“Years ago,” she said.“Before Hermes, before the championship battles.He said it wouldn’t be fair, with the travel, the grind.Said he’d wait until everything calmed down.”She huffed a small laugh.“As if that will happen.But I don’t know.More and more drivers bring their dogs everywhere.Look at Éliott—he’s barely separated from Brownie, and Brownie loves traveling with him.He’s basically a mini star of the paddock!”
I watched Archie plant himself like royalty and press his full weight against Henri’s legs.Watched Henri’s hand settle against the dog’s chest, palm flat, finding the calm rhythm beneath it.Georgia gestured me over, and we drifted toward the pen where Henri sat.
Mini was talking to Henri.“Don’t let me pressure you,” she was saying, “but we can bring him for a trial weekend if you want to see how it feels.”
Henri shrugged.“I don’t know where I’ll be.”
“That’s okay,” she said.“He does.He’s very good at finding people.”
His gaze flicked up to me before sliding away.Almost as if he was asking what I thought.“I’ll think about it,” he said at last.
Henri stood, brushed damp grass off his knees, and gave Archie one last scratch.Then he handed the leash back, stepped out of the pen, and reassembled himself as his public self.But the echo of the smile stayed around the edges of his face.
I gave him my best smile.He didn’t take it, exactly, but he didn’t reject it either.He just moved on, and I let him.
The event thinned with the rain.Mina tucked Archie into a van with a blanket and a kiss to the nose.I carried a stack of bowls to the supply table and set them down before picking up the adoption papers.
Georgia came to stand beside me.
“You look like someone who has a mischievous idea,” she said.
“I hate that about my face,” I laughed.“Always gives me away.”
She scoffed in response.
“Georgia?”
“Yes…?”she asked, though I could tell from her expression that she already knew.
“You think Henri would say yes?”
Then a small smile began to curve at the edges of her lips, knowing and slightly conspiratorial and touched with something that might have been hope.
“Well,” she said slowly, her eyes returning to meet mine with that glint that suggested she was fully on board with whatever chaos I was about to unleash, “judging by the expression on your face, he very well may not have a choice in the matter.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Henri
Today had a certain ease about it.After yesterday’s charity event with my sister, I felt considerably lighter and more relaxed.Georgia had texted me three times about the charity event, each message more insistent than the last.The last one had been accompanied by a photo of a golden retriever with soulful eyes that she’d clearly found on the internet.
But it wasn’t her texts that had got me there.It was my new therapist and sports psychologist, who’d finally convinced me isolation wasn’t the same as healing, that wallowing away in my apartment replaying my fears wasn’t productive to my recovery.
After that session, she’d told me to set aside an entire day for myself to do nothing but relax with some “self-care.”
I wasn’t used to taking care of myself.
And Idefinitelywasn’t used to relaxing.
The apartment felt too quiet.I’d already cleaned the kitchen twice, answered several sponsor emails, and memorized the talking points Ruth wanted me to learn for my upcoming interview.A nice re-do of the last one I’d done with Ollie.My coffee had gone cold twenty minutes ago, but I still held the mug anyway, out of habit.The mug was chipped—Georgia had given it to me years ago:World’s Okayest Driver.At the time, it had been a joke.Now it felt a bit too on the nose.
I moved to the couch, kicked my feet up on the coffee table, and opened my book.I could do this.I couldrelax.
That was when the knock came.Three sharp taps, and a scuffling of something unfamiliar.
I ignored it.Probably Georgia.She’d been hovering lately, popping by with excuses like “forgot my charger” or “can I borrow your blender?”All of them terrible.
The knock came again, louder.
