Chapter 16 On the Other Side of the Door #2
“Can’t say that’s new. Can’t say it will ever change, either,” Reese smiled. “But I’m charming, right? People always say I’m charming.”
“You’re a little charming.”
“See?” Reese’s playful smile dimmed to sincere. “Seriously, though. Thank you for coming in here. I do feel better, and it’s because of your presence. Your words.” She looked skyward. “I guess we just wait out the possible scandal.”
“Can’t say I’m often a part of one of those.”
She laughed quietly. “Welcome to Reese. I’d better go.”
Sloane took a seat. “For discretionary purposes, I’ll hang back a few minutes.”
“You look good in my room,” Reese said, eyeing her on the bench.
“Get out of here,” Sloane said with a smile.
She did. Once alone, Sloane let it all settle. She hadn’t given herself space to think about the fallout of the very public argument yet. Not really. She’d been too focused on Reese, on making sure she was okay, and then of course, they’d gotten carried away.
But people would be looking at them differently, trying to decide if the rumors were true.
They’d assess, speculate, and decide what version of the story they preferred.
Sloane had no intention of showing favoritism among the drivers, yet others would watch and wonder.
It wasn’t a great spot to be in, but could she walk away from what she’d started with Reese?
No. She wasn’t sure how to hit the off switch on something that had made her feel alive for the first time in years, and she didn’t want to.
Sloane exhaled slowly and reminded herself of a few important things.
First: nothing about what was happening felt wrong. Not the quiet conversations. Not the laughter. Not even the passion that had bubbled over and lingered with her even now.
Second: she was allowed to want this. Whatever this was becoming.
And finally, and most importantly, she didn’t need to solve it all today.
She stood, smoothed her jacket, and caught her reflection in the small mirror by the door. Her eyes were bright. Her smile came easily. That said something.
“It’s all okay,” she murmured to herself, not unkindly. “You’ve got this.”
And for the first time since Veronica had arrived in LA and offered her this job, she believed it.
By the time Reese realized the cactus mural on the hotel room wall had crowns, she was already on her second sparkling water. She was a party animal tonight, it seemed.
But they were everywhere—painted across the turquoise wall behind Delaney’s bed, tall and squat and lopsided, each one topped with a crooked little gold crown like they’d all been quietly knighted. The longer Reese stared, the more convinced she became that one of them was smirking at her.
“This one,” she said, pointing, “knows my secrets.”
Delaney, stretched out across the bed with her booties kicked off, and her socks aggressively mismatched, didn’t even look up from her phone. “That’s King Prickles. He judges everyone.”
Cassidy snorted from the floor, where she was leaning back against the couch, nursing a soda and stealing popcorn straight out of the bowl Marissa held in her lap. “You’re projecting.”
“I am not,” Reese said. “Look at his face.”
Marissa, curled into the armchair that looked more decorative than functional, tilted her head. “He does look smug.”
“Thank you,” Reese said.
Delaney finally glanced up. “He’s a solid cactus. Probably has healthcare and a 401(k).”
“Does Italy even have cacti?” Reese asked, squinting. “I’ve never seen one. This is weird.”
“Of course it does, especially in the southern regions,” Marissa said automatically. They all swiveled in awe of her very specific knowledge. “What? I’m a proud Italian. You know this.”
“I don’t think you’ve told us enough. Again, please?” Marissa threw a throw pillow that smacked Delaney square on the cheek. She didn’t even flinch. Reese wanted to be just like her.
Somewhere behind them, the ceiling fan clicked rhythmically, one uneven sound per rotation.
Cassidy nudged Reese’s ankle with her foot. “For the record, my room has none of this personality.”
“That’s tragic,” Marissa said. “This room has lived.”
“This room has opinions,” Reese corrected.
The day had been a long one, and though Reese craved time with Sloane, she was grateful for the chance to unwind with The Starting Grid.
They’d been in town long enough now that the edges had softened.
No more jet lag, no more frantic unpacking.
Just the quiet hum of being midseason—press done for the day, no simulator sessions, nothing urgent pulling at Reese’s attention for the first time in hours.
And after the horrible incident with Danielle, Reese just wanted to hide out and unwind.
She leaned back on the couch beside Cassidy, letting her shoulder rest there without thinking about it. Someone had put music on, something lazy with a beat that didn’t demand anything.
This was the part Reese always loved. The in-between, where no one expected her to perform. Her ever-present smile could take a break, and she could just … be.
Delaney’s phone buzzed on the nightstand.
She ignored it.
It buzzed again.
Reese felt the shift before Delaney reached for it. Yep. There was a subtle tightening in the room. Marissa stilled. Cassidy’s eyes flicked over.
Delaney frowned and picked it up. Her expression didn’t collapse or spike. It just sharpened into concentration.
“What?” Reese said. “What’s with the look?”
Delaney scrolled once. Then again.
“Oh,” she said.
Cassidy straightened. “That’s never good. The singular oh.”
Marissa sat up fully. “What happened?”
“Tyler Lock.” Delaney looked up, eyes moving between them.
Reese’s stomach dipped. He was an F1 driver. “What about him?”
“It says he flipped his car during a practice session. A concussion and a broken right foot. Surgery is expected,” Delaney said.
Reese swore under her breath. Tyler Lock didn’t make mistakes. Tyler Lock didn’t get hurt. He was the kind of midfield driver who felt invincible. Laurens Racing had depended on him for years.
Cassidy’s phone chimed. She stared at it for a beat longer than necessary. “And there it is. He’s out.”
Marissa sucked in a breath. “Out out?”
“For the season,” Cassidy said, scrolling. “Laurens just made the official announcement.”
The ceiling fan clicked.
Reese felt heat rush through her chest, sharp and sudden. “That means—”
“They’re putting the reserve driver in,” Cassidy said, eyes lifting to Reese now. “Yep. Right here. Marco Faz is taking over the seat effective immediately.”
Delaney’s phone buzzed again, like it couldn’t stand the silence. “Which means,” she said carefully, “there’s now a reserve driver spot open.”
No one spoke.
“Reese. You’re bound to be a conversation people are having,” Marissa said. She exchanged a look with Delaney, who nodded in agreement.
“You’re at least on the short list,” Delaney said. “Especially, if they’ve had their eye on the standings and your steady climb.”
“You could be the first woman in F1 in … years,” Marissa said.
Reese pressed her hands together, grounding herself. “I don’t want it like this.”
“I know,” Delaney said gently.
“But,” Marissa offered, because she always was the one to say it, “it’s still a door.”
Cassidy studied Reese, a slow smile tugging at her mouth. “And you’re very hard to ignore when doors open.”
Reese slid onto her back and stared up at the ceiling.
“I don’t know. I’m afraid even to consider the possibility.
” But she had to. It was her job to move herself forward in her career, and Marissa was right.
You don’t shy away from opportunity, no matter how unfortunate.
Reserve drivers didn’t see the action and were mainly relegated to public appearances, team marketing, and fan photo ops.
All things she could handle. But it would get her behind the wheel of an F1 car for practice sessions, an absolutely invaluable shot she didn’t have anywhere else.
Those cars were monsters and miracles all at once, all carbon fiber and fury.
They were faster than anything she’d ever driven, more sensitive, more demanding.
Blink wrong, and they’d bite you. Get it right, though, and they took off singing.
Reese rolled onto her side, letting herself go there for a moment and imagining herself behind that wheel. “I don’t want to be excited,” she said quietly.
Cassidy bumped her knee with Reese’s. “Too late.”
Delaney sat on the side of the bed now, elbows on her knees, grounded and secure in a way that always made Reese feel less like she might float off into panic. “No one’s saying this is happening tomorrow,” she said. “But if your name comes up, you’re mentally ready.”
Marissa nodded. “You didn’t claw your way up the standings for nothing.”
She shifted on the couch, and without comment, Cassidy’s arm came up, loose and easy, settling behind Reese’s shoulders like it had always belonged there.
“You wouldn’t be alone,” Delaney said. It wasn’t a pep talk. It was a fact.
Marissa nodded. “Not for a second.”
Cassidy tipped her soda can toward Reese. “We’d be insufferable about it, actually.”
Reese laughed, surprised by how close it was to a choke. The room felt warmer now, not from the temperature, but from the way they were all oriented toward her, like she was the center of something solid.
She’d spent so much of her career pushing forward on her own, bracing for impact, assuming support came with strings attached. This didn’t feel like that. This felt like hands at her back, ready whether she leapt or hesitated.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” Reese said.
“That’s okay,” Delaney replied. “You don’t have to know tonight.”
Cassidy squeezed her shoulder. “Tonight, you just get to exist.”
Reese leaned into it because it was clear she wouldn’t be facing it solo. Somewhere between the sparkling water and the mediocre hotel lighting, these women had become more than teammates or travel companions.
They were her people.
And because of that, Reese felt less afraid of the door opening and more grateful for who would be standing beside her if it did.