“Enough,” Georgia said, stepping between us.
My PR officer threw both hands into the air with theatrical exasperation, her phone nearly flying from her grip.“Fine.You deal with him then.”She spun on her heel, storming off down the corridor without a backward glance.Within three steps, she already had the phone pressed to her ear, her voice rising as she began barking rapid-fire instructions into it.
The hallway grew quiet again.
“Henri, talk to me.”Georgia’s voice was stripped of any judgment, but I couldn’t even look at her.Every breath felt shallow and too close together.The walls felt larger, like they were starting to crowd me.
“I need—” I started, but the words wouldn’t finish.
“What?”Georgia’s hand hovered near my shoulder, not touching, but close.
“Air.I need air.I can’t—” I couldn’t finish.Couldn’t explain that the walls felt like they were pressing in; that my lungs wouldn’t fill properly; that every sound seemed too loud and too far away at the same time.
“Let’s go outside.”
The moment the door to the hallway opened, the humid Austrian air hit my face, thick and warm, but at least it wasdifferent.
And then I ran.
Not a jog or a quick walk, but a full sprint, footsteps pounding against pavement, my chest heaving, until I reached the entrance to the driver facilities.
My hand closed around a familiar door handle, and I slammed the door shut as soon as I was inside, letting myself fall against the door, head on my knees.Everything I’d tried to bury clawed its way back up.The flash of the crash, the interview with Ollie, the press conference.
Losing Monaco.
My chest hurt.My throat burned.I tried to slow my breathing, but it only made it worse, the inhale catching, the exhale coming too soon.I pressed my palms to my eyes until I saw stars.Lily had been right.I’d pushed her too far, and she’d said what everyone else was thinking.
For a few long seconds, I didn’t feel like a driver, or a brother, or anyone worth interviewing.Just a man sitting in a silent room, trying not to fall apart.
Chapter Eighteen
Lily
The compact gym tucked into the Rennen garage carried the subtle odor of rubber flooring and deodorant.Andy knelt next to me, murmuring numbers as I worked through my shoulder stretches.
“Five… six…” His thumb dug deeper, and I bit back a hiss.“You’re tighter than usual, Lil.”
“Long week.”I winced.
“Oh, Iknow.”He passed me the resistance band—the red latex one we used for shoulder mobility—settling back on his heels.“I watched yesterday’s press conference.”
This time, the wince had nothing to do with the knot in my back.Each time I replayed it in my head, guilt crawled a little bit deeper into my heart.
“Maybe it’s that you still see a ghost whenever there’s a hint of rain.” I shouldn’t have said it.Not like that.Not in front of everyone.I had so much regret that I’d felt physically sick all day.
That wasn’t me.I didn’t want to fight fire with fire, especially not with Henri.
“It’s all anyone in the paddock could talk about this morning,” Andy continued, watching me with those sharp eyes that missed absolutely nothing.“Well, that and speculation about whether you and Henri are going to actually come to blows during today’s Grand Prix.”
Andy grabbed the band from me, setting it down on the table.“Lil, what is going on here?That press conference yesterday, that wasn’t you.I know you and Henri have your differences—”
I stared at the floor.“I didn’t mean to say it.”
“Then why did you?”
I pulled my right knee to my chest, feeling the familiar overstretched burn at the front of my hip.Physical discomfort, I could handle.This conversation?Less so.
“In the moment, all I could think about was Henri’s driving.He was so erratic during free practice, nearly crashing into me.He got lucky, but it was so out of character, even for this season.”I pressed my forehead against my knee, taking a breath.“It was like something snapped in him, and I was worried.So, I just… blurted it out.Thought maybe if I called him on it, he’d stop spiraling.”
