EPILOGUE
One month later, September – Singapore
Dev
As a city, I love Singapore. But its weather can get fucked.
‘I hate to say that it’s hot as balls out here,’ Chava says, panting, as we make our way from the hospitality suite to the garage, ‘but my balls are hot, and I swear the air’s the same temperature. I think I’m sweating through my pants. Shit, am I sweating through my pants?’ He contorts his body, attempting to look over his shoulder so he can assess his backside in his navy Argonaut shorts.
‘Until you’re the one wearing the fireproof suit and sitting in a car for hours, you don’t get to complain,’ I grumble, giving him a once-over without slowing. ‘And you don’t have crack sweat.’
He turns back around, beaming. ‘Thanks for checking out my ass.’
‘Please never say that again.’
Once we’re in the garage, he slaps me on the back and wishes me well in the race before sauntering to his designated spot in the back with the other non-engineering team members. Out of habit, my focus lingers on the space, even though Willow isn’t there. By now, she’s standing in a similar spot in the Scuderia D’Ambrosi garage.
Even after two races of her working for them, it’s still strange to see her in head-to-toe D’Ambrosi red, but there’s no denying that she looks incredible in the colour. She spent the last week of the summer break in Italy at the team’s headquarters, getting things together so she could jump into working for Reid. She called me multiple times a day while we were apart with every new update that excited her, and I was more than happy to answer each time.
Thisis the form of long-distance I can handle. Moving in the same sphere, being close enough that we can spend our nights and days off together. If I can’t have her directly by my side, then being at opposite ends of the paddock is a compromise I’ll take. The knowledge that she’s only ever a few yards away brings me peace in the madness.
And said madness begins the second I climb into the car.
Thanks to some truly ridiculous penalties several drivers picked up in qualifying and a handful of cars starting from the pit lane due to needing modifications, I’m starting from sixth on the grid. It’s still wild to sit in a third-row box, but next year, it won’t be out of the norm. Unless Mascort absolutely tanks their car in development over the winter, it’ll be rare for me to start further back than where I am now. It’s a fucking dream, and it’s going to come true so, so soon.
I flex my fingers around the steering wheel as I wait for the drivers behind me to pull into their spots. Up ahead, Zaid is on pole with Axel next to him, the classic set-up. Otto is directly in front of me in fourth, with Lorenzo to his left. Beside me sits Thomas in the McMorris, and behind is Reid. He took a penalty for impeding another driver on a flying lap, even though he really had no place on the track to go in order to get out of the way in time.
But he’s behind me, and all that matters is staying ahead of him.
As the lights come on one by one, I inhale slowly. Waiting. Ready. And then it’s lights out.
I’m off the line quick, close on Otto, but Thomas is squeezing me. I grit my teeth and hold tight through the first series of corners. When the second straight opens up in front of us, I edge ahead of Thomas, still defending from Reid in the back and watching for an opening to present itself.
When it does, I don’t hesitate. I slot in just inches from Thomas’s front wheel, forcing him to brake to avoid the collision into the next turn. It’s shitty of me, sure, but it’s legal.
Our encounter is nothing, though. The real drama is happening ahead in what appears to be a three-way battle between Zaid, Axel and Lorenzo. I’m just far enough back to watch, knowing I need to react quickly if I’m going to stay out of it. And that’s my plan, because Lorenzo is a terrorist on the track, and it looks like—
Fuck.
I blink. That’s all it takes. A split second. A tagged back wheel. A 360-degree spin. A swerve. A reaction just a hint too slow.
A flame.
A blaze.
I see it all happen before I hit the wall.
My ears are ringing. My neck’s aching like it’s almost been snapped clear off. My hands are still on the wheel, shaking, adrenaline hitting in an attempt to help me block the pain.
I blink again, slower this time, my conscious brain trying to keep up with its subconscious actions. But it’s the acrid smoke that has me turning my head to look in my one unbroken mirror.
I don’t even need to see it. I can feel the heat of the fire. But I force myself to look. To count.
One. Two. Three.
Three cars. Mangled messes. The risk we take on full display.
‘Dev.’
There’s a voice in my ear, calling my name. It takes a second to realize the person isn’t beside me.
‘Dev, are you okay?’ Branny says, his tone urgent, like he’s asked this question more than once already. But this is the first time I’ve truly heard him.
There’s panic in his voice. There’s never panic in Branny’s voice. He’s calm and cool and collected. He’s my captain on these stormy seas.
‘Dev, talk to me,’ he pleads. ‘I need to know if you’re okay.’
I swallow, tasting the smoke in the air, trying to remember how words work.
‘I’m fine,’ I choke out. ‘I’m okay.’
And I am. Just rattled and disoriented from the force of the impact. My thoughts are jumbled as I try to get them out through my mouth. ‘But Zaid. And . . . and Axel. Lorenzo. Are they – What happened?’
The world around me spins. There’s a track marshal leaning over me now, shouting, wanting to know if I’m hurt. I can’t make out what my race engineer is saying. I tell the marshal I’m fine, to go help the others.
The fire burns brighter in my mirror.
‘Branny, tell me what’s happening,’ I demand again, the burn of acid creeping into my mouth as I fight to undo my seat belt with trembling hands. ‘Is everyone – Are they okay?’ My voice cracks. ‘Branny, you’ve got to tell me. Please.’
There’s more silence as the smoke grows thicker. Cold horror settles over me.
‘It doesn’t look good, Dev,’ he finally says. ‘It doesn’t look good.’
Willow
I’m going to be sick.
I want to be sick. I want to let out the bile churning in my gut as I watch hell unfold in front of me. There’s nothing but flames and twisted barriers and shattered carbon fibre. I want it gone. I want it scrubbed from my being. I don’t want to remember this for as long as I live.
The smoke from the fire reached us in the pit lane just seconds after the crash. The flashing lights of emergency vehicles are muted by the dark plumes, but the sirens are deafening. Person after person runs toward the chaos to help the drivers involved in the worst of it. I wish I could do something – anything – but just like most of the D’Ambrosi garage, I’m frozen in place, knowing the worst has happened.
And Dev is somewhere in it.
I always thought I’d be more responsive in the face of an emergency. I didn’t think cold shock would settle into my bones and nearly bring me to my knees. I thought I would run and scream and claw my way past anyone who tried to hold me back.
But I’m not. I’m just . . . numb.
I can’t watch it transpire like this, but I’m stuck, rooted to the ground, mind whirring with the loudest, most painful white noise. I refuse to believe this. The boy I love can’t be twisted up in those barriers. I can’t lose him like this. I can’t lose him at all. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—
My phone buzzes in my white-knuckled hand. The faraway sensation cuts into my spiral and snags my attention. Words flash across the screen. It takes a few seconds for me to blink away the cobwebs.
Chava. A text. All capital letters.
HE’S OK. DEV IS OK
——
Dev is okay. But Zaid, Axel and Lorenzo are not.
It’s been hours since the crash, and all I know is that the three are in intensive care. That they’re alive.
The D’Ambrosi garage was solemn and quiet before I slipped out. I made my exit the second I got the news that Dev was being discharged from the hospital after being evaluated out of an abundance of caution. The whole team was lost for words as we waited for news on Lorenzo’s condition. But all we heard were terrible whispers. Of the drivers involved, he was in the worst shape when the helicopter took him away from the circuit.
And it seems he still is.
‘I’ve got some updates,’ Dev says from where he’s stretched out on his hotel bed. He’s got an ice pack pressed to the back of his neck with one hand, and his phone in the other. He walked away with bruises and whiplash, but that was the worst of it. ‘Zaid’s wrists are fractured. Axel’s pretty badly burned. And Lorenzo is . . . They’re saying he might be paralysed from the waist down.’
I don’t know what to say. Past sobbing into his chest when we were reunited and telling him how much I loved him and how glad I was that he was okay – how glad I was that he swerved just in time – I’ve barely spoken a word to Dev. Because that could have been him. It could have so easily been him.
Now, though, in the privacy of his hotel room, I’m back to being numb and speechless. I sit in the armchair in the corner, legs drawn up to my chest, arms clutched around them, trying to hold myself together.
I’ve seen crashes before. Bad ones. Ones that resulted in just as many injuries, some even worse. I was there for the last F3 race that Oakley participated in before retiring. Was there when a boy nearly died that day. It was Oakley’s final reason for leaving the sport. Back then, I thought I’d understood his decision, but I carried around a hint of resentment too because he’d chosen to give up such a promising future. One I’d never come close to having.
Now, I wish I’d never felt that resentment. There’s no shame in not wanting to put your life on the line for the sake of entertaining others. I may have never told him how I really felt, but I still apologized when he called earlier to check on Dev and me, even if he had no idea what I was talking about.
But unlike my brother, Dev pushes harder when fear grows. He doesn’t back out. Doesn’t back down. He keeps going.
What happened today isn’t going to stop him.
It’s like he’s reading my mind when he says, ‘We all know the risks when we get in the car.’
I drag my gaze up from the spot on the carpet I’ve been absently staring at for god knows how long. His expression is solemnly determined, like he’s ready to convince me of his choice to race – and keep racing – if he has to. Is he thinking of Oakley and his decision to leave? Does he think I’d pressure him to do the same?
Is it wrong for me to not want him to give up his dreams, no matter how dangerous for him and for my heart?
Silence hangs as we consider each other, a dare passing between us. But there’s nothing to dare. Nothing to challenge. We’re on the same page.
‘I’m not going to tell you to stop racing, if that’s what you’re waiting for,’ I say, the words thick from the tears I’m still choking back. ‘And it’s not because I don’t care about you. God, Dev, I’m scared for you every time you climb into the car. But this is what you chose to do. What you love.’ I swallow past the lump in my throat, but my voice still cracks when I speak again. ‘All I can do is ask that you come back to me every time.’
His expression immediately softens, the hard set of his jaw relaxing and his eyes going soft. ‘I’ll always do my best. I promise.’ He sits up slowly, putting the ice pack and his phone on the bedside table. Then he extends his hands to me. ‘Come here, Willow.’
I hesitate before unfolding myself from the chair, knees and hips and shoulders protesting with every move. The ache seeps through me as I crawl up the bed to Dev’s awaiting embrace. I force myself to focus instead on his solid chest and strong arms and the coolness of his hands. His nose brushes against mine, luring my lips up and my head back, and I let him kiss me as the tears spill down my cheeks.
It’s far from perfect, but it says everything we need it to. He understands and respects my fears. There are no guarantees that he’ll leave every race alive and unscathed. And I accept that he’s going to keep doing this until the day he can’t or doesn’t want to any more.
As he clutches me to him, my shoulders droop, my body coming down from the surge of adrenaline it’s been running on for the past few hours. I’m safe here in Dev’s arms, and he’s safe in mine.
That’s all I can ask for, even if it can’t always be like this.
Dev
‘What do you mean they’re not cancelling the race?’
I track Willow’s every move, words failing me. She’s livid because this upcoming weekend’s race at Suzuka is going on as scheduled. The FIA announced it a few minutes ago, and I thought telling her over morning coffee in bed would be just another part of our conversation. I didn’t expect to start my Monday watching her pace the room in her strawberry-print pyjamas, curls flying in every direction as she shakes her head in pure disbelief, but here we are.
‘Three drivers are still in the hospital!’ she rants. ‘Yes, they’re alive, but they may never race again! How can they not cancel it?’
The only answer I can come up with is a weak, ‘The show must go on.’
That comment has her whipping around and clenching her fingers at her sides, like she’s ready to scream again.
Before she can, I put my hands up. ‘I know it’s shitty. But that’s why teams have reserve drivers. Other sports have substitutes too. They get called up if a player gets hurt. It’s the norm.’
‘It’s all fucking ridiculous.’
She’s furious, but she burns so brilliantly. And this passion is because of me. Last night, she told me she’d never stop me from following my racing dreams, but her concern is the trade-off, and today it’s manifesting in the form of anger.
She’d probably kick my ass if I said it out loud, but she looks so goddamn sexy as she huffs and stomps over to the balcony and throws the doors open. She pauses and draws in a deep breath, though it does little to dull the flame still scorching within her.
‘What if you all refuse to race?’ she suggests, whirling back around to look at me. ‘If the entire Drivers’ Association bands together on this, maybe they’ll call it off.’
I try not to scoff. ‘That’ll never happen. No one even brought it up in our WhatsApp group after the announcement was made. Honestly . . . I think most of us want to do this.’
‘Most of you are thrill-seeking hooligans who need to pull your heads out of your—’ She cuts short, drawing in yet another shuddering breath. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just . . .’
‘The hottest thing I’ve ever seen?’ I supply, flashing a lopsided grin that manages to pry a laugh out of her, even through her anger. ‘Keep yelling, baby. You’re making me hard.’
‘You’re ridiculous.’ She’s scolding me, but she’s mostly mad at herself for giving me that beautiful sound.
I’m about to get out of bed and convince her to come back and calm down – and, all right, maybe do a little more than that – when my phone buzzes on the bedside table. I freeze when I see the name on the screen.
‘It’s Howard.’
My eyes dart to Willow again, and I watch as her own go wide, her wild hands motioning to the phone.
‘Answer it,’ she hisses, like she’s worried that Howard can hear her. ‘It could be important.’
She’s right. But what if it’s bad news? That’s the last thing I need after the shit show of yesterday. Still, at her insistence, I scoop up the device and answer on speakerphone.
‘Hello?’
‘Mascort has been in touch,’ Howard says, skipping over the pleasantries.
My stomach drops straight to the floor. Shit. His tone is impossible to read, and it’s left me fearing the worst.
‘Zaid won’t be returning for the rest of the season,’ he continues.
Even though I had a feeling that would be the case for my future teammate, I hate to hear it. ‘Shit.’ I suck in a breath, ready to ask if he’s heard anything about Axel’s condition, or even Lorenzo’s, but he speaks before I can.
‘Mascort wants you to take his seat for the rest of the season.’
My heart lurches as I lock eyes with Willow. Did I hear him correctly?
From the way she mouths, oh my god, I know I’m not hallucinating.
‘You’re kidding me,’ I blurt.
As usual, he doesn’t entertain my shock. ‘You’ll finish out the season alongside Kivinen,’ he explains, ‘and you’ll take Kivinen’s seat when Zaid returns next year.’
I take a little comfort in that. They’re assuming Zaid will be well enough to make a return, and judging from Willow’s soft exhale, she feels the same. But it doesn’t temper my shock otherwise.
‘And Argonaut is going to let me?’
‘Argonaut will get paid a pretty penny to let you leave early. In fact, there was a bit of a war over you. D’Ambrosi wanted you to replace Lorenzo – claimed they had the rights to you because of the engine agreement Argonaut has with them. But money talks, and Mascort is offering more.’
I’d be a little more flattered if I wasn’t pissed that Howard did all of this behind my back. ‘You didn’t think to ask what I wanted or involve me in these talks before now?’
‘They were happening when you were getting scans to make sure your brain was still intact.’
Well, fuck.
‘You’re being looped in now,’ Howard goes on. ‘Obviously the choice is up to you, but you now have an opportunity to go to Mascort earlier than planned.’
I blow out a breath, taking in the way Willow has pressed her lips into a thin line. She’s clearly stunned by the mad moves these guys have been making too.
‘They didn’t waste any time, did they?’
‘There can be no empathy where millions of dollars are involved. You know that.’
He’s not wrong, no matter how sick that idea makes me. ‘Does that mean the news about me going to Mascort next season is coming out soon too? They can’t keep that a secret for long if they expect me to be in their car by Friday.’
‘I’d say in the next hour, if it’s not out already. And I’m guessing this means you’re willing to accept the agreement?’
I look at Willow, taking in her cautious expression. Obviously, I need to see the amended contract for myself, and I need both Howard and my lawyers to walk me through it, but . . . I want this. I really do.
And when I start to see a hint of Willow’s dimples, I know she wants this for me too. ‘Yeah,’ I tell Howard, amazed my voice sounds as strong as it does, because holy shit, this has me nearly shaking. ‘Send over the new contracts.’
‘They’re already in your inbox for review.’ He pauses, letting me process everything. ‘Get ready, Dev. Your life’s about to change.’
Willow
Unsurprisingly, I feel pretty comfortable in hospitals. Same goes for urgent care centres and doctors’ offices. It’s all thanks to how much time I spent in them as a kid, having tests run and my joints put back into place. Dev, however, is beyond uncomfortable. And I can’t blame him. For him, hospitals mean the worst.
‘I hate it here,’ he grumbles, sticking close to my side as we make our way down the hall toward the patient rooms. ‘Why does disinfectant have to smell like that? It’s so gross.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ I soothe. I have to bite back a laugh at his whining. He’s truly nervous. ‘Zaid wants to see you. And you don’t say no to Zaid Yousef.’
We can’t stay long, considering our flight to Japan leaves in two hours, but when summoned by a seven-time world champion – and future teammate – Dev did exactly what he was told.
He straightens up a little, composing himself. ‘That’s for sure.’
I’m here for moral support, but knowing Zaid is well enough to receive visitors has lessened some of the weight on my chest. I still don’t know much about Axel’s or Lorenzo’s conditions. I can only hope they’re improving as well.
Dev was right, though. This is the world of Formula 1. And I have to accept it. It’s a high-risk, high-reward sport, and there’s nothing I can do to change it. I can only stand behind the drivers I’m there to support and do my best to stay strong.
And I will. Because I’d do anything for Dev. Anything to stay in his world. Our world.
When we reach Zaid’s room, he pauses outside the door and squeezes my hand, a question in his eyes. ‘Will you come in with me?’
I’m pretty sure this is a conversation for just the two of them, but if he wants me in there and Zaid’s okay with it, I’ll happily stick by his side. ‘Of course.’
It takes him several seconds to hype himself up. After a couple of deep breaths and a few shoulder rolls, he gives me a nod. Then he knocks on the door and pushes it open when a voice calls for us to come in. His hand is still wrapped tightly around mine as he guides me inside, and I file behind him, peeking around his shoulder to see into the room.
The machines, wires and tubes are the first things I spot, and I trace them over to the bed where Zaid is resting. Before today, I never would have thought he was nearly forty – good genes and an even better skincare routine probably help – but here, in his hospital gown and with dark circles under his eyes, he looks every one of his years. But when he spots Dev and he starts to smile, a decade instantly vanishes. Dev is absolutely the most attractive guy on the grid, but Zaid . . . Let’s just say he’s a very close second.
‘Anderson,’ he greets, his voice surprisingly strong. ‘Thanks for coming to see me.’
Dev nods, gently pulling me to stand by his side. ‘Of course, man. Is it okay that my girlfriend’s here?’
‘Absolutely.’ Zaid’s attention shifts to me, and I’m suddenly on the receiving end of the world’s most intense – but surprisingly kind – stare. ‘Lovely to finally meet you, Willow.’
He knows my name? My shock must show on my face, because he chuckles lightly.
‘I’ve seen you around the paddock,’ he explains. ‘I’d shake your hand but . . .’ He glances wryly down at where his casted arms rest on a pillow in his lap. ‘Little injured at the moment.’
‘We’ll save it for another time,’ I reply, relaxing when he huffs a laugh. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Like I got hit by a car going two hundred kilometres per hour and then exploded.’
A surprised snort escapes me at his dry answer, and I immediately clap a hand over my mouth in embarrassment, but Zaid’s replying grin makes me a little less mortified.
‘I’ll recover,’ he reassures, his dark eyes assessing me before shifting to Dev. ‘So will Axel. We’ll be back.’
There’s no mention of Lorenzo. And I don’t miss the flash of weariness in his eyes at the mention of his own return.
‘But not until next season,’ Dev adds on for him, getting to what we assume is the point of this meeting – Dev taking Zaid’s place at Mascort, the contracts for which he signed just before we left to come here.
Zaid nods, black hair falling against his forehead. ‘First off, I wanted to welcome you to the team. Taking my place obviously wasn’t the way you were meant to start with Mascort, but I’m glad it’s you keeping my seat warm for me.’
Dev dips his head, and I tamp down a grin when a hint of pink colours his cheeks.
Too cute.
‘You deserve this spot.’ Zaid pauses, waiting for Dev to look up again. His expression is serious now. ‘I’ve watched you drive over the years. In the right car, I think you can do well. Very well.’
I keep my eyes on Dev as he takes in the praise from his idol. These words mean more than anything anyone else in the business has ever said to him, and Zaid seems to truly mean them.
‘Thank you,’ Dev says after a beat. ‘I’ll do my best to live up to that.’
Zaid’s smile shifts more into smirk territory as he relaxes into the pillows propping him up. ‘You better. If Mascort loses the Constructors’ Championship this year to Specter Energy because of you, I’ll have them rip up your contract. You understand?’
While I’m pretty sure Zaid is joking, he probably does have the power and sway to make that happen. And I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s clearly a good person, but championships aren’t won with kindness.
Dev clears his throat and nods, and I swear he stands a little straighter. ‘Yeah, completely understood.’
‘Good.’ Zaid gives him an assessing once-over. ‘All right, go on. Drive my car this weekend. You have my blessing. And don’t wreck it, yeah? It’s seen enough trauma.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
With that, we wish Zaid a speedy recovery before we slip back into the hallway. We’re quiet as we walk down the corridor, each processing that one-of-a-kind interaction. I’m certainly starstruck. And, okay, maybe developing the tiniest crush that I will never tell Dev about.
Eventually, my boyfriend wraps his arm around my shoulders and tugs me close, pressing a kiss to my temple. ‘I’m driving for Mascort this weekend,’ he mumbles in pure disbelief, as if it’s just hit him.
A giddy wave of butterflies swarms my stomach. I’m so proud of him I could scream. ‘You are.’
‘I’m taking Zaid’s seat until he’s better.’
‘That’s right.’
‘I have to fill Zaid fucking Yousef’s shoes.’
It’s definitely a big deal, but the way he says it sends crushing pressure down on me too. I wouldn’t blame him for being anxious about it. ‘I’m sure you’re gonna be—’
‘I’m so fucking excited.’
Sucking in a breath, I study his face, surprised by that gushing confession. ‘Really? You’re not nervous?’
He shrugs. ‘I mean, if the semi I’m rocking is anything to go by—’
‘I’m sorry,’ I splutter, coming to a stop in the middle of the hallway. ‘Are you saying Zaid Yousef makes you hard?’
He grins cheekily down at me.
‘Oh, ew, Dev.’
He backs me against a wall, just around the corner and out of sight of the main hallway. And yep, I can feel just how excited he is.
‘But it’s knowing that I get to have you with me through all of this that really takes the cake,’ he murmurs, dipping his head so his lips ghost over mine. ‘I couldn’t do this without you, Willow. Any of it. Not after I discovered what it feels like to love you and be loved by you in return. It’s what gives me strength. You are my strength.’
A lump grows in my throat, and happy tears prick at the backs of my eyes. Yesterday was easily one of the worst days of my life. That fear and anguish when I didn’t know whether Dev was involved, as quickly as it came and went, nearly broke me. But his return built me up again. It hardened my bones and strengthened every muscle and ligament within me. It made me stronger than I ever thought I could be, and I’ve done the same for him.
I never want to live without that power.
I want to live with him right beside me. Always.
I’d tell him as much, but Dev goes on, that grin of his slowly spreading.
‘Seriously,’ he says. ‘How lucky am I that I not only get to travel the world and drive fast cars, but I get to do it with the woman I love by my side?’
‘Very lucky,’ I agree, resting my hand over his racing heart. Mine is beating just as fast. ‘I think it might even be fate.’
‘Written in the stars, huh?’
I tip my chin up in open invitation. ‘Do you think the stars could write a future where you kiss me in the next five seconds?’
‘I think they could make that happen.’
And what do you know – the stars give me exactly what I want. They always do.