She doesn’t make eye contact as she inches away. Hershoulders have dropped, and it’s like all the confidence from the night has been yanked from her.
“I’ve got to go,” she says softly.
My words die on my tongue. I don’t want this night to end, but she’s already stepping away.
She inches farther away from me as she talks. “Thank you for tonight. It means more than you know.” She gives me one last look. Our eyes lock as she adds, “And, Liam? Go home to your family. You miss them.”
She runs across the beach, and I stand frozen as the darkness tries to swallow her up.
I drag a hand down my face. “You have my ring,” I yell, but she’s out of earshot before my words reach her.
I fist her scrunched up knickers and remember her bracelet. I’ll never see the woman who’s more like a filthy Cinderella than Belle again.
CHAPTER 7
Niki, five months later
Isit in my car just outside the track’s gates.
My phone vibrates for the umpteenth time, reminding me that I’ve sat here for two hours, when I should be standing with my sister as the drivers test the car for the first time this season during Shakedown.
I could remain in the safety of my pristine car, away from all the germs I’ll be confronted by when I walk into the group watching the cars. There will be engineers, mechanics, press, and numerous other staff.
But your sister will be there as well.
Even that’s not enough to make me drive. I need an assistant who understands mental health, who protects me and organises spaces for me. But that would involve trusting someone enough to tell them how fucked up my head is.
I cover my hands in sanitiser, squeezing my eyes shut to force away flashbacks of the smell of the hospital as medical staff fought to keep me alive.
I can’t wait any longer. I either have to leave or drive through the gates. I shove my hand in my pocket and run my fingers across the beaded bracelet from the onlyperson I’ve allowed close the past year: Bella the rugby coach, or at least that was her lie.
I’ve Googled the hell out of her, but she was impossible to find because she wasn’t anything she said she was. If it wasn’t for the beaded bracelet and knickers I’d kept after she ran off, I’d wonder if I’d dreamt the entire night.
But whoever she was, she helped me come home to my family. I suck water from the bottle I ran through the steriliser three times before I left home—something else an assistant could do to stop me being late for every meeting and event.
I run my hand over the bracelet one last time before driving through the gates of the racetrack we’ve hired for today. My heart races and my belly tightens as I park and walk to where my sister and the rest of the team wait.
“You’re late,” Senna says as Connor, her boyfriend, laps the track. He’s Coulter Racing Team’s lead driver and everything I used to be. I study how he takes the corners. The tension in my shoulders eases as I make notes on my phone about his performance. He’s braking early before the chicane. Is that because of the car or him?
“You wouldn’t have been late if you’d had an assistant,” Senna adds after I don’t reply. I’ve stood here for five minutes and made a screen full of notes.
Senna has updated me on the progress engineers and mechanics have made on the cars over the winter. We’re looking good. We might be a contender rather than sitting midway down the leaderboard like we often were when I drove because of crappy investments. And Connor is handling the car well, although I’d test the throttle more, especially on the straights.
“You shouldn’t have been late for Shakedown,” she says softer now. “Where were you?”
I avoid her question like I’ve avoided all her concerns and questions since I returned home five months ago. “You didn’t need me. I’m the reserve driver this year. Tawny and Connor were here to drive and test the changes,” I grumble.
Connor flies down the straight, which is named after the famous driver who inspired my teenage years. Jealousy rips through me. I’m itching to get back out there, but I can’t. I’m not the Niki who jumps in a car others have poked, prodded, and got their germs on.
Jacs, Coulter’s chief mechanic, and Tawny, her sister, join us.
“This day is significant. Last year, we had an abysmal session running the car around the track for the first time to ensure it was okay,” Senna continues, anxiously rubbing the tattoo that covers the scar on her hand from an accident during her teens.
“You don’t need to explain Shakedown. I missed one when I was away, and I’m here now.” I turn to Tawny. “How did it feel in the car? Did any changes surprise you?”
Tawny shrugs. “It was twitchier than I was expecting.”
“Ask Connor if he says the same,” I say to Senna, who relays it into her radio.
