The roar of engines cut through the midday air as the cars streaked around Canada Corner. Adam leaned forward, pointing. "See that? That's the kink. You can carry a lot of speed through it if you hit the apex right."
Thomas had his phone out, snapping a quick picture. "Looks like someone's practicing their drifting, minus the smoke." He smirked, glancing at Ollie.
Ollie laughed, shaking his head. "I don't get it. How did Jaxon even… grow up here? I mean, he practically had a race track in his backyard." He gestured vaguely toward the main straight, imagining tiny karts screaming past a house. "I can barely wrap my head around that."
Adam chuckled. "Some kids grow up with baseball bats and homework. Jaxon had apexes and braking zones."
Terri offered a quiet smile, handing Ollie a bottle of water. "I guess some childhoods just… look different. But it's fun to watch him now, huh?"
Ollie took a sip, eyes on the cars again. "Yeah. Watching this, I can see where he gets it from. Speed, control, timing… all of it. Makes sense he ended up here."
Thomas leaned over, scrolling through telemetry stats on his phone. "You mean makes sense he ended up fast enough to make us all look slow." His grin was faint but knowing.
The group laughed softly, eyes following the machines as they whipped around the track. The asphalt shimmered in the sun, turns and straights blending into a blur of color and noise.
Ollie's gaze lingered. "I just… can't imagine karting in your backyard. Even for a genius like him, that's wild."
Adam grinned. "Well, it makes for a hell of a story."
The cars eased down the straight, engines still rumbling but fading as the cooldown lap began. The Bearmans clapped and waved, the noise echoing faintly over the circuit.
Ollie leaned forward, shading his eyes. "Looks like the show's winding down," he said. He smiled as one of the drivers slowed near the pit lane, his face suddenly familiar. A few spectators nearby nudged him. "Hey! Wait — aren't you Ollie Bearman?" one called, phone already out. "Can I get a picture?"
Ollie froze for a second, then laughed, running a hand through his hair. "Uh… sure, why not?" He stepped closer, posing while the kid snapped a few shots.
Thomas nudged him lightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Careful, Ollie. Don't let the fame go to your head. Next thing you know, you'll be charging for autographs."
Adam and Terri just watched, Terri's gentle smile tugging at her lips, Adam's arms crossed but eyes warm. They didn't need to say anything — the moment passed quietly, Ollie's laughter lingering as the cars rolled back to the pits.
The Bearmans piled into the car, the engines' roar fading behind them as they drove through the paddock.
"Okay, I vote we hit the burger stand first," Adam said, hands on the wheel. "I want fries. Big ones. None of that tiny, sad crap."
Thomas snorted, scrolling through his phone. "You'll regret it when you're bouncing off the chairs afterward."
Terri laughed softly. "We can swing by the ice cream cart too. Maybe something light for dessert."
Ollie leaned back, pretending to deliberate. "Hmm. Burgers, fries, ice cream… honestly, I don't think I can handle that kind of commitment."
"You're fine," Thomas said dryly. "You'll survive. Or maybe not. Either way, it's going to be messy."
The car turned into the pit area, the chatter of teams and the smell of rubber and fuel filling the air. Their lunch destination was right past the McLaren garage, and already they could see Jaxon standing with his team, poring over data on a tablet.
Ollie's head turned sharply. "There he is."
Adam smiled. "Right on schedule. Looks like he's already working."
Terri gave a quiet hum of approval, keeping the group's pace measured as they approached.
Thomas nudged Ollie, smirking. "Think he's expecting us to crash his lunch meeting, or are we the surprise dessert?"
Ollie grinned, shrugging. "Depends if you count yelling questions about throttle curves as dessert."
They reached Jaxon just as he looked up from the tablet, Kurt and Michelle flanking him. He straightened, brushing off the intensity of discussion for a fraction of a second, just enough to acknowledge the Bearmans.
"Hey," Jaxon said quietly, a small nod.
Thomas stepped forward, hand on Jaxon's shoulder. "You're coming with us. No excuses. Burgers, fries, maybe some ice cream if you survive."
Ollie leaned in, grinning. "Yeah, don't even think about hiding behind your tablet. We've scoped out the best spot. Park benches, wood patio, prime people-watching. You in or what?"
Jaxon's eyes flicked toward Ian, who gave the faintest nod, an almost imperceptible gesture of approval. Jaxon glanced back at his team — Kurt busy with telemetry, Michelle adjusting some data on the tablet — then finally shrugged, a small, almost dry smile tugging at his lips.
"Sure," he said quietly, voice calm. "Lead the way."
The Bearmans cheered silently among themselves as they started walking, the paddock's heat and smell of tires fading behind them. The big food building loomed ahead, a bright contrast to the asphalt and steel around them. Thomas and Ollie fell into step on either side of Jaxon, already debating what to order first.
Adam and Terri followed behind, relaxed and patient, letting the kids lead the way.
"So, what's your poison?" Ollie asked, smirking at Jaxon. "Classic burger and fries, or are we going fancy with a chili cheese thing?"
Jaxon gave a faint shrug, eyes scanning the menus painted on the wall of the building. "Something simple. Don't need a full course before hitting the track."
Thomas smirked. "Ah, playing it safe. I like it. Can't have you falling asleep mid-corner."
Ollie nudged him gently. "Yeah, but don't tell me you're actually skipping fries."
Jaxon's lips twitched into a hint of a smile. "Maybe just a few."
They reached the counter, the smell of sizzling meat and fresh bread mixing with the warm sun on the wooden patio. Ollie leaned on the railing, eyes scanning the crowds. "Perfect spot. Look at that — sun, people-watching, and prime nap-distance from the chaos of the track. What more could a guy ask for?"
Thomas laughed quietly, already scrolling through his phone. "Yeah, prime vantage point for seeing every rookie wipeout too."
Jaxon kept his focus on the menu, methodical as ever. "I'll pass on the nap and the wipeouts," he said dryly. "Just a burger. Plain."
Ollie's grin widened. "Plain? Man, you're killing me. You gotta live a little."
"Live a little," Thomas echoed, smirking. "He's about to scream around corners at two hundred, Ollie. I think a plain burger is living just fine."
Terri and Adam arrived at the table with drinks, settling the trays down gently. "You all set?" Terri asked quietly, calm as ever.
"Yep," Jaxon said, taking the tray with a small nod, already eyeing the track in the distance. He bit into the burger with minimal fanfare, focused but almost imperceptibly enjoying the break.
Ollie leaned back, grabbing a fry. "See? He's not dead. Miracle."
Thomas nudged him with a laugh. "Tiny victories, Ollie. Tiny victories."
The roar of engines returned, but this time the track wasn't a blur of professional GT4 machines. The fan-drive session had begun, and a parade of cars of all shapes and ages rolled past the stands.
Ollie's eyes widened. "Whoa. Okay… that's a tiny Miata? Or is it a go-kart with a spoiler?"
Thomas barely looked up from his phone. "I think that one's registered as a car. Barely."
Jaxon let a faint smile tug at his lips, scanning the lineup. "I'd give it… ten out of ten for enthusiasm. Minus the aero efficiency."
The next car came around — a deep red Mustang, screaming down the straight. Ollie whistled. "Now that's more like it. Probably thinks it's a GT3, judging by the noise."
Thomas tapped his phone. "Might be a fan favorite. Definitely losing traction in the first turn."
Jaxon's eyes narrowed slightly, analyzing. "Driver's brave… or doesn't know the braking points."
Then came a curious, sputtering contraption that looked like it rolled out of a 1920s postcard — brass fittings, leather seats, huge spoked wheels. Ollie nearly toppled over laughing. "Is that… a car or a time machine?"
Thomas leaned in, smirking. "Pretty sure Doc Brown just ghosted us with that one."
Jaxon let a quiet chuckle escape, eyes tracking the car. "Has potential… if we're grading on uniqueness."
A bright yellow pickup barreled around next, engine roaring like it wanted to take off. "Okay, that's insane," Ollie said. "I didn't know trucks could handle Canada Corner like that."
Thomas dryly commented, "It's holding up better than you would in that turn, Ollie."
Adam chuckled from the patio railing, shaking his head. "Look at all of them… all kinds of people, all kinds of machines. That's the beauty of it."
Terri smiled, pointing. "See the green one? It's tiny. I bet it's barely wider than a bike lane."
Jaxon tilted his head. "Front tires look narrower than ideal, but probably manageable at low speeds. Driver seems confident. Efficient lines."
Ollie elbowed him. "Efficient lines… at like twenty miles an hour. You're killing me."
Thomas laughed quietly. "Don't ruin his credibility. He's in observer mode, remember? Master of small details."
The parade kept coming — a souped-up Camaro, a purple hatchback with decals plastered everywhere, even a tiny electric hot rod that squeaked around the corners. Every car sparked commentary from the trio, Jaxon's humor subtle but pointed, Ollie's exaggerated, and Thomas' dry wit cutting just enough to land.
Finally, a low, black machine with wide tires roared past, catching everyone's attention. "Now that is a proper machine," Ollie said, eyes shining.
Jaxon's gaze followed it, calm but impressed. "Balance looks good… suspension seems stiff. Probably a joy to drive in the straights, trickier in the kink."
Thomas glanced at Ollie. "You could never handle that. Admit it."
Ollie shook his head dramatically. "I can handle it! In spirit!"
The group laughed, watching the parade continue, each car a little window into someone else's love of speed.
Lunch wrapped up just after 1:30, and the smell of fries and burgers still lingered in the air. The McLaren team had quickly set up a small signing area near the paddock, a simple table with a few chairs and some pens, ready for fans. Jaxon adjusted the cuffs of his racing suit, clipboard and pen in hand, and took a measured breath.
Ollie nudged him, grinning. "Alright, superstar, your fans are waiting. Think you can handle it?"
Jaxon gave a small, dry smile. "Depends. Are they bringing small talk or actual questions?"
Thomas laughed quietly, already fishing around in his backpack. "I've got a hat somewhere. Gonna see if you'll sign it, or if you only do shirts for the fancy people."
Ollie reached into Terri's backpack without asking, fishing around until he pulled out a bright red Ferrari shirt. Holding it up with a mischievous grin, he said, "Hey, Jaxon, sign this for me. I swear I'm your biggest fan."
Jaxon glanced at it, brow raised. "You do realize I'm not signed to McLaren yet. I think Ferrari merchandise might be… technically off-limits."
Ollie waved a hand, mock-offended. "A minor detail! The adoration is real."
Thomas dug through his bag and pulled out a red Ferrari cap, plopping it on the table. "Go on, Mr. Future Ferrari Star, make me look good."
Jaxon picked up the pen, tapping it thoughtfully against the cap. "Fine. This will get a pass." He signed carefully, sliding it back with an understated nod. "Don't tell McLaren."
Ollie gasped, clutching the shirt like it was holy relic. "Oh my god, he actually touched it. I'm shaking."
Thomas leaned in, pretending to swoon. "Can I get a photo with you too? I want proof I survived this encounter."
Jaxon tilted his head slightly, deadpan. "I'm not the dangerous one here. You're fine."
Ollie grinned, waving the signed shirt triumphantly. "We should start a line for you too. Think you could handle being as famous as him?"
Jaxon smirked faintly, almost imperceptible. "I doubt it. But you can try."
The three of them laughed quietly, a small bubble of chaos and fun amid the orderly paddock. Adam and Terri hovered nearby, smiling without interfering, while the first few fans trickled up, curious and excited.
The first fans stepped up tentatively, holding out caps and t-shirts. Jaxon moved with quiet efficiency, signing each item neatly, his hand steady, his expression calm.
"Can I get a cap?" a young boy asked, voice almost shy.
"Sure," Jaxon said, taking it, looping his signature across the brim before handing it back with a small nod.
Ollie leaned on the table, theatrically pointing at the kids. "Behold, the master at work. Try not to pass out from excitement, okay?"
Thomas smirked, snapping a quick photo of Ollie's dramatic gesturing. "Honestly, you could've just asked for a selfie with the shirt. The performance's optional."
A group of fans started murmuring, noticing the young driver signing quietly but politely. One teen whispered to another, "Isn't that Jaxon Rose? Heard he's ridiculously fast for his age."
Ollie grinned at the recognition. "Yep. You're witnessing history, kids. Kneel."
Jaxon, unfazed, signed another McLaren cap, giving the teen a subtle but polite nod. "All done. Enjoy it."
The crowd's interest began to grow as a few more fans realized who he was, and suddenly the table started filling faster.
Ollie whispered to Thomas, mock-serious: "We might have to expand the operation. Think you can handle the fame too?"
Thomas smirked. "I'm just the sidekick. Let the main star do the work."
Jaxon glanced up from signing a t-shirt, raising an eyebrow at them, deadpan. "You two are exhausting."
Ollie laughed. "All part of the package, kid. People love a good supporting act."
The Bearmans kept the tone light and playful, letting Jaxon do the actual work while they made small jokes and distracted the crowd just enough to keep the energy friendly but fun.
By the time a few more fans joined, the little McLaren table had become a small hub — Jaxon signing steadily, Ollie waving shirts, and Thomas snapping photos — a quiet storm of attention that hinted at just how quickly his popularity could grow.
Hours slipped by quietly as Jaxon sat behind the table, the pen moving steadily over hats, shirts, and a few small posters of the McLaren × Road America collaboration. At first, it was just a trickle of curious paddock-goers, fans of the track or people intrigued by the McLaren setup. Jaxon signed with his usual calm efficiency, barely raising his head, his dry humor occasionally surfacing when Ollie and Thomas egged him on.
As the afternoon wore on, the crowd slowly began to change. Faces from Elkhart Lake started appearing—locals who had watched him zip around karts in his backyard, or seen him at small karting events over the years. A man with a sun-creased face and a faded racing cap leaned over the barrier, smiling warmly. "Jaxon? Hell, I watched you tear up the go-kart track when you were eight. Can't believe I'm seeing you here."
Jaxon glanced up, a small, polite nod. "Thanks. Glad you made it." His tone was quiet, almost understated, but genuine.
A woman a few feet back, holding a McLaren × Road America shirt, smiled nervously. "Your dad… he used to run laps out here too, right?"
Jaxon's gaze flicked to her briefly. "Yeah. Used to. Long time ago."
Ollie leaned in conspiratorially. "See? Local hero stuff. This is your town recognizing your greatness."
Thomas snorted quietly. "Or your dad. Either way, you get applause."
The fans chuckled, but Jaxon just smirked faintly, signing the next piece of merch with careful precision. His calm, reserved demeanor made the small crowd feel at ease, and people began bringing out McLaren Road America shirts and caps specifically for him to sign. It became a gentle swell of recognition—handshakes, nods, and quiet congratulations from folks who remembered the kid who had practically grown up on the track.
Even Ollie and Thomas were caught up, occasionally grabbing shirts or hats for Jaxon to sign and teasing him as if they were fangirls. "Better autograph this one fast," Ollie said, holding up a bright orange Road America tee. "Limited edition, remember. You can't mess up history."
Jaxon glanced at the shirt, deadpan. "I'll try not to ruin it. No promises about the penmanship, though."
Thomas leaned back, arms crossed, grinning. "You make it look easy. Maybe I should start practicing my autograph skills just to keep up."
As the last few fans trickled past, a small family approached the table. The father nudged the mother forward, and in front of them shuffled a little boy, no more than five years old, eyes wide as he clutched a McLaren × Road America T-shirt.
"Uh… hi," the boy said shyly, his voice barely audible over the ambient paddock noise. "Are… are you Jaxon Rose?"
Jaxon looked up from the cap he was signing, his gaze calm and steady. "That's me," he said quietly, offering a small nod.
The boy's eyes lit up. "I… I watch you! I'm from Elkhart too! I have the shirt and everything. Can… can you sign it?"
Ollie leaned over, mock whispering: "You hear that, Thomas? Someone else from your town thinks he's cooler than us."
Thomas rolled his eyes but smiled. "Clearly. Can't argue with a five-year-old fan."
Jaxon set the pen down briefly, scanning the T-shirt, then carefully signed it. He slid it back to the boy, who practically beamed.
"Can we take a picture?" the boy asked, holding up a small digital camera.
Jaxon hesitated just a fraction—this was unusual, even for him—but the small boy's excitement was contagious. He leaned down slightly, letting the boy pose in front of him, Ollie and Thomas ducking in behind for extra theatrics.
Click.
The boy jumped up and down. "I'm going to show this to everyone! You're my hero!"
Jaxon's smirk was faint but there, subtle enough that only someone paying close attention would notice. "Glad to hear it. Keep practicing, yeah?" His voice was soft, unforced.
The mother thanked him quietly, and the father shook his hand. "He's been talking about racing since he could walk. Meeting you… this means a lot."
Jaxon gave a short nod. "Happy to do it."
Ollie elbowed Thomas lightly. "See? Hero status confirmed. We may need a podium just for tiny fans now."
Thomas chuckled, looking at the boy. "I think he just raised the bar for everyone else here."
The family waved and headed off, the little boy clutching his signed shirt and the photo with a grin that could have stretched across the paddock.
Jaxon watched them go for a moment, pen poised again, before returning to the small stack of merchandise still waiting. The line had thinned, the afternoon sun hitting the track just right, and for a quiet minute, everything felt just… simple.
The Bearmans lingered just outside the pit garage as Jaxon strapped into the McLaren, the team making last checks around him.
Adam leaned on the pit wall. "See ya out there, champ. Make it count."
Terri's calm voice followed. "Good luck, Jaxon. Just… focus and have fun, okay?"
Thomas, arms crossed, smirked. "Don't wreck anything we'll have to explain later. You've got this."
Ollie waved the Ferrari shirt like a flag, grinning. "And remember—if McLaren doesn't snap you up, Ferrari will always take you! Just saying."
Jaxon allowed the faintest twitch of a smile, his deadpan humor soft but present. "Noted."
"See ya!" Adam called again, a chuckle in his tone.
"Good luck!" Terri repeated, small wave.
Thomas gave a quick thumbs-up. "Kick ass."
Ollie blew a mock kiss from across the garage. "Go make them regret not signing you sooner!"
Jaxon exhaled quietly, sliding into the pre-race focus as the crew finished securing his gear. No outward reaction, just the calm, measured rhythm of a driver about to push everything to the limit.