a real conversation with Jun or Lauren that wasn't forced because of work obligations. Part of me thought that—and this is perhaps that naive, self-serving part of me—things would blow over after a week, as quickly as the argument had started and ended. Arguments happen all of the time between friends, but most of the time, they blow over just as easily too. There's no reason why this should be any different.

Right?

But then it was.

When neither of them seemed to be on their own speaking terms, I understood they weren't going to be on good terms with me either. And as much as I wanted to say something to them, I wasn't sure exactly what I should, or if they'd be receptive to any of it. Questioning whether or not I would even be the right person to say what I want to say takes longer reflecting.

So, like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, I took off like a coward, hiding behind a different timezone. Write multiple Grammy Award-nominated songs? Sure. Form a proper apology that acknowledges where I went wrong while also trying my best to help them through their problems? Needs more time.

Lost on my own in a foreign city while desperately searching for some human connection, my brain malfunctions and turns to Twitter. Foolish on my part since nothing good comes from Twitter, but there aren't many options I can utilize at the moment. Brendon is still off somewhere I have no idea. Idris is busy as well. The people I'm closest to are halfway across the world. So there I am, pulling up that annoying bluebird app as if it's the only lifeline I have, not fully realizing how twisted that logic is. Whether it's for some validation or anything else to fill the void, I'm not sure.

It's not necessarily the worst when I first open the app. My feed and the trending topic, for once in a long time, are flooded with positivity. Fans and industry figures alike all proclaiming the excitement of this moment, as well as celebrating the achievements of the other nominees. For the short moment before it all falls apart, I'm reminded that it's not all bad. People can be nice and things can feel great.

But it's also not all good either. And while numerous congratulatory tweets fill up my timeline and more come in each time I refresh the feed, a further scan through our trending tab opens up the floodgates.

[twitter user] fucking overrated ass album. doesn't deserve any of these.

[twitter user] of course the grammys are going to award this annoying woke band. would be better off modeling for a diversity brochure. that's all they're good for.

[twitter user] careful, stevie might force us to listen to her be 'proud about her stretch marks' all over again. newsflash: being happy about being fat isn't a personality trait.

[twitter user] or hear her whine about ppl calling her out for sleeping around. not our fault ur the f1 bike. did u see her go to dinner at idris house in monaco? add homewrecker to her accolades.

[twitter user] don't forget about seira. she loves taking a ride on those f1 drivers too.

[twitter user] did any of u see those pics of stevie at the monaco race? so tired of straight girls thinking making out w another girl once makes them bi. go home to ur straight relationship u pretend isn't a thing and leave the activism to the rest of us thanx.

[twitter user] if they give you the grammy, does that mean you'll stay away from bash? he's too good for you, slut.

[twitter user] heard some of them are fighting and that's why she's in korea rn. imagine if they broke up before the ceremony LOL.

It's embarrassing how long I spend scrolling through those replies from random strangers on the internet hiding behind a screen. It shouldn't matter. They don't matter. And yet they still cut like a knife against my heart. What was once filled with excitement turns to ash, and I'm left scrambling to rise out of them.

Someone places a hand on my shoulder and I jump at the sudden touch. Bruno retracts his hand quickly, stepping back with a concerned expression on his face. While we've seen each other here and there around the different tracks, it's been a while since we've had a real conversation. Maybe having someone a little detached is better for finding me because I don't crumble under the weight of his observations. But, funnily enough, seeing each other naked gives us the minuscule amount of understanding that I don't feel like running off either and hiding behind a motor home.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

It strikes me then that it's not just Jun and Lauren or those hateful Twitter comments.

The worst realization hits like a freight train, unforgiving and without resistance: my dad will never get to see this, and I don't even know if my mom cares enough to find out herself. I have friends at home, sure. Maybe they've turned more to acquaintances at this point. People I once knew but have drifted apart from because we're all working through our own lives, trying to make it to the end of each day.

It dawns on me that all I have to remind me of home right now is in Los Angeles. And I can't get myself to call them right now. Not even willing to risk throwing out the lifeline and waiting for them to catch it. Here I am, succumbing to those negative thoughts running amok in my brain, floating off into the pull of the riptide.

My throat constricts enough that it feels like it's going to close completely. I can visualize the words crawling up my throat in angry black lines, spilling out onto the gravel beneath my feet before dispersing into the cracks in the earth. I feel Bruno's eyes on me the entire time while I try my best to breathe, but each attempt comes out more jagged than the last, and I find myself reaching out for something to grab onto, almost falling over when I remember I'm standing in the middle of a walkway.

"H-Have you seen Brendon?"

"Uh, I think I saw him talking to Brooks earlier but they were on the other side of the track. Do you need help getting somewhere? You look a little—"

If he says something else, it misses me. I'm sure he understands it's nothing personal.

Panic flares up inside me at nothing in particular. Just the nefarious thoughts wreaking havoc on my brain. Suddenly, as I stumble through the paddock in search of my guiding star, lines blur into scribbles and voices turn to static. People stare at me, or so it feels, like I've grown three heads, and my body burns like I've been stripped bare for all to see.

I ask a random person if they've seen Brendon, but they apologetically tell me they have not and ask if I need help. The look on their face feeds into my thoughts—who is this damaged girl in front of me?

Stevie, I want to tell them. I'm me. Except when I'm not. Except when I'm all of the anxiety-ridden self-doubts I've spent my entire life fighting to push past. Except when I'm the product of losing the person that meant the most to me in this world, and the subsequent loss of the woman who carried me into this world, as well as the loss of who I thought I was going to be growing up.

It's okay, I always tell people. It's been so long. Has it, though? Is there a time limit to when I'll still feel like my heart is about to burst out of my chest when I remember he's not here anymore? And that there's nothing I can do to bring him back?

I think I shake my head no as I walk away, but I can't be a hundred percent sure.

When I do a one-eighty and end up near the back of the paddock again, I find a secluded spot off the walkway and away from the rest of the world; the search for Brendon will have to wait until I can think straight again.

Tiny stray rocks crunch beneath my feet as they slide across the pavement until I land on the ground with my knees pulled up in front of my chest. Some of the fluttering in my chest subsides, but I try my best to slow my heart rate down, taking deep breaths and ignoring the itch twinging at the base of my wrist.

My vision is still blurry as I pull up my phone again, but I dial the first number I can think of for someone that's actually speaking to me and will understand, to some extent, what I'm going through, as well as not feel like they're wedged between me and someone else. This requires rejecting the incoming call from Rami that appears at that moment, but I push through it, knowing he'll understand either way.

"Hello?" Maverick answers.

"Hi." My voice wavers and I rub my nose, trying to hold back the tears. I'm not sure what time it is in London. Hopefully not obscenely early. "I don't know if you saw the Grammy announcements but we were nominated. Us, you, The L. Escape Velocity. And it's really fucking cool but Jun and Lauren aren't talking to me right now and I just realized my dad will never get to see any of this and, I don't know, I was doing okay, and then it just all felt so overwhelming and my heart feels like it's going to burst out of my chest and I just needed someone to talk to."

"Stevie," there's some shuffling, a hushed murmur, "I'm here. I'm here for you. I'm right here."

"I'm sorry," is all I manage.

"You don't have to apologize," he replies quickly. "Where are you at right now?"

"Um." He knows I'm in South Korea. I sent him a picture of some kickass barbecue we had the other day. He'd gifted me another picture of his new puppy, Dewey. "At the track still."

"And what are you looking at? Can you describe it to me?" he asks before adding, "I've never been."

I open my mouth to explain what I'm looking at, even though it's not that exciting, but no words come out.

"Deep breaths," he instructs. I listen because it's Maverick. "Is it late there?"

I nod before processing. "Yeah. I'm sitting behind a motor home. On the ground. The grass is making me itchy. Does Dewey like to play on the grass?"

Maverick laughs. The sound helps calm me down. "He does. Loves going to the park."

"Can you send me a video?"

"Sure." The line goes quiet for a few seconds before a ping comes through letting me know I've received a new text. "Warning: this one is cuteness overload."

"Is Everleigh in it?"

"Shameless."

Considering I'm about five seconds from completely falling apart, I take a quick break and watch the video. Dewey the puppy—my stepchild, thanks to Everleigh's blessing—runs around a patch of grass at a park, chasing his own tail. He's even wearing a bandana around his neck—pink, purple, and blue like one of the puppies from Maverick's puppy interview the other month. There are two videos in my favorites list on my Youtube account—a fan's video from our show at Madison Square Garden and Maverick's puppy interview.

Once it's done, I lift the back to my face. "He's the best stepson I've ever had."

"Had many of those?"

"So many. He's the best, though."

"Stevie?" he says. "I don't know what's going on with Jun and Lauren but we can talk about it if you want. As far as your dad, I understand. I've never known who my biological father is but...I think about him a lot and whether or not he would be proud of me. It's okay to be sad, not knowing and all. But it doesn't take away from this moment. You can be excited and sad, and it's all okay."

My eyes begin to water again. "I know."

"Can I ask you something?"

I nod. "Yes."

"Are you proud of yourself?"

I understand the question and its many layers. Not just about the nominations. The entire package and all we've accomplished. Nominations are nice and being awarded is special. But they're all things completely out of my control. Am I proud of all the hard work I've put into becoming a success? Am I happy with the person and artist I've grown into today? Do I look in the mirror and acknowledge the worth I hold, regardless of those nominations or who gets to see them?

"Yes."

"Good," he replies. "I am too, but that's the most important. Enjoy these moments. You deserve them."