Days later, I compete in Austria and take second place in that race. Though my brother, Annalise, and my father accompany me for my European races while Chloe and mom stay in Monaco with Alyssia, I ache with missing her face.
The flight back home isn’t long but I’m anxious the entire ride to see Alyssia.
As soon as I push through the lobby doors, however, my phone rings. A call from my Uncle Brutus.
I answer on the first ring.
“You were right. There are a few other drivers who’ve received information about your car changes,” he tells me.
I curse as I punch the elevator button.
“We’re working on tracing who’s behind it, obviously. But it’s definitely someone at Amato.”
My stomach clenches. Betrayal is one thing. Deceit by someone who you think is working on your side is a son of a bitch.
“Doubt it’s Horner,” he says. “He looks on the up and up.”
The problem is, it could be anyone. A regular paper pusher, an engineer, or even?—
“Do you think it could be Skyland?”
My head juts back. “This would negatively impact him, too. The changes made to my car are made to his also,” I remind my uncle. “I doubt it.”
Skyland’s young and one of the most easy-going guys on the grid.
“I’ll keep you updated,” Uncle Brutus says.
I tap my phone against my leg on the elevator ride up, wondering if it would’ve been quicker to take the stairs.
A voice in the back of my mind reminds me I live on the twelfth floor.
The moment I open the door, I spot Alyssia on the couch. But when she lifts her eyes and I see the tears streaming down her face, my heart drops out of my damn chest.
“What’s wrong?” I toss my bags aside and go down on my knees in front of her.
She emits a watery laugh, wiping her eyes. “Nothing’s wrong,” she says. “I … Did you do this?”
“What?” I’ll admit to anything if it makes her stop crying.
She lifts a thick photo album that I completely missed from her lap.
“It came today. Special delivery.”
I blink at the leatherbound cover until she flips it around. There’s a picture of beautiful, visibly pregnant woman dressed in a floral dress. ‘My Pregnancy Journal’ is scrolled in cursive below the image.
My eyes meet Alyssia’s again.
“Uncle Theo said you asked him if my mom had any mementos from her pregnancy that he knew of.”
“Yes,” I say. “You said you wished you knew what she experienced while pregnant. I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask your uncle if he had anything that could help.”
I’d pulled him aside and told him what Alyssia told me, and he remembered the album that he’d kept for years among some other belongings.
“He said he’d forgotten about it but knew to keep it because she left a note saying she wanted to pass this to me when I had m-my f-first b-ba—” She doesn’t finish her sentence.
I swallow her in my arms.
She cries into my neck, actually alternating between laughing and crying.
