Chapter Twenty
Lily
It was a week before Silverstone, and my head was in absolute shambles after the Austrian Grand Prix.
When Georgia texted asking if I’d be interested in joining a charity event featuring rescue dogs with Valkyrie, I jumped at the idea.
Anything to take my thoughts off Henri and that conversation in the hotel bar.
I was shocked by his story about Ollie. It was obvious there was tension between them, but I hadn’t expected that sort of betrayal from Ollie.
But what I expected the least was Henri’s final admission.
“Because I missed you. Miss you, every day, and that night, for just a moment, I let myself forget all the reasons why I shouldn’t kiss you.”
Those words haunted me, but him finally admitting the reason why he’d walked out in Las Vegas haunted me more. Would I have fought back on my contract?
When I arrived at the event, the park was already buzzing.
Dogs were everywhere: big dogs, small dogs, and dogs so shaggy they struggled to see—my particular favorite.
Georgia was in the center of it, headset on, clipboard tucked beneath her elbow, like a general marching into war.
She spotted me, and her whole body relaxed.
“You made it!” she said, threading through a tangle of leashes to reach me.
“You look terrifyingly competent,” I said, dodging a corgi who was fully committed to tripping me.
Georgia laughed. “It’s nice to get out and do something other than racing for a bit, yeah?”
“Georgia Dubois, how the times have changed,” I laughed. “There was a time when all you thought about was racing.”
She waved me off. “What can I say? New me.” Then she shrugged. “I just wish Henri felt the same. He was so down after his Austrian win.”
My chest tightened at the mention of his name. “Did you invite him to this?”
“I did, but I doubt he’ll come. Probably slaving away on his home simulator, preparing for Silverstone.” She paused, looking around. “You didn’t want to invite Ollie?”
Well, now I knew Henri hadn’t told her about his past with Ollie. “Nah, not today.”
She didn’t press me on it, which I appreciated.
I was going to have to confront Ollie, ask him why he’d told me that story. After talking to Henri, I’d called éliott to confirm, which he’d done. With all this knowledge, I knew even if I couldn’t have Henri, I didn’t want Ollie anymore. Not after what I’d learned.
The idea that this had been a misunderstanding between them was no longer an acceptable excuse.
Still, that felt like an after Silverstone conversation.
A volunteer dropped off a bag of toys, and Georgia looked down at them.
“We need to get these distributed. You mind dropping these off over at the blue pen? They need some more toys.” She handed me a grocery bag brimming with squeaky ducks, plush bones, and something that looked suspiciously like a rubber Formula 1 car in Valkyrie livery. The absurdity made me smile.
I took the bag and navigated toward the blue pen, careful not to trip over the canine obstacle course underfoot.
The blue pen was a cordoned area with a wet tarp and about a dozen puppies climbing all over each other.
They were incredibly adorable. Most of the volunteers, busy in Valkyrie jackets, were trying to rally puppies for the cluster of parents and sponsor representatives who crowded the pen, begging for photos.
I set the bag down and was immediately mugged by three wriggling bodies.
A golden-brown mutt reared up against my shoe, delicately untying it, before running away.
“Um, sir,” I told him with mock sternness, scooping up the brown bundle of mischief before he could leave with my shoelace entirely. “That’s hardly appropriate behavior for a first meeting.”
He responded by attempting to lick my face.
I was in the process of liberating my shoelace when I caught a flicker of movement at the edge of the pen, and then a loud squeal of excitement. For one surreal second, I thought I was hallucinating him. But there he was.
Henri, wrapped up in an embrace by his sister.
He looked good—too good for someone who’d probably spent the past week drowning in data and simulator runs in a dark room.
His dark hair fell across his forehead like an invitation for someone to push it back.
Late-morning sunlight spilled across his face, gilding the rough scrape of stubble he clearly couldn’t be bothered to shave.
But shadows pooled beneath his eyes, deeper than they should’ve been, and there was a tightness around his mouth that wasn’t so noticeable before Austria.
He stepped back from Georgia, and his gaze swept the crowd.
Then it landed on me, causing my heart to race against my chest. The puppy I was holding squirmed in my arms, but I couldn’t look away.
Henri’s jaw worked like he was chewing on words he couldn’t let loose. The air between us crackled with everything unsaid—everything we’d left bleeding in that hotel bar.
“Because I missed you.”
Georgia grabbed his arm, oblivious to the moment that hung between us.
“Come meet these little guys. They’re absolute lunatics—you’ll love them,” I heard her call out to Henri.
She dragged him toward a fenced area, where a chaos of small dogs yapped and tumbled over each other. Henri let himself be pulled along, but his eyes stayed on me until the last possible second. When he finally turned away, I released a breath I hadn’t known I was holding.
My fingers tangled in soft puppy fur as I watched Georgia shove a squeaky toy into Henri’s hands.
He crouched down, and immediately, three terriers launched themselves at him, but he sat very still, as if sudden movement would spook them.
Slowly, his hand came up and found a head.
He scratched, and the puppy’s eyes rolled back in bliss.
Something unspooled in his face, tiny changes, like a knot loosened by patient fingers.
The harsh lines of his mouth softened, and the space between his eyebrows let go.
For a moment I looked away, feeling almost guilty for watching what seemed like a private moment of peace.
A voice from behind me made me jump. “Thanks for the toys,” Mina, another volunteer, called over to me. “Do you want to meet one of our stars? He’s not in the puppy pen, because he’s technically a grown-up.”
I nodded enthusiastically, and she cast a look at the dog lying with crossed paws like a gentleman near the volunteer tent, golden-tan and calm as ever. His tail thumped lazily when he saw her.
“That’s Archie,” Mina said, and the affection in her voice was unmistakable. “Although, I call him Professor Archie, in honor of his dignified demeanor. Looks like he should be teaching literature at a university, doesn’t he?”
I laughed, already charmed. “He does have that distinguished gentleman energy.”
“He washed out of seeing-eye school because he loves people, and food, too much. Couldn’t not say hello.”
“Relatable,” I laughed.
“Right? Now he’s retired therapy dog. He used to visit hospitals, schools, and libraries, but then his owner unfortunately had to let him go. Really a shame, but something we see often, even for dogs as amazing as Archie.”
“Can I…?” I asked, nodding toward the pen, but Mina was already motioning me forward.
Archie sniffed the air, tail waving in approval. When we reached the fence, Mina unhooked the leash, and he sat, polite as a diplomat.
“Want to say hi?” she asked Archie.
But Archie had other ideas. He eyed me for a bit, then he looked past me, toward another pen, and just like that, he started to stroll away.
“Archie!” Mina yelled.
Henri looked up as the retriever approached.
Archie stopped a foot away and gave him a long, considerate sniff.
Henri extended his palm slowly, cautiously, the way you’d approach something wild that might bolt.
His fingers uncurled to reveal an empty hand.
Archie considered for exactly three heartbeats.
Then he leaned his entire golden head into Henri’s palm with a sigh that sounded like coming home.
Henri’s brownish-green eyes softened to something warmer—something that looked almost like wonder mixed with relaxation.
His fingers moved behind Archie’s ears with deliberate slowness, finding that sweet spot with the instinct of someone who understood exactly what it meant to crave comfort without knowing how to ask for it. He scratched the place all dogs have universally agreed is perfect.
Archie responded by settling down completely, lowering himself to the ground beside Henri’s feet with the satisfied grunt of a creature who’d found exactly where he was meant to be.
His golden face tilted upward, basking in the cool mist drifting down from the gray sky, eyes half-closed in that expression of pure, uncomplicated contentment that only dogs seem capable of achieving.
Rain-dampened and peaceful, he looked like he’d been Henri’s dog for years.
“Who’s this?” Henri asked, voice low.
“Archie,” Mina said as we approached. “Failed seeing-eye dog. Too social, and a bit too much of a foodie.”
Henri’s mouth twitched. “Unforgivable.”
“He did some work as a therapy dog. He’s exceptionally good at it. Has this uncanny ability to know exactly who needs him.”
“What does he do?” he asked carefully.
“Whatever’s needed. Hospitals, schools. Sometimes people just need a warm head to hold. The world keeps being the world,” she continued quietly, “and sometimes you just need something steady and warm and unconditionally present to hold onto until you can breathe again. He’s good at being that.”
Archie bumped his nose against Henri’s knuckles once, twice, then settled his chin there with a sigh.
“Does he…”—Henri swallowed, the movement visible in his throat—“have a home?”
“Not yet,” Mina said gently. “We’re looking for the right fit.”
He nodded, almost to himself. His fingers resumed their slow work at the base of Archie’s skull, and the dog leaned in with his full heart. For a few minutes, the rain was only background, the crowds only texture, and everything else felt distant.
Georgia came back over a few moments later, asking me to help with some towels they’d laid out for the dogs, and I excused myself quietly to assist her.
But even as I moved between the pens, distributing the soft fabric and making small talk with the other volunteers, I kept looking over my shoulder, the way you do when you’ve spotted a rare thing in the wild and you’re afraid if you glance away too long it will vanish like morning mist. I saw Henri still there, still kneeling in the damp grass with Archie pressed against him, the dog’s tail creating lazy arcs in the air.
Georgia noticed it too from her position across the lawn, where she paused mid-conversation with another volunteer to track her brother’s position. She stood there holding an armful of donated blankets, her gaze locked on Henri with an intensity that made my chest tighten uncomfortably.
She met my eye across the muddy distance, and something like relief bloomed in her expression. Like she’d been waiting a very long time to witness this particular moment and was terrified it might dissolve if she acknowledged it too directly.
I felt my throat go tight with emotion I had no right to be feeling, because I understood exactly what she was seeing: Henri, unguarded.
Henri, breathing without visible effort.
Henri, finding something like peace in the simple act of holding onto something that asked nothing from him except to be present, to be real, to exist in this moment without performance or pretense.
“Tea?” Georgia asked me a few minutes later, appearing with steaming paper cups.
“He looks so… relaxed,” I said, like it was a secret.
“I know,” she said softly. “He used to volunteer at an animal shelter all the time.”
“You told me he wanted a dog,” I said.
“Years ago,” she said. “Before Hermes, before the championship battles. He said it wouldn’t be fair, with the travel, the grind.
Said he’d wait until everything calmed down.
” She huffed a small laugh. “As if that will happen. But I don’t know.
More and more drivers bring their dogs everywhere.
Look at éliott—he’s barely separated from Brownie, and Brownie loves traveling with him.
He’s basically a mini star of the paddock! ”
I watched Archie plant himself like royalty and press his full weight against Henri’s legs. Watched Henri’s hand settle against the dog’s chest, palm flat, finding the calm rhythm beneath it. Georgia gestured me over, and we drifted toward the pen where Henri sat.
Mini was talking to Henri. “Don’t let me pressure you,” she was saying, “but we can bring him for a trial weekend if you want to see how it feels.”
Henri shrugged. “I don’t know where I’ll be.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “He does. He’s very good at finding people.”
His gaze flicked up to me before sliding away. Almost as if he was asking what I thought. “I’ll think about it,” he said at last.
Henri stood, brushed damp grass off his knees, and gave Archie one last scratch. Then he handed the leash back, stepped out of the pen, and reassembled himself as his public self. But the echo of the smile stayed around the edges of his face.
I gave him my best smile. He didn’t take it, exactly, but he didn’t reject it either. He just moved on, and I let him.
The event thinned with the rain. Mina tucked Archie into a van with a blanket and a kiss to the nose. I carried a stack of bowls to the supply table and set them down before picking up the adoption papers.
Georgia came to stand beside me.
“You look like someone who has a mischievous idea,” she said.
“I hate that about my face,” I laughed. “Always gives me away.”
She scoffed in response.
“Georgia?”
“Yes…?” she asked, though I could tell from her expression that she already knew.
“You think Henri would say yes?”
Then a small smile began to curve at the edges of her lips, knowing and slightly conspiratorial and touched with something that might have been hope.
“Well,” she said slowly, her eyes returning to meet mine with that glint that suggested she was fully on board with whatever chaos I was about to unleash, “judging by the expression on your face, he very well may not have a choice in the matter.”