Bodies pressed in on him from every side, clapping his back and clutching onto his race suit. Pure adrenaline coarsed through him, his heart still jackhammering with the thrum of the engine. Amongst the throng of people, Jax was vaguely aware of the team principal ruffling his hair, his eyes clapping on his Mum, beaming with pride. His Dad was crying, fat tears of pride spilling down his cheeks, his baby niece propped up on his shoulders. Little Paige, who Jax remembered holding in the delivery room, wearing a bright smile for him, a number four painted in glitter on her cheek. Jax wished he could say it didn’t all pale in comparison to seeing Ash.

Because when Ash hurtled toward him in the crowd, God, his heart clenched in his chest. It felt as though he was moving in slow motion to get to him, the end goal to be eveloped in his arms. Pride beamed out from Ash’s features, eyes glittering from beneath his dark brow. Those full, pretty lips Jax had fantasised about kissing one too many times were pulled into a bright smile. And then suddenly, Ash’s arms were around him, pulling him into a hug so tight the rest of the world fell away.

“I’m so fuckin’ proud of you, Jaxxy.” he breathed, the words hot against Jax’s ear, his honeycoated Boston accent curling around the praise. It made Jax's stomach twist every time.

For just a second, Jax can live in this daydream. That Ash is his, and that he's allowed to want him. That he’s allowed to celebrate his win with the man he loves, in front of his team, at his home race. Breathing in in the slick smell of sweat against Ash’s skin, Jax knocked his Haas cap clean off his head. It fell to the ground, forgotten and probably crushed, as Jax pushed his fingers into Ash’s dark locks.

He forgot himself. In hindsight, he can admit that. When Ash pulled back, bright and blazing and beautiful, Jax moved to press his lips to the other man’s cheek.

Cameras everywhere flashed as Jax missed by half an inch, catching Ash full on the mouth. A closed mouth press of lips that leaves his trainer startled, Ash whipping his head back with wide eyes, no regard for Jax’s hurt feelings as he plastered a scowl on his face. What should’ve been the best day of his life took a sudden, steep drop off the edge of a cliff.

When Jax disentangled from his friend, his Ash, the first thing he saw was Kelly. Her blonde hair had been swept off her shoulders and fastened in a tight top knot, a precaution against the stuffy Melbourne heat. She'd pressed herself against Jax in a bright hug and a flurry of nerves moments before he stepped in the car, looking so proud she might burst. Now, when Jax's eyes met hers, they found her blue eyes brimming with rage and unshed tears. From where she was standing, Jax was sure it looked pretty bad. After all, wasn't he supposed to be her friend?

Sorry, Kelly, he remembered thinking, but I did love him first.

In the the end, Jax found himself on the doorstep to his family home. A week spent in Sydney, crying bitterly in the arms of his Mum. Jax was all too certain that his racing career was over, a sting not even Mila Otto could soothe. This horrible, hyper-masculine sport he loved so fiercely had turned its back on him for the final time. The photo was splashed over every major news outlet, and Jax was called every hateful name under the sun by every sports commentator, journalist and motor sports fan. The few times Jax dared to log into Twitter, there’s a few sweet girls with the Australian flag in their display name who tweet him a string of hearts, a reminder that he is loved and even supported. Each night involves Jax trying and failing to read a few thinkpieces on the importance of queer athletes in male dominated sports, but they just hurt his head.

There was talk about dropping him from Haas. The consolation is a stern telling off for his behaviour and a string of press conferences. Jax sitting shoulder to shoulder with other drivers as he made jokes, denied everything, no homo’d his way through it all.

If you were to ask about Jax Otto's racing season in 2014, most people would tell you about his wins. How he was consistently at pole position, how he finished P1, P2, P3 most races. How the crowd would light up with him, chanting his name as he stepped out of the car, bright, vibrant and alive.