The rest of the pub raised their glasses before turning back to their private conversations. Marissa leaned in. “And let’s hear it for how you defended Turn 7.”
“I can second that,” Sloane said. Then, after a pause, “That was the moment I stopped breathing.”
Reese blinked. “You what?”
Sloane waved it off quickly. “Momentary lapse. Occupational hazard.”
With Marissa and Delaney having a conversation of their own, Reese stepped closer to Sloane and tilted her head. “You should have told me.”
Sloane met her gaze then, something unguarded flashing through before it disappeared. “This doesn’t get easier,” she said, carefully. “Watching. Wanting to step in. Knowing you can’t.” The fear behind Sloane’s eyes was now clearly visible.
Reese felt that land somewhere deeper than expected, because now what? “I thought you were managing.”
“I was,” Sloane said. She took another sip, then set the glass down. “I think.”
The noise around them surged again. Marissa laughing too loudly. Delaney arguing about tire preferences. Sal yelling from behind the bar about last call for food. Life was pressing in.
Reese leaned closer, voice low. “You don’t have to be used to it tonight. I’m sure this is going to be a process.”
Sloane’s smile returned, softer this time. Realer. “You did beautifully, Reese.”
Notyou’re right. Notit’s going to be okay. Just that.
Reese nodded, accepting the praise, but she didn’t miss the way Sloane’s eyes drifted again, distant, already bracing for the next weekend, the next moment when control would be tested all over again. Reese took a pull from her beer, joining the celebration, but the thought stayed with her. This wasn’t just about racing anymore.
And whatever this thing was between them, it was going to ask more than either of them was likely ready to give.
CHAPTER 27
THE CROISSANT QUOTIENT
Sloane felt like she was held together by paper clips and Scotch tape, capable of crumbling in on herself at any point. When they returned to the hotel that night, she tried her best to steer them clear of the conversation she was too afraid to have. But Reese was astute and too attuned to her shifts to just let it go.
“Do you want to talk about it now or later?” Reese asked as she stepped out of the jeans Sloane had decided were her favorite. The lamp on the bedside table glowed, but they’d left the overhead lights off, giving the room a calming, end-of-evening feel. Sloane loved the domesticity that was uniquely theirs, even as it moved from one city to the next.
“I had a moment today,” Sloane said simply with a shrug. She wasn’t sure how else to describe it.
Reese stilled, jeans pooled around her ankles. “On the pit wall?”
“Yes.” Sloane folded her arms, suddenly unsure what to do with her hands. “In front of the screens.”
Reese nodded slowly, like she already knew where this was headed but was letting Sloane set the pace. She finishedchanging and sat on the corner of the bed, elbows resting on her knees. “Talk to me about it.”
Sloane stayed standing. If she sat, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get back up. “I’ve watched hundreds of races,” she said. “Thousands, probably. I’ve analyzed incidents frame by frame. I know what a near miss looks like.” Her voice tightened. “This one didn’t feel like data because it was you, and it’s always going to be you. That won’t change.”
Reese’s brow furrowed. “It was under control.”
“I know it was,” Sloane said quickly. “You handled it beautifully. You always do.” She exhaled, slow and shaky. “That’s the problem.”
Reese looked up at her fully now. “Okay. You’re going to have to explain that part.”
Sloane crossed the room but didn’t sit. She stopped a few feet away, close enough to feel the warmth of Reese’s body, far enough to protect herself. “I realized today that this is what it will forever be. Me watching and waiting and hoping the car keeps moving. Hoping the radio crackles and tells me you’re still fine.”
Reese straightened. “Sloane. It doesn’t have to?—”
“I stood there,” Sloane continued, words picking up speed like she might lose them if she slowed down, “and it hit me that every weekend, every series, every step up the ladder just raises the stakes. And I don’t get to do anything about it. I don’t get to help. I don’t get to intervene.” Her throat burned. “I just have to hope.”
Silence settled between them like the scratchiest blanket.
