Chapter 32
RIDICULOUSLY HERS
From the Laurens hospitality suite overlooking the main straight, the Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya looked almost peaceful for a moment.
The late morning sun washed the grandstands in pale gold, thousands of fans shifting in their seats, flags snapping in the warm breeze coming off the Mediterranean.
It was the last quiet breath before everything exploded.
Sloane stood beside the glass railing, one hand curled lightly around the metal edge, her eyes fixed on the grid below.
Twenty-two cars sat in perfect formation, engines already rumbling through the pavement and up into her chest. Mechanics stepped away one by one, tire blankets peeled off and rolled away, leaving the cars gleaming under the Spanish sun.
Reese’s red-and-black Laurens Racing car sat three rows from the back, angled perfectly in its grid box. Even from this distance, Sloane could spot it immediately, the bright red bodywork flashing whenever sunlight hit the nose.
A few weeks ago, watching from this close would have tightened every nerve in her body. She would have been bracing herself for something to go wrong, for the sharp, familiar dread that came with seeing someone you loved hurtling toward danger at 200 miles an hour.
But today was different. The tension in her chest didn’t feel like the kind of terror she’d expected. It felt like anticipation. The nerves were still there, of course they were, but they felt lighter somehow. Manageable. Like a hum beneath the surface rather than a storm, which she’d take any day.
Veronica leaned against the railing beside her, calm as ever, sunglasses perched low on her nose as she studied the grid.
“You’re doing all right,” Veronica said casually. “Just look at you.”
Sloane exhaled a small laugh. “Right? It feels a little like the old days if I’m being honest. Only I don’t have to drive. A bonus.”
Veronica smirked. “I’m sure we could arrange something, if you’re up for it.”
“No, thank you. I’m good. I’m gonna sit here with my popcorn and emotional support Ronnie and watch the others race it out.”
“That’s fair,” Veronica said and sipped her Pellegrino.
Sloane shifted her weight, rolling her shoulders once to loosen the lingering tension there.
And she had made a quiet deal with herself.
If at any point the old fear crept back in—if the anxiety tightened its grip and made it hard to breathe—she would simply step away.
No guilt. No shame. Reese would understand. Reese always understood.
The formation lap began with a rising metallic scream as engines surged to life. One by one, the cars rolled away from the grid, weaving back and forth to warm their tires as they disappeared into the first sector.
Sloane followed the red Laurens car as it swept through the final corner and returned to its grid slot moments later.
Veronica nudged her lightly. “All right,” she said. “Here we go.”
“C’mon, Reese,” Sloane murmured. “We need a clean start.”
The five red lights illuminated above the track.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
And then finally … the lights went out.
The grid detonated.
The roar that followed was enormous, a wall of sound that swallowed the crowd’s cheers and shook the glass beneath Sloane’s hands. Twenty-two cars surged forward in a blur of color and speed.
Sloane’s eyes locked instantly onto Reese’s car and held.
The red Laurens launched cleanly, threading between two rivals as the field barreled toward Turn 1 in a tight, chaotic pack.
“Oh, that’s brave,” Veronica murmured beside her.
Cars fanned out across the width of the straight, everyone searching for the smallest gap. Three cars ahead of Reese braked too late, overshooting the corner and sliding wide as tires protested in a burst of smoke.
Reese slipped inside them. “Good girl,” Sloane said, tightening her hand into a fist.
By the time the field exited Turn 1, she had already gained two positions.
Sloane blinked.
“Well,” Veronica said with a hint of amusement, “she didn’t waste time. I think maybe Reese just needed a little reassurance from the people who matter.” She bumped Sloane’s shoulder with hers, pulling a smile.
Lap by lap, the race unfolded, the rhythm settling into something almost hypnotic.
Reese was patient at first, seeming to study the cars ahead and choosing her moments carefully. The red-and-black Laurens car appeared again and again in places it hadn’t been the lap before, inching forward through the field with quiet determination.
A clean overtake into Turn 5 had them screaming their faces off. Sloane was confident she’d have half a voice when this thing finished. One thing was for certain. She was definitely enjoying herself, even more than she’d expected.
Another takeover along the back straight, where Reese tucked into the slipstream before darting past at the braking zone. Each time she gained a position, cheers erupted from the Laurens garage below them, the mechanics crowding around the pit wall monitors.
Sloane found herself leaning farther over the railing with every passing lap, following the car as if her focus alone could keep it moving forward.
But the fear never came. No panic attack took over. And gradually, she realized something that surprised her. Watching Reese race didn’t feel terrifying anymore. It felt exhilarating. Because Reese wasn’t reckless. She was extraordinary.
By Lap 32, the timing board showed Reese in eleventh place.
Veronica leaned forward beside her, her attention narrowing. “One more,” she said quietly. If Reese could move into P10, she’d finish in the points. The higher up she went, the more points she pulled.
The car ahead defended aggressively, forcing Reese wide through the final corner and squeezing her toward the curb on the straight.
Sloane felt her breath hitch despite herself.
For two laps, the battle continued, the cars dancing around each other in a delicate balance between aggression and restraint. It was a nail-biter to say the least.
Then Reese made her move.
She braked later than anyone expected into Turn 1, slipping neatly along the inside line and emerging from the corner with better traction on the exit. The red Laurens car surged forward.
Half a car length.
Then a full one.
The timing tower flickered.
P10.
The Laurens garage exploded in cheers.
Someone shouted Reese’s name. Even Veronica allowed herself a satisfied grin.
“Points,” she said.
Sloane laughed softly, relief flooding through her.
“Points,” she echoed.
When the checkered flag waved twenty laps later, Reese crossed the line still holding tenth place.
And judging by the eruption from the Laurens garage, you would have thought she’d just won the race.
Sloane and Veronica made their way down through the paddock as the cars rolled into parc fermé, the air buzzing with adrenaline and celebration.
Reese climbed out of the car moments later.
Sloane stopped walking. The sight still hit her like lightning.
Reese pulled off her helmet and shook out sweat-damp hair that flattened briefly before springing free. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the cockpit, her grin wide and triumphant as she pushed her gloves off and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.
Ridiculously sexy.
Ridiculously proud.
Ridiculously hers.
The Laurens crew surrounded her almost immediately, hands clapping her shoulders as congratulations flew from every direction.
“Sixteenth to points!”
“What a drive!”
Reese laughed, still catching her breath as she looked up. And spotted Sloane. For a moment, everything else seemed to fade away.
Sloane walked toward her before she could second-guess the decision.
Reese met her halfway.
“You saw that?” Reese asked.
“I might have noticed.”
Reese’s grin widened, and this time, Sloane didn’t hesitate.
She reached up, grabbed the collar of Reese’s race suit and kissed her.
Right there in the middle of everything and absolutely everyone.
The cameras erupted instantly, flashes firing like a lightning storm around them as photographers scrambled to capture the moment.
Someone whooped.
Someone else yelled something that sounded suspiciously like, “About time!”
But Sloane barely registered any of it. Because Reese was kissing her back, laughing into the moment as one hand slid to the back of Sloane’s neck, warm and solid and very much real.
When they finally pulled apart, Reese rested her forehead against hers.
“You liked the race then?” Reese asked.
Sloane didn’t hesitate. “Baby. I loved it. That drive was incredible.”
Reese’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and her cheeks dusted with a proud blush.
“You started sixteenth and carved your way into the points like it was nothing,” Sloane continued, her voice warm with pride. “You were patient when it mattered, aggressive when it counted, and that move into Turn 1 was beautiful.”
Behind them, the Laurens crew erupted again, several mechanics clapping Reese on the back as someone waved a timing sheet over their heads like a victory flag.
“Sixteenth to points!” one of them shouted.
Reese finally turned toward them, still smiling, raising both hands in mock surrender as they crowded around her again.
Sloane stepped back a pace, watching the scene unfold.
The car still ticked quietly with heat behind them. Engineers leaned over laptops. Someone popped open a bottle of something that absolutely wasn’t on the official hospitality menu. And Reese stood in the middle of it all, glowing and laughing with her team.
For the first time since she’d fallen in love with a driver, Sloane didn’t feel the old knot of fear tightening in her chest. She just felt proud.
Veronica appeared beside her again, folding her arms as she surveyed the celebration.
“Well,” she said with an appreciative grin. “That was subtle.”
Sloane didn’t even try to hide her smile.
“She deserved it. She drove a hell of a race.”