Chapter 28
THE DEEP END
There was something profoundly grounding about stepping off a plane and into the orbit of people who knew you before the headlines did. Florida greeted Reese with thick heat and salt air, but it was the familiarity waiting beyond baggage claim that steadied her pulse.
“You did not,” Reese said, swallowing back a laugh.
“Oh, we did,” Cassidy said, opening her arms for Reese, who gave her the biggest, but also the gentlest, hug she could manifest. “The Grid’s all here!”
“How are the hands?”
“So much better. No more bandages. Full recovery on the way. I’m told as long as I stick with my OT, I should be back next season.”
“Seriously? I will be screaming my face off for you, Cass.”
Marissa was next in line for a hug. Reese wrapped her arms around her friend, and they rocked back and forth to exaggerated extremes. “Do F1 drivers fly first class?”
“Not when it’s on their own dime,” Reese said, releasing her. “I saw that overtake on Turn 7 last week. That was sick.”
“Thank you. My academy mentor helped me with a few new tricks.”
“The really hot one?” Reese asked with a wink.
Marissa frowned. “Yeah, but I hear she’s all girlfriended up.”
“Damn right she is.”
Delaney waited for her turn patiently, but didn’t hold back on her hug when it came. “There’s my teammate.”
“Hey, buddy. Have you scouted all the best spots in Fort Lauderdale?”
“No, because I’m not sure I want to be far from the couch or the pool.”
“That’s actually logic I can get behind.
” The few days they were stealing between races were much-needed rest and decompression time, and if all they did was sit in Cassidy’s parents’ guesthouse and watch movies, mainline all varieties of Pop-Tarts, and catch up on each other’s little details, it would be a welcome getaway.
They’d chosen Cassidy’s neck of the woods since she was still in recovery, but happily accepted the bonus of sun-bleached docks, slow afternoons, and nice, easy weather.
They hadn’t all been in the same place since the hospital in Europe, when everything had been heavy and uncertain.
Seeing Cassidy in person, upright and healing, felt like closing a loop on something Reese would rather not remember.
With Formula 1 looming, contracts signed, expectations towering, this pocket of time felt less like a vacation and more like a salve.
True friends had a way of stripping the noise away, of reminding her who she was beneath the fire suit and the scrutiny.
And for the first time in weeks, Reese let herself exhale.
“Let’s get out of here,” Cassidy said. “We’ve spent enough time in airports this year.”
Later that afternoon, when the sun shone down, the pool became the center of gravity.
Mai tais sweated on the edge, their citrus bite much needed and perfect, while Cassidy drifted lazily on a ridiculous dinosaur floaty, sunglasses tipped just so, issuing commentary like a benevolent queen in recovery.
Marissa owned her va-va-voom bikini with zero apology, all confidence and laughter, while Reese’s bikini cut a clean, sleek line in black.
She leaned her head back, hair touching the water, feeling lighter than she had in months.
Delaney lounged nearby in ultracool shades, feet in the water, offering dry observations that landed expertly every time.
They caught each other up on life, talked about everything important and not, letting the day stretch long and loose, just friends, warmth, and the quiet luxury of nowhere else to be.
“Did I hear you correctly that Sloane was with you when you got the offer?” Marissa asked.
Reese nodded. “Yeah, that part was really cool.” A pause. “At least, for me.”
“Her, too, I’m sure,” Cassidy said.
Instinctually, Reese checked her phone to see if Sloane had responded to her last check-in text.
She had not. She’d tried not to let that bother her.
Sloane was probably juggling client calls and a busy afternoon.
That’s what she told herself anyway. She’d been quieter since their meeting with Shanelle.
There was no denying that, and Reese knew why.
She just wasn’t sure how to reconcile her new job with what Sloane needed to feel secure.
“I think she wants F1 for me, but not her.”
Delaney frowned. “What do you mean?”
Reese went on to explain how Sloane’s accident had shaped the way she handled risk in her life. She talked about the fear that never fully loosened its grip once it got its hands on you. How Sloane never said don’t go, but it was there all the same.
The pool had gone quieter, the soft lap of water against tile suddenly louder.
Cassidy let her dinosaur drift closer, resting her forearms on the edge. “That kind of fear sticks,” she said. “Once you’ve been on the wrong side of luck, it’s hard not to see it everywhere.” Reese understood that Cassidy was speaking from experience.
“And she loves you,” Marissa added. “Which honestly makes it worse. Love gives fear more material to work with.”
Reese nodded. “She wants this for me. I know she does. I just don’t think she wants it around her.”
Delaney pushed her shades up onto her head, finally meeting Reese’s eyes. “Okay, but here’s the thing,” she said. “You’re not asking her to be reckless. You’re asking her to trust you. And that’s different.”
Cassidy hummed in agreement. “This might take time, Reese. Big transitions don’t come with easy or tidy timelines.”
“And,” Marissa said lightly, though her gaze was sincere, “you’re allowed to want the thing you’ve worked your entire life for and the woman you love. That’s not greed. That’s being human.”
The tightness in Reese’s chest eased just a fraction. Talking to her friends helped. “I hate that it feels like I’m choosing,” she admitted.
“You’re not,” Delaney said immediately. “You’re moving forward. The people who love you will figure out how to move with you.”
And what if Sloane didn’t, couldn’t? Reese would attack that bridge when she came to it, because the idea of it was almost too much for her brain to handle. Don’t get ahead of yourself.
The sun dipped lower, turning the water gold. Cassidy kicked her floaty lazily, Marissa reached for her drink, and the moment softened again, the weight redistributed among them.
Reese leaned her head back, eyes closed, letting the warmth of the sun wash over her body. She didn’t have answers yet. But for now, she had this. Friends who knew her, who held space without trying to steer the wheel.
She checked her phone and smiled because she had a message from Sloane.
Sloane
I love you. I miss you. I hope you’re having the best time.
She exhaled and held the phone to her chest because Cassidy was right. Things were going to work themselves out.
Sloane discovered, by accident, really, that if she stacked enough work on top of her thoughts, they stayed mercifully quiet.
Her calendar became a study in saturation that week.
Morning calls with automotive clients on three continents, afternoons with the academy reviewing data, sitting through Zoom meetings where the dividing lines between acceptable risk and career-ending disaster were discussed in clean, unemotional language.
She thrived there because numbers behaved.
They were easy to understand. Problems always had solutions if you stared at them long enough.
Unlike everything else.
She told herself she was being professional by working so much.
Efficient, even. She did not tell herself that she was afraid of silence, of giving herself too much time to think, because that’s when things got dangerous.
It was in those spare moments that the same image crept back in: her car splintering, fire blooming where it shouldn’t, the long wait between impact and movement.
She didn’t let herself dwell on the fact that loving a woman who now belonged to Formula 1 felt like standing too close to the edge of something she’d already fallen from once.
So, she worked.
She worked until her eyes burned and her coffee went cold. She worked until Reese’s texts sat unanswered for longer than she meant them to. Busy, she told herself. Just busy. That’s all.
It almost held.
Until the night before travel, when she was scheduled for another race weekend. The academy’s. And, of course, Reese’s.
Her suitcase sat open on the bed, half-packed, the academy credentials tucked neatly into the side pocket. Everything about the trip was routine. Same airports, same security lines, same practiced efficiency. She’d done this dozens of times. Hundreds, maybe.
But this time was different. The stakes were.
Sloane sat on the edge of the mattress and tried to picture it all unfolding: the F1 garage, the speed, the monitors. The way the whole world watched now. The way she would have to watch. Her chest tightened, breath turning shallow before she even realized she was bracing.
I can do this, she told herself.
The words didn’t land. So she tried again. And again.
Morning came anyway, and she somehow found her way to the airport, driven by love and determination, hand in hand.
She was met with airport noise, rolling bags, stressed-out travelers, and the low hum of what felt like the inevitable.
Sloane made it through security on muscle memory alone, heart beating too fast, palms damp.
She stood at the gate and watched the waiting plane through the glass.
All she had to do was board. Just get on the plane and fly to Reese.
Her body refused.
It wasn’t panic, exactly. No dizziness, no drama. Just a firm, immovable certainty settling in her bones: If I get on that plane, something in me is going to break.
She stepped away from the gate, phone already in her hand.
Veronica answered on the second ring. “You’re early.”
“I’m not coming,” Sloane said. “At least not now.”
There was a pause. “Okay,” she said calmly. “Tell me why.”
Sloane closed her eyes. The truth pressed hard against her midsection. “I can do the academy job,” she said. “I can do the clients. I can do risk on paper and data and simulations.” Her voice caught, just slightly. “I can’t do this. Not yet.”
Another beat. “This being Reese driving in Formula 1?
“Yes.”
Veronica exhaled slowly. “You don’t usually bail.”
“I know.” Sloane swallowed. “I don’t want to punish her for something she’s earned. And I don’t want to punish myself by pretending I’m ready when I’m not. I’m not ready, Veronica.”
Silence stretched.
“Can you throw a tennis ball around and get yourself to a better spot? This is your happiness we’re talking about. I’ll hold your hand, Sloane. We can get through this weekend, and the rest will get easier with time and practice. You’ve been so happy.”
“I can’t do it this time, Ronnie.”
“All right,” Veronica said at last. “I’ll cover. Take the time you need. But Sloane—” She softened, just a fraction. “Don’t disappear. From her, or from yourself.”
Sloane opened her eyes, watching the final boarding call light up the screen. “I won’t,” she said. She hoped it was true. She had work to do on herself before she could properly show up for anyone else, and that included Reese.
She hung up as the line moved forward without her, the plane filling, the world continuing on schedule.
She hoped there was a scenario in which Reese would understand, would forgive her.
Their future had a question mark attached to it, and it was up to Sloane to fight like hell to erase it.
She wanted Reese, but had to acknowledge that she just might lose her in the process of working on herself.
Sloane turned away from the gate, heart heavy but choosing, for once, not the fastest path forward, but the one she could actually walk.