Chapter 29
EATING AN ELEPHANT
Reese was already making a list of all the things she wanted to see, do, visit, and experience with Sloane while they were in Budapest. A walk along the Danube, hopefully in the evening when the city would be lit up.
Maybe visit a little ruin bar tucked into a courtyard.
Coffee on a terrace where no one cared who she was, just that the espresso was strong and the pastries were perfect.
Oh, and she wanted to show Sloane the circuit from the outside, the way the hills cradled it.
There wouldn’t be enough time for all of it.
There never was. But they’d get to what they could.
Reese had arrived a couple of days earlier to shoot promos and photos in preparation for her official debut with Laurens.
The PR people wanted to make sure they had everything they needed to give her a proper launch.
Seeing her image stretched into a massive banner above the garage was a moment she’d never forget.
The scale of it. The finality. The way it felt like the world was suddenly speaking her name at full volume.
Did she Instagram the hell out of a photo of her standing in front of the banner in her race suit?
Absolutely. She’d sent it straight to Sloane, captioned with something breezy and untrue about how totally chill she felt.
But today was different. Today, Sloane was arriving, and it had Reese on a complete high.
She had dashed back to the hotel to change, nerves buzzing under her skin in a way that had nothing to do with racing.
She checked her phone for the hundredth time.
Still nothing. Sloane hadn’t responded since boarding her first flight, but the connection was tight, and Reese figured she’d stayed in airplane mode, chasing sleep where she could.
It made sense. It was fine. If everything was on time, she’d have landed an hour ago, probably already in a cab, probably rolling her eyes at Reese’s come straight up text and smiling anyway.
She paced the room, tugged on a clean shirt, then abandoned it for another. Sent one more message.
I’m here in the room. Can’t wait. I want to kiss you already.
No reply.
When the knock finally came fifteen minutes later, it hit her like a jolt of happy electricity.
Reese didn’t bother checking the peephole.
She crossed the room in three long strides, heart already racing, joy rushing up so fast it almost hurt.
She was halfway through imagining the weight of Sloane’s arms around her, the familiar kiss that always made the world click back into place when she opened the door.
It was Veronica.
The smile froze on Reese’s face, confusion flashing so fast it barely registered before something colder slid in beneath it. “Hey,” she said, already knowing something was wrong. “I thought you were …”
Veronica’s expression was gentle in a way that scared her more than anything else. “Hey, Reese. Can I come in?”
Reese stepped back automatically, the room suddenly too quiet. Veronica didn’t rush. She closed the door carefully, like she was containing something fragile.
“She’s not coming,” Veronica said, her eyes apologetic.
The words landed wrong. Like they’d missed their mark entirely. Reese shook her head once. “What do you mean she’s not coming? She’s—she was flying today.”
“I know.” Veronica met her gaze. “She tried. She really did.”
Something inside Reese dropped hard, like she’d missed a gear. Her chest tightened, breath turning shallow as the implications stacked up too quickly to process. “Hold on. Did something happen? Is she okay?”
“She’s safe,” Veronica said immediately. “Physically. This isn’t an emergency.”
That somehow made it worse.
“She said she couldn’t wait to see me,” Reese said. “There have been hiccups about my driving, but she said she was working on things.”
“I know,” Veronica said. “And she is.”
Reese nodded, already reaching for her phone without thinking and having to stop herself because maybe that wasn’t helpful.
“Okay. Then I’ll give her time. Or space.
Or—whatever she needs. I don’t need her at every race.
I don’t need—” She stopped, breath hitching as the words outran her certainty.
“I just need her to know I’m here. That I’ll be here. ”
Veronica watched her gently. “Reese …”
“I mean it,” Reese pressed, the urgency sharpening. “I don’t need grand gestures. I don’t need her standing on the pit wall every weekend. We can figure this out.” She looked up, hopeful despite herself. “Right?”
The silence that followed was careful. Considered.
“Sometimes,” Veronica said slowly, “what someone needs isn’t something you can provide by offering more. Sometimes, it’s something they have to sort through on their own, and she’s taking time to do that. All of this happened really fast.”
She nodded. The words slid into Reese’s chest and stayed there.
She stared at the screen of her phone, thumb hovering uselessly above Sloane’s name.
All the ways she’d been prepared to bend—reschedule, rearrange, compartmentalize—lined up neatly in her head, solutions waiting to be deployed.
She was good at that. At adapting, executing. At finding a way to make things work.
But this wasn’t a line she could adjust with more practice.
“What if,” Reese said quietly, “what she needs is a life that doesn’t include … this?” Her voice wavered on the last word because what she really meant was me.
Veronica didn’t rush to answer. “That’s the question she’s still trying to sit with.”
The thought hollowed Reese out. She had always believed love was an action: showing up, adjusting, choosing each other again and again. The idea that love might also mean standing still, hands empty, felt unbearable.
“I can’t lose her,” Reese said. Because to Reese, that was her thesis statement. All the rest were just details.
“I know,” Veronica said softly.
The room felt suddenly enormous. The future she’d been moving toward might happen without the one person she’d been picturing beside her. Reese pressed her palm flat against her sternum, grounding herself as best she could.
“She might never come back,” Reese said.
Veronica didn’t contradict her. She couldn’t.
After a moment, Reese lowered her hand, shoulders settling with the weight of it. “I still have to drive this weekend,” she said with disbelief. Because how was that going to happen? How was she just supposed to go about her weekend like everything wasn’t upside down?
“You do,” Veronica agreed. “And you don’t have to know how you’ll do it yet. Just that you will. You’re a pro, Reese.”
She nodded, though it felt like agreeing to something she didn’t fully understand. The ache didn’t lessen, but it settled in. Somehow, she was just going to have to move forward without knowing whether the person she loved would ever be standing beside her again.
Veronica lingered for a moment, like she might say something else, then thought better of it. She squeezed Reese’s shoulder once before letting herself out, the door clicking shut with a finality that felt too loud in the quiet room.
Reese stood there long after, phone still in her hand, the last message she’d sent glowing faintly on the screen.
Eventually, she sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor, at the scuff marks in the carpet, at the place where Sloane’s bag should have been.
She tried to imagine the weekend unfolding without her, and for the first time since Budapest had come onto the calendar, the city felt impossibly far away.
Reese lay back fully dressed, arms crossed over her chest, and let the ceiling blur.
She didn’t cry. She didn’t break.
She just stayed there, breathing, waiting for the ache to become something she could live with.
Back in Venice Beach, Sloane let her days take on a different shape.
She’d been home a little over three weeks, which was long enough for the salt air to feel normal again. Also long enough that she’d missed two race weekends she should have traveled for. Academy obligations she’d handed off. Formula 1 paddocks she’d stayed away from. That was hard.
But she’d been busy.
Therapy came first. Twice a week at the start, then a standing slot she agreed to treat like any other nonnegotiable commitment. Lindsay, her therapist, sat across from her with a legal pad she barely used and a way of listening that made silence feel productive.
“What does your body do,” Lindsay asked one morning, “when you imagine standing in the garage while she’s out there racing?”
Sloane didn’t answer right away. She closed her eyes, checked in. “My chest tightens,” she said finally. “Not panic. More like … bracing.”
“Okay,” Lindsay said. “So, your body’s talking before you are. That’s helpful to know. That’s a starting point.”
They talked about timing and proximity, about how Sloane’s instincts shifted when risk stopped being theoretical.
Loving racing had never been a problem because she did love it.
It was loving Reese that had changed the math.
Together, they made plans for how she could handle any difficult moments ahead: regular check-ins even when Sloane was on the road, a clear agreement that she wouldn’t disappear and then pretend she was fine.
Falling off the therapy wagon wasn’t an option anymore.
“Not attending a race,” Lindsay said later, “doesn’t mean you’re retreating. It means you’re listening. We can take this case by case.”
Sloane leaned in. “Don’t you mean race by race?”
Lindsay smiled. “Actually, I do.”
Some days, Sloane walked out feeling steadier. Other days, wrung out. Lindsay had told her both counted.
Late mornings often found Sloane at The Cat’s Pajamas, the coffee shop tucked a block off the boardwalk, where the windows were always open and the air smelled faintly of salt and espresso.
Autumn was behind the counter every time—curly red hair wild, smile immediate, pulling shots with the precision of a scientist and the joy of someone who loved what she did.
“You look better,” Autumn said one morning, sliding a mug across the counter without asking.
Sloane wrapped her hands around the cup. “I feel better,” she admitted. “Which is … new.”
Autumn lifted a brow. “But?”
“But I don’t want to rush it, ya know?” Sloane said.
Autumn nodded slowly. “Nor should you. You just sip your coffee and enjoy all you’re doing to get back to that girl of yours.” She placed a hand on her hip. “I saw the end of her race on Sunday. Ouch.”
Sloane deflated. “I caught the highlight show after the race. Yeah, not her best. I’m not exactly sure what’s going on.
” Reese had finished out of the points and had slow starts in both of her last two races.
Sloane had thoughts, but she was worried the problem went beyond racing, and that sat uncomfortably on her chest. “Hoping she rallies next weekend.”
“Of course she will,” Autumn said without a beat of hesitation. “She’s a badass hottie, and those always triumph in the end. I should know. I’m married to one.” A pause. “What else?”
Sloane exhaled. “I talked to Veronica. We made a plan. Next time I watch Reese race, she’ll sit with me. Just … be there. And she’ll keep sitting with me until I get the hang of the whole thing again. And I will. I know it.”
Autumn smiled, soft and proud. “You’re making things happen a little at a time.”
Sloane huffed a quiet laugh. “I am. What is it they say about eating an elephant?”
“Oh, sweetie, I have some freshly baked chocolate chip muffins that will taste much better.”
Sloane laughed. “Probably wise.”
“Well,” Autumn said, tapping the counter lightly, “from where I’m standing, it looks like tons of progress. You love her,” she said, her eyes soft and big. “That part is more than clear.”
“I really do,” Sloane said.
When she imagined returning to a race weekend, she imagined doing it differently. Not proving anything. Not forcing herself through moments her body wasn’t ready for yet. Choosing presence when she could … and honesty when she couldn’t.
Every few days, she texted Reese. Nothing heavy. Nothing evasive.
Thinking of you.
Hope the weekend went okay.
I love you.
I’m here. Hopefully, we can talk more soon.
Reese always replied. It wasn’t always right away, but she got there.
That mattered.
Reese
I love you. Thank you for checking on me.
At night, Sloane stood barefoot on her balcony, ocean air cool against her skin, and practiced staying present, which meant neither retreating into the past nor racing ahead to a future she wasn’t ready to inhabit yet. She wasn’t fixed. She wasn’t finished. But she was closer than she’d been.
And for now, that was enough to keep going.