Chapter Seven
Henri
I should’ve been over the moon today.Pole position at Montreal was exactly what I needed.It was a chance to silence the doubters who’d been whispering that Henri Dubois had lost his edge.This track suited me, and I’d won here two years ago.
But as the rain began to fall, a knot tightened in my stomach.
Everything around me faded as I prepared for the race.Michael’s calm voice in my earpiece felt distant, like he was speaking from underwater.
“P1, Henri.Good grid position,” Michael said through my earpiece, his voice maddeningly calm.“Rain’s holding steady.Full wet tires to start, but we’ll keep an eye on the weather.Hoping it dries up soon.”
“Copy.”My voice came out steadier than I felt.
I climbed into the car, rain drumming against my helmet as I settled into the cockpit.The familiar routine should’ve been comforting—harness clicks, wheel check, radio check—but my heart was already hammering too fast.
Behind me, Lily sat in P2.I could see her car in my mirrors, that distinctive Rennen livery that had haunted me all season.She’d be coming for me today.Whoever won this one would be the leader in the championship.
Just drive, I reminded myself.Like you’ve done a thousand times before.
Water pooled on the track, turning it into a minefield of standing water with limited visibility.My hands found their position on the wheel, muscle memory taking over even as my mind screamed warnings.
The lights began their sequence.
One red light.Then two lights.Rain hammered against my visor.
Three lights.
Breathe.Just breathe.
Four lights.Five lights.
Don’t think about Miami.Don’t think about the barriers.Just—
Lights out.
My start was perfect.Rear tires bit into the wet surface with just enough grip to not lose traction.Water sprayed around me, obscuring my vision as I maneuvered into the first turn, relying on instinct rather than clarity.
As lap after lap went by, I tried to ignore the ever-growing spiral of dread, but it was no use.Behind me, I heard the chaos, someone locked up, tires screeching, but I was already focused on Turn 1.
I pushed through the opening laps.There was a rhythm to my driving, a drive that should have felt like second nature.But today, the torrential rain transformed every corner into an uphill battle, and instead of exhilaration, I felt an overwhelming sense of fear.
“Lily’s P2, three-tenths back,” Michael confirmed.
Too close for my liking.
By lap ten, it became painfully clear that something was wrong.In the S-section, the momentum I usually embraced turned into a hesitation that nearly cost me.
Why couldn’t I just let go of this feeling?
“Lily’s pushing,” Michael said on lap fifteen.“She’s faster through the S-section.”
Of course she was.
We settled into a rhythm over the next several laps, me defending, Lily attacking, both of us locked in a private war while the rest of the field tried to keep up.She tried moves I knew were coming because I’d studied her racing for three years.But with every lap, I could feel the car starting to struggle.The tires were giving up, losing grip incrementally.And my corrections were getting larger, more desperate.
At lap thirty-one, Michael’s voice rang out, “Box, box.”We switched to intermediates, tires for slightly drying but wet weather, and for a fleeting moment, hope sparked inside me.With fresh tires, I could feel the grip returning.For the first time all race, I felt a glimmer of hope.
Then Lily pitted.
