Sloane shifted her weight, rolling her shoulders once to loosen the lingering tension there. And she had made a quiet deal with herself. If at any point the old fear crept back in—if the anxiety tightened its grip and made it hard to breathe—she would simply step away. No guilt. No shame. Reese would understand. Reese always understood.
The formation lap began with a rising metallic scream as engines surged to life. One by one, the cars rolled away from the grid, weaving back and forth to warm their tires as they disappeared into the first sector.
Sloane followed the red Laurens car as it swept through the final corner and returned to its grid slot moments later.
Veronica nudged her lightly. “All right,” she said. “Here we go.”
“C’mon, Reese,” Sloane murmured. “We need a clean start.”
The five red lights illuminated above the track.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
And then finally … the lights went out.
The grid detonated.
The roar that followed was enormous, a wall of sound that swallowed the crowd’s cheers and shook the glass beneath Sloane’s hands. Twenty-two cars surged forward in a blur of color and speed.
Sloane’s eyes locked instantly onto Reese’s car and held.
The red Laurens launched cleanly, threading between two rivals as the field barreled toward Turn 1 in a tight, chaotic pack.
“Oh, that’s brave,” Veronica murmured beside her.
Cars fanned out across the width of the straight, everyone searching for the smallest gap. Three cars ahead of Reese braked too late, overshooting the corner and sliding wide as tires protested in a burst of smoke.
Reese slipped inside them. “Good girl,” Sloane said, tightening her hand into a fist.
By the time the field exited Turn 1, she had already gained two positions.
Sloane blinked.
“Well,” Veronica said with a hint of amusement, “she didn’t waste time. I think maybe Reese just needed a little reassurance from the people who matter.” She bumped Sloane’s shoulder with hers, pulling a smile.
Lap by lap, the race unfolded, the rhythm settling into something almost hypnotic.
Reese was patient at first, seeming to study the cars ahead and choosing her moments carefully. The red-and-black Laurens car appeared again and again in places it hadn’t been the lap before, inching forward through the field with quiet determination.
A clean overtake into Turn 5 had them screaming their faces off. Sloane was confident she’d have half a voice when this thing finished. One thing was for certain. She was definitely enjoying herself, even more than she’d expected.
Another takeover along the back straight, where Reese tucked into the slipstream before darting past at the braking zone. Each time she gained a position, cheers erupted from the Laurens garage below them, the mechanics crowding around the pit wall monitors.
Sloane found herself leaning farther over the railing with every passing lap, following the car as if her focus alone could keep it moving forward.
But the fear never came. No panic attack took over. And gradually, she realized something that surprised her. Watching Reese race didn’t feel terrifying anymore. It felt exhilarating. Because Reese wasn’t reckless. She was extraordinary.
By Lap 32, the timing board showed Reese in eleventh place.
Veronica leaned forward beside her, her attention narrowing. “One more,” she said quietly. If Reese could move into P10, she’d finish in the points. The higher up she went, the more points she pulled.
