Chapter 12 #2
Both cars spun out, one burying itself nose-first into the gravel trap, the other slamming hard against the barriers. Marshals were already sprinting. Hospitals would be prepping. And Reese couldn’t breathe. This was every driver’s nightmare. Her own family knew all too well.
Her fingers gripped the railing so hard her knuckles blanched. The smell of scorched rubber reached her a beat later, acrid and unmistakable. A few mechanics behind her swore. Someone else began whispering a prayer.
“Come on … come on …” she whispered, eyes locked on the ruined machines for any positive sign.
Then, movement. A driver shifting in the cockpit. Pushing the steering wheel off. Climbing out with help from the marshals. Seconds later, the second cockpit opened, and another driver pulled himself free, shaken but standing.
A whoosh of release rippled down the pit wall, a tense exhale shared by everyone.
Reese let her grip loosen, breath finally slipping out of her. Racing was a monster and moments like this carved a truth into her bones: if you weren’t careful, this sport could take everything.
Almost three hours later, when Reese stepped back into the academy’s hospitality suite, her pulse was still buzzing from the race.
The suite had been cleared out for the night, which meant the staff would be back the next day to pack up.
It also meant she and Sloane could relax and be themselves without worrying about crew and office staff milling about.
It was likely the group had headed out to dinner, an invitation that Reese had politely declined, much preferring to take this meeting with Sloane, both for personal and professional reasons.
First of all, she hadn’t spent any one-on-one time with her over race weekend, barely an exchange since the kiss she’d relived about a hundred times.
She needed to look Sloane in the eyes and make sure they were okay.
Beyond that, every good thing that was happening in her professional world right now could be traced back to Sloane Foster holding her feet to the fire, and Reese was prepared to absorb her advice like a dutiful sponge. Dinner could wait.
But she didn’t make it very far into the dimly lit room before she realized someone was in distress.
She could tell immediately from the breathing pattern.
“Hey, are you okay?” Reese asked before the figure leaning over in a chair shifted.
It was Sloane. “Hey,” Reese said, moving to her and kneeling at her feet. “What’s wrong? Oh, no. Talk to me.”
“Sorry,” Sloane managed, but her jaw was tight, almost like she couldn’t unclench it. “I wasn’t expecting to …” She trailed off, leaving Reese to guess what had set off what looked to be a full-on panic attack.
But Reese didn’t guess. She didn’t press. She just stayed close, knees on the carpet, posture relaxed so she wouldn’t add to the claustrophobia tightening Sloane’s chest.
“It’s okay,” Reese murmured softly. “You don’t have to explain anything. Just breathe with me.”
Sloane shook her head a fraction. “Can’t.” The word came out strangled. Her hands clutched the armrests like she was trying to keep herself anchored to the chair. Or to the world.
Reese slid one hand, slowly and deliberately, over Sloane’s forearm. Not gripping, just offering a point of contact. A lighthouse instead of a rope.
“Hey. You’re right here. I’ve got you.”
A shudder ran through Sloane. Her breaths were rapid and shallow, her pupils wide, unfocused. Panic lived in her posture, shoulders curled inward, throat working like she couldn’t get air down far enough.
Reese kept her voice low, level. “Match me, okay? Just match what I do.” She inhaled slowly, exaggerating the rise of her chest so Sloane could follow if she wanted. Then she exhaled, long and steady.
At first, nothing changed.
Then, a faint, shaky inhale from Sloane tried to follow hers.
“Perfect,” Reese said. “You’re doing great.”
Sloane braced her elbows on her knees, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes like she was trying to squeeze back the memory, the trigger, whatever image had clawed its way into her head.
“I knew … coming back … being this close would be … stupid.” Her breath hitched. “I thought I was, you know … past it.”
Reese shook her head. “You don’t have to be past anything. And it’s not stupid. You got hit with something big. Anyone would react.”
Sloane huffed out a broken laugh. “Not like this.”
“Especially like this,” Reese countered gently. “Your body remembers danger even when your brain doesn’t want it to. Today was a nasty reminder.”
Sloane’s hands lowered slowly. Her eyes were glassy, embarrassed, and angry at herself. “You saw it, too? The crash?”
“I was near the pit lane when it happened.” Reese swallowed. “It shook me. So, I get how it could hit you even harder.”
Sloane blinked, breath finally lengthening. Not steady yet, but no longer spiraling. “I haven’t had one of these in a while,” she whispered, the words small like a confession. “No one’s ever actually … seen it.”
Reese’s chest tightened with something warm and fierce. “I’m glad I’m here, then.”
That made Sloane go very still, like she didn’t know what to do with someone not running for the door. Like she expected them to.
Reese shifted just enough to get on the edge of the chair beside her, careful not to crowd her. “Is it okay if I stay?”
Sloane nodded once, barely perceptible. But it was enough.
Reese remained right where she was. Silent when silence helped. Breathing slowly until Sloane’s breath unconsciously aligned with hers. The room was dim and quiet around them, like the whole world had agreed to give them space.
After a long stretch, Sloane let out a breath that didn’t shake. They were making progress.
“I’m okay,” she murmured, not convincingly.
Reese answered anyway. “I’m here, either way. Nowhere I need to be. We could sit here all night if you want.”
And for the first time since Reese walked in, Sloane looked at her fully, her eyes tired with vulnerability.
“Thank you,” she said, voice almost a rasp. “Really.”
Reese gave a small, soft smile. “Are you kidding? This is what we do. Sit in dim elevators and hospitality suites together. It’s our thing.”
Sloane’s mouth tugged a little, a hint of a smile threatening.
It was honestly everything to Reese.
The moment hung between them, quiet and fragile.
The kind of moment that Reese hadn’t expected but was glad she was here for.
Finally, she reached out her hand, and Sloane took it, their fingers threading automatically.
Reese was amazed at how perfectly they fit.
She wasn’t sure how long they stayed that way, holding each other’s hand in the silence, but quite a while.
“How do you do it?” Sloane asked finally.
Reese turned toward her. “Do what?”
“Climb into that car day after day after losing your father the way you did.”
“Oh.” Reese’s breath left her in a slow exhale. “I definitely think about his crash. I think Luke does even more. He was there. I wasn’t.”
She rubbed her palms on her knees, gathering her words from somewhere deep.
“But I think the love of racing didn’t die that day.
Not for me. My dad … he always said fear doesn’t mean stop.
It means pay attention. And I do. Every lap.
Every time I strap in. I know the risk. I don’t pretend it’s not there. ”
Sloane watched her, expression soft but intent.
Reese went on, her voice quiet but steady.
“But the thing is, when I’m in that car, the love outweighs the fear.
Every time. It’s not that I’m not scared.
I am. Sometimes more than I let anyone see.
But the second my wheels are rolling, it feels like choosing the part of my life that’s still bright.
Still mine. And I can’t let the worst moment of my family’s life take that from me. ”
Sloane’s throat worked, emotion tightening her features. “I wish I could see it that way.”
Reese shook her head softly. “You don’t have to. Your crash wasn’t some abstract risk on a screen. It happened to you. Your body remembers that. You’re allowed to carry the fear differently.”
Sloane looked away, blinking hard.
“But,” Reese added, “you’re here. You came back. Even when it scares you.” Her voice softened. “That’s brave as hell, Sloane.”
Sloane let out a slow breath, shaky but real. Reese didn’t break eye contact.
“And hey,” Reese said gently, “you don’t have to power through alone. You have people in your life. Colleagues all around you. Friends like Veronica. And you have me.”
That landed. Reese saw it in the way Sloane’s posture loosened, the smallest crack in her emotional armor. Not collapse, just maybe, permission.
Sloane swallowed, her voice rough. “Thank you.”
Reese squeezed her fingers lightly. “Anytime.”
The silence that followed wasn’t heavy anymore. It felt like something else entirely. Unfinished, charged, or the kind of quiet that hinted they were dangerously close to crossing another line.
Sloane was the one to break it, her voice barely above a whisper. “We should … probably talk boundaries at some point.”
Reese’s smile was small and wry because this was Sloane’s default. “Yeah. Probably.”
But neither of them let go of the other’s hand.
And that said everything.