Chapter 27
THE CROISSANT QUOTIENT
Sloane felt like she was held together by paper clips and Scotch tape, capable of crumbling in on herself at any point.
When they returned to the hotel that night, she tried her best to steer them clear of the conversation she was too afraid to have.
But Reese was astute and too attuned to her shifts to just let it go.
“Do you want to talk about it now or later?” Reese asked as she stepped out of the jeans Sloane had decided were her favorite.
The lamp on the bedside table glowed, but they’d left the overhead lights off, giving the room a calming, end-of-evening feel.
Sloane loved the domesticity that was uniquely theirs, even as it moved from one city to the next.
“I had a moment today,” Sloane said simply with a shrug. She wasn’t sure how else to describe it.
Reese stilled, jeans pooled around her ankles. “On the pit wall?”
“Yes.” Sloane folded her arms, suddenly unsure what to do with her hands. “In front of the screens.”
Reese nodded slowly, like she already knew where this was headed but was letting Sloane set the pace. She finished changing and sat on the corner of the bed, elbows resting on her knees. “Talk to me about it.”
Sloane stayed standing. If she sat, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get back up.
“I’ve watched hundreds of races,” she said.
“Thousands, probably. I’ve analyzed incidents frame by frame.
I know what a near miss looks like.” Her voice tightened.
“This one didn’t feel like data because it was you, and it’s always going to be you. That won’t change.”
Reese’s brow furrowed. “It was under control.”
“I know it was,” Sloane said quickly. “You handled it beautifully. You always do.” She exhaled, slow and shaky. “That’s the problem.”
Reese looked up at her fully now. “Okay. You’re going to have to explain that part.”
Sloane crossed the room but didn’t sit. She stopped a few feet away, close enough to feel the warmth of Reese’s body, far enough to protect herself.
“I realized today that this is what it will forever be. Me watching and waiting and hoping the car keeps moving. Hoping the radio crackles and tells me you’re still fine. ”
Reese straightened. “Sloane. It doesn’t have to—”
“I stood there,” Sloane continued, words picking up speed like she might lose them if she slowed down, “and it hit me that every weekend, every series, every step up the ladder just raises the stakes. And I don’t get to do anything about it.
I don’t get to help. I don’t get to intervene.
” Her throat burned. “I just have to hope.”
Silence settled between them like the scratchiest blanket.
Reese stood. “That was one moment,” she said gently. “It happens. It didn’t even make the stewards’ notes.”
“I know.” Sloane nodded, eyes bright. “I know all of that. The logic is right in front of me, but I can’t grab hold.
I know the statistics, the margins, and the safety improvements.
How many things have improved since I was driving.
” Her voice softened and broke just a little.
“I didn’t know what it would feel like to watch it happen to someone I love. ”
That landed.
Reese took a step back this time, hand dragging through her hair. “So, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I don’t know if I can live like this,” Sloane said. She forced herself to meet Reese’s gaze. “Loving you and waiting for the worst thing not to happen. I’m just being honest.”
Reese’s jaw tightened. “Are you asking me to stop?”
“No,” Sloane said immediately. “God, no. I would never ask that. This is who you are.” Her hands dropped uselessly to her sides. “That’s what scares me.”
Reese paced once, then turned back. “You knew racing was my life.”
“I knew it intellectually,” Sloane said quietly. “I didn’t know it viscerally. I didn’t know how much I’d have to lose.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Reese’s voice dropped. “I can’t promise you safety.”
“I know.”
“I can’t promise this gets easier.”
“I know.”
They stood there, neither reaching for the other. The want was there, familiar, aching, but so was the fault line running straight through the middle of it.
Outside, laughter drifted up from the street below. A car passed. Life went on, unaware.
“I don’t want to lose you,” Reese said finally. “I can’t.”
Sloane swallowed hard. “Neither do I.”
But nothing was decided. Nothing was solved.
Neither of them moved at first. The space between them felt fragile, like one wrong motion might shatter what they were still trying to protect.
Finally, Reese reached out to hook her fingers into the hem of Sloane’s shirt. A quiet question. A plea without words.
Sloane went willingly.
They didn’t talk anymore after that. There was nothing left that wouldn’t hurt to say.
Reese climbed under the covers first, and Sloane followed, fitting herself against Reese’s back like muscle memory knew exactly where to land.
Reese reached behind her, lacing their fingers together, pulling Sloane close until there was no daylight between them.
Sloane pressed her face into Reese’s shoulder, breathing her in. Warmth. Familiarity. The even rise and fall that told her that right now, at least, everything was okay.
They lay there wrapped around each other, holding on to what they knew to be true. That they loved each other. That this was real. And whatever waited for them down the road hadn’t arrived yet.
Tomorrow would come with its questions and its choices and its impossible asks. But for tonight, they stayed exactly where they were, anchored in the quiet certainty of each other, neither ready to let go.
Not yet.
Morning came too soon. Sloane woke with the sense that something had already gone wrong, even before she remembered what it was.
Reese lay warm and solid beside her, breathing evenly, an arm slung across Sloane’s waist like always.
For a few fragile seconds, Sloane let herself believe they were still suspended in last night, untouched by consequence.
They were both flying out that day, but had purposefully booked flights for the early evening so they could enjoy as much time together as possible. Sloane was off to meet with a client in Munich, and Reese was heading to Florida with The Starting Grid to visit Cassidy and unwind with her friends.
“Hey, Hotshot,” Sloane said as Reese’s eyes fluttered open. When she saw Sloane, she relaxed into a smile.
“That’s me. Hi.”
Sloane touched her cheek. “Hi. Want to sleep a little more or grab some food? Your choice.”
Reese’s eyes lit up. “Can we have bread?”
Sloane laughed quietly. “Baby. We can have anything you want. There’s a bakery on the corner. I can grab some croissants and bring them up. How would that be? That way, you can take your time. Wake up slowly.”
“I love it when you wake up and get us baked goods.” Reese grinned fully and sleepily, which meant Sloane had to kiss the full and adorable lips.
“Stop being cute.”
“Can’t.”
“Good.” Sloane found her smile. She slipped out of bed carefully, easing Reese’s arm back into the warmth of the sheets, and dressed quietly. “Be back in a few minutes.”
“Can we have really good morning sex when you do?”
She turned back around. “Wow. Bread and sex? Hmmm. Tall order, but I bet we could work something out.”
Reese closed her eyes, already drifting off again. “I love you,” she murmured.
“I love you, too, Reese.”
Even in the midst of that warmth, that ever-present connection between them, there was a heaviness hanging on from the day before, a tax still owed. Sloane felt it weighing heavily on her shoulders.
The hallway outside their room was hushed, that peculiar hotel-morning stillness where even footsteps seemed to apologize for existing. She took the stairs down instead of the elevator, needing the movement, the brief anonymity of being just another person heading out for breakfast.
The bakery was exactly what she’d hoped for—small, unassuming, tucked into the corner like it hoped to be discovered rather than advertised.
The door chimed softly when she stepped inside, and the scent hit her all at once.
Amazing. Butter. Yeast. Sugar caramelizing just enough at the edges.
It wrapped around her chest and loosened something tight.
Sloane breathed it in, slow and deep, like it might actually fix things.
A glass case displayed neat rows of croissants, their layers visible even before they were cut, golden and impossibly flaky.
There were loaves cooling on racks along the wall, crackling faintly as they settled, and a woman behind the counter humming to herself while she worked.
No screens. No urgency. Just bread and time and the gentle certainty that this place would exist whether the world was racing or not.
She ordered more than necessary because it somehow felt like medicine—four plain croissants, one almond, because Reese would pretend she didn’t want it and then absolutely steal half, and a small loaf she didn’t recognize but trusted anyway.
The paper bag was warm when she took it, comforting in a way that felt almost indecent given how knotted her thoughts had been since yesterday.
For a few minutes, standing there with the bag cradled against her chest, Sloane started to believe this could be enough.
That maybe life was allowed to be this simple sometimes.
Bread. A quiet morning. The woman she loved resting upstairs, hair tangled, smiling as she waited for Sloane to return.
Maybe that’s how they did this thing. One step at a time.
By the time she pushed back into the hotel, she felt steadier. Not wholly fixed. But steadier.
The room was no longer soft with sleep when she let herself in. Reese stood near the bathroom mirror, hair dryer humming in her hand with more intention than a lazy morning warranted. She was dressed in jeans, her team hoodie, and her sneakers laced. Focused. Dialed in.