Shanelle clapped her on the shoulder. “Great. Now, get out there and figure out what you can do with sixteenth.”
Reese deflated again when she remembered what she was working with today. “I’ll do my best for you, boss.”
“Oh, and I passed Sloane in the hallway.”
“I still can’t believe you rebounded from that first night in the bar,” Julie said, as if alone in her own room.
“Well, I’m going to need that story one day,” Shanelle said, turning to Julie.
“I’m your woman,” Julie said. “It was epic.”
Reese laughed and made a gesture as if erasing a whiteboard. “No need. Nope. Nothing to see here.”
“Now I really need to hear.”
“Then I’m gonna go start reaction drills.”
By the time Reese stepped back into the garage, the world felt different. The noise of the paddock sharpened into something electric instead of overwhelming. The clatter of tools, the murmur of strategy calls, the low growl of engines coming to life invigorated her in a way it hadn’t all weekend.
Sloane was here. Luke was here. Julie was coming back to the pit wall.
Somehow, the universe had lined up every person who’d ever believed in her and placed them exactly where they belonged.
Sixteenth wasn’t a setback anymore.
It was an invitation.
Her mind flicked automatically to the run into Turn 1—her braking point, inside line, who might overcook it ahead of her. Opportunity lived there.
Six drivers stood between Reese and the points. Six cars to hunt down. And for the first time all weekend, she couldn’t wait to go find them.
CHAPTER 32
RIDICULOUSLY HERS
From the Laurens hospitality suite overlooking the main straight, the Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya looked almost peaceful for a moment. The late morning sun washed the grandstands in pale gold, thousands of fans shifting in their seats, flags snapping in the warm breeze coming off the Mediterranean. It was the last quiet breath before everything exploded.
Sloane stood beside the glass railing, one hand curled lightly around the metal edge, her eyes fixed on the grid below.
Twenty-two cars sat in perfect formation, engines already rumbling through the pavement and up into her chest. Mechanics stepped away one by one, tire blankets peeled off and rolled away, leaving the cars gleaming under the Spanish sun.
Reese’s red-and-black Laurens Racing car sat three rows from the back, angled perfectly in its grid box. Even from this distance, Sloane could spot it immediately, the bright red bodywork flashing whenever sunlight hit the nose.
A few weeks ago, watching from this close would have tightened every nerve in her body. She would have been bracing herself for something to go wrong, for the sharp, familiar dreadthat came with seeing someone you loved hurtling toward danger at 200 miles an hour.
But today was different. The tension in her chest didn’t feel like the kind of terror she’d expected. It felt like anticipation. The nerves were still there, of course they were, but they felt lighter somehow. Manageable. Like a hum beneath the surface rather than a storm, which she’d take any day.
Veronica leaned against the railing beside her, calm as ever, sunglasses perched low on her nose as she studied the grid.
“You’re doing all right,” Veronica said casually. “Just look at you.”
Sloane exhaled a small laugh. “Right? It feels a little like the old days if I’m being honest. Only I don’t have to drive. A bonus.”
Veronica smirked. “I’m sure we could arrange something, if you’re up for it.”
“No, thank you. I’m good. I’m gonna sit here with my popcorn and emotional support Ronnie and watch the others race it out.”
“That’s fair,” Veronica said and sipped her Pellegrino.
