The timing tower flickered as the system recalculated. One Laurens entry shifted. Then both did. For two disorienting seconds, the data seemed to hesitate, and Sloane couldn’t tell which name belonged to the spinning car.God, help her. Please. Oh, please.
Her breath stalled in her chest. She knew this sensation, when your body understood something your brain hadn’t accepted yet.
The spinning car hit the wall.
The sound came through the broadcast a fraction later, hollow and violent.
Sloane gripped the back of an engineer’s chair, securing herself as her vision tunneled. She didn’t ask which driver it was because she couldn’t form the words. The question lodged somewhere beneath her lungs, heavy and unmovable.
On the GPS tracker, the two dots that had overlapped began to separate. One continued forward. The other stopped.
Someone said, “Car 24 is out.”
Marco. That was Marco. Marco was car twenty-four.
Relief struck so intensely it felt almost painful. She bent at the waist and held the position as she floated back into herself.
“Hey, she’s okay. She’s still going,” Shanelle said, spotting Sloane in distress and moving to her from the pit wall. She placed a hand on Sloane’s back until she straightened and nodded, grateful for the reassurance.
But the relief was incomplete. Reese was still out there, driving in worsening rain, threading a car through the same standing water that had just swallowed her reckless teammate, and it was Sloane’s job as her girlfriend to stand here and watch. She tried to draw in a full breath and realized she couldn’t. The air felt thin, insufficient. Her body had already decided this was happening again.
On screen, Reese’s onboard camera flickered up. Rain streaked across the visor. Her breathing came steady over the engine noise.
“Reese. You okay?” Damon asked.
“I’m good,” Reese said over the team radio. “Continuing, but what the fuck was that?”
“Just focus on this lap.”
“You got it.”
It helped to hear her voice.
Sloane’s pulse still hammered against her throat, and a faint tremor moved through her hands. She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, grounding herself the way she’d practiced in therapy. She reminded herself that she was not in a cockpit. She was not trapped in smoke and fire. She was standing on solid ground in a brightly lit garage in England.
But her body refused to fully believe it.
The safety car bunched the field, and the garage erupted into a flurry of strategy discussions. Sloane heard none of it clearly. She was watching only Reese and the tilt of her helmet, the steadiness in her hands, and the absence of desperation.
As the race resumed, Reese did not force the issue. She let others overcommit. She positioned the car carefully. She climbed into ninth without spectacular or unnecessary big moves.
By the time the checkered flag fell, the Laurens garage exploded into celebration. A ninth-place finish in thoseconditions with a new driver was enormous. Reese had finishedin the pointsher first time out. It was a huge victory.
Sloane remained still for a beat too long, feeling as though she’d driven the race herself. Her muscles were tight, her chest aching with the aftershock of adrenaline.
Then she forced herself forward.
When Reese climbed from the car, rain-matted hair clinging to her forehead, her grin was incandescent and disbelieving. It was everything. She looked straight toward the garage and found Sloane immediately.
Sloane moved to her and opened her arms before she could overthink it, and Reese moved straight into them, in one piece. She held Reese tightly—more tightly than she meant to—and felt the solid warmth of her through the damp race suit. Tears sprang into her eyes, and she sent up a silent thank you to the universe for returning Reese to her. She savored the dependable rise and fall of her breathing. The undeniable proof of her aliveness.
Reese pulled back slightly, studying her face.
“You okay?”
The question was gentle, layered with concern beneath the triumph.
“I’m so proud of you,” Sloane said, and she meant it with everything in her. “Do you know what an accomplishment this was?”
