Page 94 of Off the Grid

For the first time ever, when I pull into the garage, Carlo isn’t there waiting to greet me.

It’s not because you didn’t finish in the points.

It’s because you helped someone else do just that and so he’s over celebrating with them.

You’re not getting your ride yanked.

I reiterate all the reasons he might not be there—over and over—but there’s still underlying panic.

Ari greets me though. “Hell of a drive, mate. Not your fault the car wasn’t where it should be. But you battled. You drove a race you should be proud of. Congrats.”

I shake his hand, still thinking I could have done better, but deep down knowing I couldn’t have.

A little humility goes a long way.

I turn to hand my helmet off to someone and am surprised to see Camilla down in the garage. This typically isn’t her place. And it most definitely isn’t hers when Carlo isn’t here.

But what catches my attention isn’t so much that Camilla is in the garage—although my ego more than likes that—it’s the expression on her face as she looks into the crowd milling on pit row.

The crowd being crew members of various teams and team dignitaries.

Her face is pale, her expression—the only way I can describe the look on her face is spooked.

I try to find where she’s looking—see what she’s seeing—but only see a shit ton of people. And when I look back at her, she catches me watching her and buttons her emotions up quicker than shit.

I narrow my brows at her, curiosity owning me when I should be worried about the points I didn’t earn.

She just shakes her head, offers a tight smile, and then before I can think much more of it, Hank pulls me away.

“So describe the car to me. What it felt like. How the pull on the right front felt.”

I’m so grateful that it hasn’t taken too long for the crew and me to gel. To find our groove and work well together. To communicate in ways we both understand.

“Felt we had some issues with graining on corner number four. Front end isn’t gripping hard enough, so it’s sliding, burning through my grip. Some understeer.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking we went the wrong way with the tires,” Hank says. “We should have changed to medium instead of hard.”

“All right.”

“Good work supporting Andrew out there.”

“Thanks, mate.” I head across to physio as I wouldn’t mind Tori looking at my right shoulder.

I can’t get across the paddock and into the Moretti hospitality suite fast enough.

I all but collapse onto the physio table.

“Where’s the pain, Riggs?” Tori asks.

“Right shoulder down into my bicep. Think I tweaked something.”

“Okay. Let me see what I can do for you. Then you’ll need heat and then ice on it.”

“You’re the boss.” My groans and whimpers follow soon thereafter as Tori and her incredible hands work the knots out of my shoulders and neck.

“I could kiss you,” I murmur, my face pressed into the donut of the table.

“If I had a dollar for every time I heard that, I’d be rich.”