Chapter Eighteen #2
As soon as I stepped off, a familiar voice called out to me. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite driver!”
“Ollie!” I said, managing a smile.
He swept me into a hug, planting a kiss on my cheek for good measure. “You were incredible!” he said. “Second place looks good on you, though, personally, I think you deserved better.”
“Do you?” I said lightly, stepping back. Because I didn’t.
“Absolutely,” he said, flashing his charming grin at a nearby camera before lowering his voice. “You had him on the ropes. Another lap, and you’d have taken him.”
“Yeah, well.” I shrugged, suddenly exhausted by the whole conversation. “Didn’t happen.”
“Next time,” he said easily. “There’s always next time.” He meant it as encouragement, and I flashed him a thankful smile.
“Lily!” Georgia’s voice cut through the crowd, and I turned to see her jogging over, still in her Valkyrie team gear, sunglasses pushed up into her messy ponytail. “You were amazing,” she said, pulling me into a hug.
“Tell that to my engineer,” I said, unscrewing the cap of my water bottle and taking a long drink.
“I will,” she said, laughing, knowing full well that Mark would never say otherwise.
“Actually.” Her expression shifted to something more hopeful.
“I’m throwing a little thing tonight. Nothing fancy, just a few of us.
You know, the usual post-race decompression situation.
Drinks, food, very low-key. You should come! ”
I blinked, caught off-guard. “For Henri?”
Georgia looked around, taking in the surroundings before leaning closer.
“He’s been wound so tight lately. I thought it might help to have people around after a win, you know?
Remind him that this”—she gestured vaguely at the podium, the champagne-soaked celebration, the cheering crowd—“is supposed to feel good. That he’s allowed to enjoy it instead of just… existing through it.”
I hesitated. “I’m not sure he’d want me there, Georgia.” Not after yesterday.
“Nah,” she said with a dismissive wave, although she did seem to be contemplating what I’d said. “He’ll be all right. You should be there. Besides, it’s not just him. éliott’s coming too. You’ll like the place. Quiet corner, good fries.”
Ollie stepped forward before I could answer, slipping his sunglasses back on. “That sounds perfect,” he said smoothly. “Count us in.”
Us.
I gave him a look. “I don’t remember RSVPing.”
“You were about to,” he said, tone teasing, but his hand brushed lightly against my arm.
Georgia looked between us, watching Ollie’s arm around me, but she didn’t say no. “Um, okay. Sounds great,” she said. “Eight o’clock. I’ll text you the address, Lil. It’s nothing formal.”
“Got it.”
Ollie and I started walking back to the Rennen garage. “You don’t have to come.” Truthfully, it didn’t feel like a great idea after what he’d told me.
“What? I want to.” Ollie pinched my arm playfully. “It’ll be nice to do something outside the paddock. Something together.”
I nodded. “Well, thanks for the support today,” I said, reaching up to touch his arm. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”
“Count on it,” Ollie said, that easy grin still in place.
I slipped away before he could say anything else, weaving through the lingering crowd and ducking into the paddock’s quieter corridors.
The noise faded behind me, replaced by the hum of generators and distant conversations.
My legs felt heavy, the adrenaline finally draining away and leaving nothing but exhaustion in its wake.
The Rennen hospitality building loomed ahead. I nodded at a couple of mechanics on my way through, their congratulations bouncing off me without sticking. My driver’s room waited at the end of the hall, door half-open like someone had just left.
I pushed inside and froze.
The bouquet sat on the narrow table beside my helmet, arranged in a glass vase. Roses this time, deep red and beautifully wrapped.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. Someone who’d apparently lost money betting on me, spending a small fortune on flowers to remind me of exactly how much I disappointed them.
I crossed the room slowly, and my hands reached for the small white card tucked between the stems almost against my will, fingers trembling slightly as I pulled it free.
SECOND PLACE SUITS YOU. DON’T GET COCKY. STAY THERE.
I take that back, I thought sarcastically, maybe they made money on Henri.
My fingers curled around it, crumpling the expensive cardstock into a tight ball. Squeezing it felt good, even if it accomplished nothing.
“Lily?”
I spun around so fast I nearly lost my balance, my heart jumping into my throat. My mother stood in the doorway, her gaze landing first on the flowers, then me.
“Oh, I see you finally got some flowers better than those grocery-store ones.” She moved closer to the arrangement, one perfectly manicured finger reaching out to touch a petal with the kind of delicate care she usually reserved for expensive things.
I opened my mouth then closed it, looking down at the crumpled note still clenched in my hand.
“Who are they from?”
The words stuck in my throat. I’d kept quiet for weeks, convinced it would go away, that it was just noise. But now I couldn’t deny that this wasn’t going away.
I held out the wrinkled note.
She crossed the room in three strides, plucking it from my fingers and smoothing it out against her palm. Her expression didn’t change as she read it.
“How many?” she asked.
“Three letters,” I said quietly, my own voice sounding small and uncertain even to my ears. “Maybe four. There was a text too. I’m not sure if that counts or if it’s someone different—”
She looked up, eyes hard. “Have you mentioned this to anyone else?”
“No.” A lie, but I didn’t think telling her that Henri knew would help anything.
“Just leave it with me.” She exhaled slowly, folding the note with precise, deliberate movements.
“I’ll bring it up when the time is right.
We don’t want to look hysterical over a few notes.
Keep smiling,” she said, sliding the note into her purse like it was a receipt.
“You’ve had a good day. Second place, solid points. Don’t let this ruin it.”
“Okay…”
“You know that better than anyone, darling. We must be twice as composed, twice as professional, twice as unflappable as the men. That’s just the reality of our position.
” She reached for the crystal vase, lifting it with both hands, flowers and all, and walked toward the door with the kind of graceful efficiency that made it clear the conversation was over.
“Mother…” I started, not quite sure of what I was going to say.
She smoothed her jacket. “Go fix your makeup. You have media obligations in twenty minutes, and I won’t have you looking rattled.”
I stared at her, waiting for something more. For concern to crack through that composed exterior, or anger on my behalf, or even just some acknowledgment, but she just looked at me for one more long moment, her expression carefully neutral, before stepping through the doorway.