Some luck at least.
I scanned my surroundings, and my stomach felt sick at the sight in front of me.The Hermes car was strung up between the barrier and the fencing, with its debris littering the gravel.
“Shit, shit, shit.”The words tumbled out as I broke into a run.Marshals shouted from behind, their voices ordering me back, but I ignored them.
I have to know.I have to see if he’s okay.
My legs felt disconnected from my body, racing boots slipping on the loose gravel with every stride.The distance between my car and the Hermes felt infinite, and the air felt stickier as I got closer.
Please be okay, I begged the universe.The marshals were shouting louder now, words I couldn’t process over the squeal in my ears and the horrible thoughts running through my head:I hit him.I caused this.This is my fault.
For one horrible, endless moment, the driver inside was slumped forward against his seat belt.I went to reach down, but before I could touch him, his arm twitched, and he jerked himself backward.
He was moving.
The relief was so intense it nearly knocked me back, but it only lasted a split second before a new wave of horror washed over me.I’d just destroyed someone’s race.And possibly their car.I’d hit them, sent them barrel-rolling into the barriers.What if they needed a new engine—
Stop spiraling.Help first, Lily.Guilt later.
I leaned back into the cockpit, where I finally caught the glint of the driver’s helmet through my haze.Bright gold, scratched and smeared, but unmistakable.The number72glared up at me.
Of all the drivers on the grid, of course I fucking hit Henri.
The press was going to have a field day with this one.The chaos of hitting F1’s golden boy, and my number-one rival for the championship, would undoubtedly last until summer break.But there was no point in contemplating that now.
Henri fumbled with the harness, his gloves slipping against the latch.
“Hold on, I’ve got you.”My voice cracked as I reached down into the cockpit, fingers finding the stubborn buckle.I yanked hard until the latch snapped open with a click.Henri jerked his head toward me.His visor was streaked with dirt.
“I’ve got it.”His voice was strangely calm, but the steel in his eyes when he looked up at me was pure Henri.
“Shut up and let me help.”I yanked harder, ignoring his protest.His weight was solid, dragging against me as I hauled him upward.The rain was starting to let up, but his race suit felt slippery and hard to hold.“Good grief, you weigh a million pounds.”
Together we staggered out of the wreckage.My boots slipped in the gravel, but I clung to him stubbornly.The second we cleared the car, he shoved me away, falling slightly backward.He swayed for a second, legs shaky, as he ripped his helmet off in an effort to steady himself.
His dark hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his face flushed.But his eyes… His eyes were blazing with something that looked an awful lot like hatred.
“I said I don’t need your help.”
I wondered if his words tasted as bitter as they sounded.
“I got that,” I mumbled, the sarcasm in my voice my only defense.His eyes narrowed at me as he took a step forward, then stumbled.His hand shot out, grabbing the twisted barrier for support.Henri’s fingers were trembling, and not the subtle kind you could hide, but a visible, full-body shake that rattled through his shoulders and down into his knees.
He blinked hard, twice, like the world around him refused to stay in focus.Finally, he looked up again.“Let’s hope this isn’t a sign for how the rest of this season is going to go for you, Blackwood.”He paused, letting his words hit.“Or how you intend to race.”
He thinks I did this on purpose.My blood boiled—half-guilt, half-indignation at his insinuation—but still I reached out to help steady him again.And again, he tried to shove me back.
“Oh, come on,” I scoffed.“Do you really think I’d stoop that low?”
His look told me he absolutely did, and the certainty written all over his face felt like a knife in the back.Henri Dubois and I may not be friends anymore, but for him to think that low of me made my chest burn with anger.
Everything tumbled out in a rush.“Something went wrong with my steering, Henri.Why on earth would I risk not finishing this weekend?”
Unbelievable.
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you knew I had that pass and that you couldn’t catch me in the rain.”I could feel his glare, cold and furious.
He’s serious.He actually believes I would throw away my race weekend and risk both our safety, just to take him out because I couldn’t beat him fairly.
