Sloane’s hands lowered slowly. Her eyes were glassy, embarrassed, and angry at herself. “You saw it, too? The crash?”
“I was near the pit lane when it happened.” Reese swallowed. “It shook me. So, I get how it could hit you even harder.”
Sloane blinked, breath finally lengthening. Not steady yet, but no longer spiraling. “I haven’t had one of these in a while,” she whispered, the words small like a confession. “No one’s ever actually … seen it.”
Reese’s chest tightened with something warm and fierce. “I’m glad I’m here, then.”
That made Sloane go very still, like she didn’t know what to do with someone not running for the door. Like she expected them to.
Reese shifted just enough to get on the edge of the chair beside her, careful not to crowd her. “Is it okay if I stay?”
Sloane nodded once, barely perceptible. But it was enough.
Reese remained right where she was. Silent when silence helped. Breathing slowly until Sloane’s breath unconsciously aligned with hers. The room was dim and quiet around them, like the whole world had agreed to give them space.
After a long stretch, Sloane let out a breath that didn’t shake. They were making progress.
“I’m okay,” she murmured, not convincingly.
Reese answered anyway. “I’m here, either way. Nowhere I need to be. We could sit here all night if you want.”
And for the first time since Reese walked in, Sloane looked at her fully, her eyes tired with vulnerability.
“Thank you,” she said, voice almost a rasp. “Really.”
Reese gave a small, soft smile. “Are you kidding? This is what we do. Sit in dim elevators and hospitality suites together. It’s our thing.”
Sloane’s mouth tugged a little, a hint of a smile threatening.
It was honestly everything to Reese.
The moment hung between them, quiet and fragile. The kind of moment that Reese hadn’t expected but was glad she was here for. Finally, she reached out her hand, and Sloane took it, their fingers threading automatically. Reese was amazed at how perfectly they fit. She wasn’t sure how long they stayed that way, holding each other’s hand in the silence, but quite a while.
“How do you do it?” Sloane asked finally.
Reese turned toward her. “Do what?”
“Climb into that car day after day after losing your father the way you did.”
“Oh.” Reese’s breath left her in a slow exhale. “I definitely think about his crash. I think Luke does even more. He was there. I wasn’t.”
She rubbed her palms on her knees, gathering her words from somewhere deep. “But I think the love of racing didn’t die that day. Not for me. My dad … he always said fear doesn’t mean stop. It means pay attention. And I do. Every lap. Every time I strap in. I know the risk. I don’t pretend it’s not there.”
Sloane watched her, expression soft but intent.
Reese went on, her voice quiet but steady. “But the thing is, when I’m in that car, the love outweighs the fear. Every time. It’s not that I’m not scared. I am. Sometimes more than I let anyone see. But the second my wheels are rolling, it feels like choosing the part of my life that’s still bright. Still mine. And I can’t let the worst moment of my family’s life take that from me.”
Sloane’s throat worked, emotion tightening her features. “I wish I could see it that way.”
Reese shook her head softly. “You don’t have to. Your crash wasn’t some abstract risk on a screen. It happenedto you. Your body remembers that. You’re allowed to carry the fear differently.”
Sloane looked away, blinking hard.
“But,” Reese added, “you’re here. You came back. Even when it scares you.” Her voice softened. “That’s brave as hell, Sloane.”
Sloane let out a slow breath, shaky but real. Reese didn’t break eye contact.
“And hey,” Reese said gently, “you don’t have to power through alone. You have people in your life. Colleagues all around you. Friends like Veronica. And you have me.”
