“What’s he playing at?” I muttered.
“Ignore him, Griffin. Focus on your own lap.”
Easy for Al to say. He didn’t have a psychopath using his slipstream to make a point.
I tried to hold my line, but Callaghan stayed glued to me, mirroring my every move. It was like having a particularly vindictive shadow.
“Your times are dropping. You need clear air.”
“He won’t back off, Al,” I snapped, my voice tight. “He’s boxing me in.”
I slowed more on the back straight, an invitation for him to go by. He slowed with me. The message was clear: this was a pissing contest.
Bollocks to backing down.
I floored it out of Turn 15, the engine screaming as it launched the car forward. If he wanted to play games, fine. But I was getting my lap first. I attacked Turn 16 harder than I’d ever attempted, the rear tire complaining but holding.
“You’re on the limit.”
I was past it. But that’s where the time was. Especially on a surface that felt more like a rally stage than a purpose-built circuit.
Callaghan matched my aggression. As we hurtled toward the final corners, he dived up the inside. An absolute lunatic’s move for qualifying.
No one pulled stupid stunts like that unless they were trying to cause a wreck.
The racing line was mine. I held it.
For a split second, we were locked side-by-side at over two hundred miles an hour. His front wheel edged past my rear tire. My car’s aerodynamics went haywire.
The back end snapped loose.
Time warped. The world outside the cockpit blurred into streaks of color as the car spun. The wall rushed up to meet me. My arms moved without conscious thought, a flurry of opposite lock, trying to catch a slide that felt terminal. I was just a passenger.
Then the tires bit. The car straightened with a violent lurch, and the wall flashed past my sidepod with inches to spare.
I was alive. Shaking. My heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to break free.
“Red flag. Session stopped. Griffin, are you alright?”
Al’s voice seemed to come from far away. I tried to answer, but my throat had closed up. The taste of metal filled my mouth.
“Griffin, respond.”
“I’m fine.” The words came out as a croak. “Car’s fine. Just... give me a sec.”
I coasted toward the pits, the adrenaline crash leaving me hollow.
Christ. I’d nearly binned it completely. Nearly thrown away everything because I couldn’t keep my temper in check around Callaghan.
The garage came into view, and I spotted Violet immediately. She was sheet-white, Hazel clutched to her chest. Even from a distance, I could see her hands trembling.
The guilt sliced into me, sharper than any impact with a barrier. I had promised her I’d be careful.
The car rolled to a stop. Engineers swarmed me, their voices a meaningless wash of sound. Someone checked the car for damage. Someone else asked if I was hurt. All I could see was Violet’s face.
“Good save.” Liam appeared at my elbow as I climbed out of the car, his usual humor gone. “Bit closer than we’d like, though.”
“Yeah.” I pulled off my helmet, my hair plastered to my head with sweat. “Where did I qualify?”
