Reese’s eyes lingered. “You’re shaking.”
Sloane hadn’t realized she was.
“I’m fine,” she answered, but the word felt like it was built out of cardboard.
The rain had passed. The track was already beginning to dry.
But inside her, nothing had settled at all.
Reese had just finished her first Formula 1 race and the world felt slightly unreal, as if someone had turned the saturation up too high and forgotten to dial it back. Beer tasted better. Laughter came easier. Even gravity seemed optional. If this was what success felt like, she understood why people chased it so recklessly.
The Starting Grid had joined her and Sloane at the Laurens gathering at a local pub, The Fox and Hound, which was more than enthusiastic about hosting.
“Anything you need, you just yell for Sal,” a woman with luxurious red hair piled upon her head told them. She had an English accent that Reese thought came right out of a movie. “Because I’ll probably be having a pint with all of ya. Not every day we get a team into the pub.”
“Are you racing fans?” Reese asked.
“Is wombat poop cube-shaped?”
Reese paused. “I don’t know. Is it?”
The woman clapped her on the back. “It bloody well is! Cheers to ya. I’m sending over another beer.”
The pub filled fast, noise layering on itself. Marco was noticeably absent, but that was okay with Reese. Laughter, boots on wood, glasses clinking, the low hum of people who were pleased to have something worth celebrating. No one had expected her to finish as high as she had. Reese was floating. But every few seconds, her attention drifted back to Sloane like a reflex she didn’t yet understand.
Sloane stood near the bar, pint in hand, posture relaxed enough to pass inspection. She smiled easily when someone congratulated her, nodded along when Marissa launched into ananimated retelling of Turn 4 like she’d personally wrestled the corner into submission. But there was something off. A tightness Reese couldn’t name. Like Sloane was braced against something only she could feel.
Reese’s phone buzzed. Cassidy again. She’d blown up her phone during the race, leaving Reese to return to a literal running commentary from her own personal phone cheerleader. It was awesome.
Cassidy
I screamed so loud my neighbor knocked.
Cassidy
IN THE POINTS.
Cassidy
YOUR FIRST F1 RACE.
Cassidy
I AM YOUR PROUD PROBLEM CHILD.
Reese smiled to herself, thumb flying.
You okay? You sound feral.
Cassidy didn’t hesitate.
Cassidy
FERAL WITH PRIDE.
Cassidy
I’m framing this weekend.
