Reese turned, impressed. “I sometimes forget that you’re an absolute motorsport encyclopedia.”
“You’re welcome,” Julie said with a smile. “Now, shall we mingle? Get to know a few of these other teams?”
“Mingle, you say?” Reese nodded and summoned her crowd-working skills. Because that part she could do with her eyes closed.
CHAPTER 4
LIGHTS OUT
The heat hit Sloane’s face before the realization arrived in her brain. Why was she hot? Why couldn’t she see clearly? She coughed as the air burned its way to her lungs. Then her orientation flooded back. She had to get out of the car. She blinked, hands still on the wheel, flames inching closer. The car had rotated. She’d crashed. And now it was on fire.Stay awake. Stay awake. She heard voices, but they were muffled. The words were impossible to make out, but she needed those instructions. She also had to get the hell out of the car, but she couldn’t move. Pain seared from her ankle to her shoulder. The voices retreated. No one was trying to help her. She would die here. “I crashed!” she yelled, desperation coating her tone. “I’m still in the car!” Except she wasn’t. Sloane was in her bed, squeezing the sheet beneath her body with both hands, a grounding tactic that reminded her that the crash was all a dream, an echo of a memory from long ago that never quite faded.
“You’re okay,” she murmured. Another orienting device she’d developed with her therapist years ago. Talking herself through it helped.
Ever since her accident eight years and two months ago, Sloane had noticed a change in her sleeping patterns. Oncea deep sleeper who enjoyed sinking into the mattress, pulling the sheets over her bare shoulders, and snoozing as late as her schedule would allow, she was now someone who woke frequently during the night and was up for good before the sun rose. The sensory-rich nightmares were enough to pull her out of bed if the ache from her injuries didn’t do it first. Waking up full of fear and adrenaline made it hard to find a way back to sleep. Her new reality was one she’d come to accept.
This morning was different, however. She hadn’t woken as quickly from the nightmare, leaving her in the car for longer, lost in the moments that were exaggerated and garish versions of the actual day. Colors were brighter, faces distorted, and sound twisted cruelly whenever she tried to decipher the rescue team’s critical words. She’d woken breathless, sweating, and desperate to get out of bed.
“That one was bad,” she told herself. Her own voice helped anchor her in the present.
She knew why the nightmare had been so intense. In just a few hours, she’d be smack in the midst of race day, and that knowledge loomed over her like a ghost she wasn’t ready to face. “Nope. Get it together, Foster,” she told herself in the bathroom mirror with a long, hard look. “This doesn’t have to be a big deal. You used to do this every weekend. Suck it up.”
After a quick protein bar, Sloane rolled out her mat on the hotel room floor and began a series of long, deliberate stretches, feeling the tightness in her back ease gradually. Her shoulders ached as she reached overhead, her spine lengthening with each breath, a painful necessity. Squats and push-ups followed. Her muscles protested at first before settling into the familiar rhythm. Sweat gathered at her temples, but she ignored it. Her heartbeat synced with the steady count in her head. She always woke her body first—flexing, straining, pushing—trusting that once her limbs were humming with energy, her brain wouldsharpen, too, thoughts snapping into place as surely as her muscles fired. Nothing fixed her head like a good workout.
Today marked the first of two Formula Next races that weekend. The sprint race was today, with the featured race to follow tomorrow on Sunday morning. It would also be Sloane’s first chance to see the drivers in action, to watch how they handled their cars and interacted with their teams under pressure. If time allowed, she hoped to meet some of them personally after the race. For that, she wanted to be focused—clear in her communication, confident in her presence, and ready to make a strong first impression on the drivers she was there to mentor.
On the ride over, she worked to get ahead of her nerves. She still wasn’t convinced she’d done the right thing in accepting the position at the academy. Was there time to tell her driver to head straight to the airport instead?
Veronica
Excited for today?
Veronica’s text gave her something to focus on.
Yes, actually. Do they serve Bloody Marys at the track these days?
Veronica
You’re in luck. I’ll have one hand-delivered to you.
In that case, I might just stick around.
Doubt pooled and settled uncomfortably in her midsection. She stared out the tinted window as the colorful sights of Miami flew past. At the very least, she could make this a temporary commitment. One season. If things didn’t go well at theacademy, she’d move on to the next project and wouldn’t look back, the same way she’d handled things for the past few years. It was a risk putting herself so close to the action again. But Sloane didn’t do things halfway. Her passion, her unrelenting drive, wouldn’t allow it. So, she was going to do this thing, which meant meeting her fears head-on and punching them in the face.
She arrived at the Miami International Autodrome well in advance of the sprint race. The atmosphere buzzed from all angles, a hum of excitement zipping through the tarmac itself. Crews darted between garages in coordinated bursts of motion, their headsets crackling with clipped instructions. The scent of fuel and hot rubber already hung in the air, even though engines hadn’t yet roared to life.
Sloane took a moment to let it wash over her. She loved this part, and the sensory details took her straight back to her favorite memories of race days. Drivers in their race suits drifted in and out of view, some locked in concentration, others laughing too loudly to mask their nerves. Above it all, the grandstands were beginning to fill, a restless sea of color and flags, as if the world itself leaned forward to watch what would unfold. This was a big day for the academy. Revolutionary in many ways.
“You ready?” Veronica asked, sliding a strand of dark hair behind her ear as she appeared next to Sloane. The sun bathed them fully, signaling good weather for the race. In the midst, Veronica’s eyes held concern, which meant she realized what the day might mean for Sloane. She was standing there as Ronnie, Sloane’s friend, not Veronica Vance, the academy’s director.
“Yeah,” Sloane said, meaning it. “I was worried, but now that I’m here, the atmosphere is, I don’t know, comforting in a way. Almost like coming home.”
“The good old days,” Veronica said, easing into a soft smile. They’d had some amazing times back then. “Remember whenwe’d sneak away from the paddock and toss tennis balls against the back wall and talk for hours, trying to figure out when we’d get the call to F1?”
“Of course I do.” Sloane smiled, instantly transported. “Those were some of the best days of my life.”
“Mine, too,” Veronica said quietly. “And of course your call came first. As it should have.”
Sloane had been offered a seat at DeRossi Racing, and on a rainy Sunday evening, she signed the contract. They’d celebrated with warm peanut butter toast and cheap cabernet and laughed and gaped at each other in disbelief. It wasn’t gonna be just a boys’ club any longer. Ronnie joined the grid as a midseason replacement, and suddenly they were racing each other every weekend and thrilled about it.
