Chapter 11 #2
“Oh,” Reese said. Sloane didn’t blame her. What did one say when you announced that your parents were uninvolved in your childhood and left you to coaches, nannies, and tutors?
“It’s okay. We still exchange Christmas presents. Very expensive ones.”
“We had completely opposite childhoods.”
“Your parents were awesome?”
A pause. “Well, until my dad died. My mom did everything she could to fill his shoes, which makes her an amazing human being. No money though. No childcare, so my brother had to help. The two of them are the only reason I’m here.”
“Wow. That sounds like a lot to take on.” A pause. “I’m sorry about your dad. Was he sick?”
“He died in a street race after a semipro career never took him where he wanted it to, but he introduced me to racing. Put me in my first kart.”
“Oh, Reese. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Reese said with a reassuring smile. “If I were eight, you were probably what, nine?”
“Smooth. Very smooth.” She’d done the math. She was eleven years older than Reese, which meant she’d have been a teenager.
She did, however, remember something in the write-up Veronica had given her about Reese coming from a racing family.
How had she missed such a key detail, the kind that could shape a person and their entire career, their outlook from behind the wheel, their risk assumption or lack thereof? Those things contributed.
“I’m sure that still has an impact on you. His legacy and what happened to him.”
“Every day of my life. I don’t start a single race without thinking about him. Hoping that I’m making him proud, wherever he is.”
“He’s with you,” Sloane said simply. There was no doubt in her mind. “In that car.”
The smile started small but then blossomed into an image Sloane knew she’d never forget. It softened Reese in a way she rarely let the world see, without the bravado she put on like a second fire suit.
“Thanks,” Reese said quietly, eyes lowering to her hands. “Most people don’t know what to say about it. Or they focus on the tragedy part and not everything else.”
“What else?” Sloane asked.
Reese lifted her gaze again, and there was a surprising steadiness there. “He loved racing more than anything. He died doing what he lived for. Do I wish he would have thought of us? Sure. Yes. But I also understand that drive.”
Sloane nodded, understanding the sentiment maybe too well. “There’s honor in that. And courage.”
Reese huffed a soft laugh. “Maybe. Or maybe we’re all just a little unhinged for choosing this life.”
“Both can be true,” Sloane offered, a small smile tugging at her mouth.
Reese’s expression turned playful for a heartbeat, a flicker of her usual spark returning. “You would know.”
“Yeah,” Sloane conceded. “I would.”
The words lodged for a moment, catching on something sharp in her chest. She wasn’t sure if Reese was alluding to her accident, but it was right where Sloane’s brain went.
She pushed past it. Coming back to the academy had been risky, closer to the action than she’d been in years, and sometimes the sounds alone could tilt her back into memories she’d spent a long time learning to survive.
But this wasn’t the moment for that. She forced her focus back to Reese, steadying herself and focusing on the beautiful woman in front of her, a puzzle she couldn’t help but want to solve, dangerous or not.
For a moment, the noise of the restaurant faded. The low hum of voices, the clink of cups, the hiss of the espresso machine. All she really registered was Reese across from her, the light outlining the curve of her cheekbone, the weight of something unspoken settling between them. Something real.
Reese tapped a knuckle lightly against the table. “I don’t talk about him much. But I did a week ago with Marissa.”
“Because you trust her. She’s your friend from what I’ve seen.”
“More than I ever would have guessed when I arrived. But I went there with you, too.”
Sloane met her eyes. “Because you needed to. And I listened.”
Reese considered that, then nodded once. “Yeah. You did.” They stared at each other for longer than two regular people were supposed to, drawing a giant arrow sign over the unique tension that seemed to underscore their interactions. “You do realize I’ve developed a huge crush on you.”
Sloane usually would have dodged such a comment, keeping her head on straight. Tonight, the out-of-the-way location that made her feel far removed from the real world loosened her grip on the practical. “Is that true?”
“And this conversation, this meal, the way you’re looking at me right now …” Reese let out a breath that sounded dangerously close to a sigh. “It’s not helping.”
Sloane felt her pulse thrum once. She should shut this down, redirect, and remind them both of the boundaries she was here to uphold. That was the smart thing. The necessary thing.
But Reese was still watching her, eyes bright and open in a way that stripped Sloane’s defenses down to their foundations.
“I’m looking at you,” Sloane said carefully, “because you’re being honest. And because you matter. That’s all.”
Reese’s lips quirked, not quite a smile. “Doesn’t feel like ‘that’s all.’”
God, she wasn’t wrong. The space between them felt charged, humming with something Sloane had no business entertaining.
“I work for the academy,” Sloane reminded softly, a quiet tether to reality. “We have rules. Lines.”
“Lines can exist,” Reese said, voice low but steady, “and there can still be … whatever this is.”
The candor was disarming. So was the courage behind it. Sloane pressed her palms to the underside of the table, grounding herself.
“Reese,” she said, gentle but firm, “you’re incredible. And I’m not pretending I don’t feel an attraction. But I can’t step over that line. Not here. Not now.”
Reese took that in without flinching. “I didn’t ask you to step over it. I just needed you to know.”
Sloane exhaled, something inside her easing. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Now I know.”
Reese nodded once, the tension between them softening, settling into something less unnerving. “Good,” she murmured. “Feels better already.”
It did. And it didn’t. In equal measure.
Sloane reached for her napkin, more to give her hands something to do than anything else. “We should get going,” she said, her voice softer than she meant it to be. “Long day tomorrow.”
Reese nodded, pushing her chair back. “Yeah. Makes sense.”
They stood, and for one suspended second, simply looked at each other again, an acknowledgment of everything said and everything that couldn’t be.
Sloane gestured toward the door. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”
Reese smiled, small but real. “I’d like that.”
It turned out Sloane had been booked into the same hotel as the drivers, which was a first. As far as Reese knew, Sloane usually preferred to snag a place away from the chaos that came with race weekend. The upside of the change? They could ride back together.
As the sights and sounds of Suzuka streamed past the car windows, Reese felt lighter than she had in years.
The driver had his window cracked, and the warm night air rushed in, lifting strands of her hair every few moments.
She closed her eyes and grinned, letting the sensations wash over her.
She enjoyed the wind, the motion, the lingering adrenaline from the day, and the quiet awareness of Sloane beside her.
When she opened her eyes again, Sloane’s gaze rested on her profile.
In the darkened car, Reese pretended not to notice. She enjoyed it too much.
“What floor?” Sloane asked fifteen minutes later as the elevator doors slid open in the lobby.
“Eighteen,” Reese said.
“Impressive.” Sloane tapped both their buttons. “I’m on five, which is … less so.”
“You have to make friends with Miranda.”
Sloane raised a brow. “You think I haven’t tried? And of course you have. I’m sure you’ve successfully charmed your way into her good graces. I forget who I’m dealing with.”
Reese smiled and rocked onto her toes as the elevator doors closed, sealing them in together.
She savored the quiet, the last few seconds of their evening.
She hated to see it end. She wondered if the honest, refreshing rhythm they’d slipped into tonight was a one-off born of travel, exhaustion, and their simple proximity, or the first step toward something that could unfold into more.
Did she want to undress Sloane slowly and make her crave things with white-hot intensity? Hell, yes. But she’d settle for platonic if it meant more moments like this. She’d take whatever she could get.
Someone somewhere must have been listening to her thoughts, because the elevator abruptly shuddered, sputtered, and stopped with an ominous metallic bang.
“Oh no,” Sloane murmured, stepping forward. “I’d hit a button, but I’m afraid I’ll send us plunging to our death.”
Reese’s eyes widened. “Let’s maybe not put that out into the universe.” She glanced up at the ceiling panel, then down at the seam in the doors as if clues might reveal themselves. “Maybe I could pry the doors open? Check if we’re near a floor?” She shifted forward, bracing her hands—
Sloane’s palm closed gently around her bicep. “Not sure this is the time for heroics.”
“I feel like it’s always time for those. No?”
“No,” Sloane said flatly. “But maybe we should ring the bell.”
“We can try that first,” Reese conceded. She crossed her arms to keep from wrestling their way out of this. The emergency call connected to a maintenance worker who spoke only Japanese, which neither of them understood, but his tone was calm and reassuring.
“Well, now what?” Sloane asked—just as the overhead lights flickered and switched to dim, humming emergency fluorescents. They exchanged a look.
Reese lowered herself to the floor. “It might be a while. The last time this happened, it was over an hour.”
“The last time?” Sloane echoed, sitting beside her. “You’ve been trapped in an elevator before?”
“Four times.”