Chapter Twenty-One
Henri
Today had a certain ease about it. After yesterday’s charity event with my sister, I felt considerably lighter and more relaxed.
Georgia had texted me three times about the charity event, each message more insistent than the last. The last one had been accompanied by a photo of a golden retriever with soulful eyes that she’d clearly found on the internet.
But it wasn’t her texts that had got me there. It was my new therapist and sports psychologist, who’d finally convinced me isolation wasn’t the same as healing, that wallowing away in my apartment replaying my fears wasn’t productive to my recovery.
After that session, she’d told me to set aside an entire day for myself to do nothing but relax with some “self-care.”
I wasn’t used to taking care of myself.
And I definitely wasn’t used to relaxing.
The apartment felt too quiet. I’d already cleaned the kitchen twice, answered several sponsor emails, and memorized the talking points Ruth wanted me to learn for my upcoming interview.
A nice re-do of the last one I’d done with Ollie.
My coffee had gone cold twenty minutes ago, but I still held the mug anyway, out of habit.
The mug was chipped—Georgia had given it to me years ago: World’s Okayest Driver.
At the time, it had been a joke. Now it felt a bit too on the nose.
I moved to the couch, kicked my feet up on the coffee table, and opened my book. I could do this. I could relax.
That was when the knock came. Three sharp taps, and a scuffling of something unfamiliar.
I ignored it. Probably Georgia. She’d been hovering lately, popping by with excuses like “forgot my charger” or “can I borrow your blender?” All of them terrible.
The knock came again, louder.
I sighed, pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes. “For fuck’s sake.”
When I opened the door, I forgot how to speak. Lily stood there, auburn curls clinging to her cheeks in soft spirals. She looked out of breath, like she’d run up the steps.
My heart launched into a rhythm that had nothing to do with training, and everything to do with the woman standing in my hallway looking at me with those eyes that had haunted every waking moment this season.
In Austria, I’d finally told her how I felt. She’d just stared back at me, wide-eyed, not saying anything. Which was fine—I didn’t need her to say anything. I just needed her to know.
Before I could say something, a panting caught my attention, and I looked down.
There, next to Lily, was Archie. The same Lab who’d spent half of Valkyrie’s charity event draped across my lap. The same dog who’d leaned into my hand like he’d known me for years. The same dog whose easy warmth had cracked something open in me I’d been trying desperately to keep sealed.
He recognized me instantly. His tail began sweeping the floor in increasingly enthusiastic arcs, and his whole body wiggled with such unfiltered delight.
She brought him here. She remembered.
The thought hit before I could stop it—before I could protect myself from the hope that came with it.
I stared at her, dumbfounded, acutely aware that I was still holding the door like an idiot, that I probably looked as shocked as I felt, that I had no idea what expression was on my face. “What the hell is this?”
“A dog,” Lily said, with a brightness that bordered on dangerous.
“I’m aware it’s a dog,” I retorted. “But why is he here?”
“Because,” she said, as if this were obvious, “you’re his foster parent now.”
I must’ve blinked, because she held up a plastic packet covered in Paddock Paws logos, as though visual evidence might help.
“Don’t worry—it’s a foster situation. For now,” she said breezily. “Paperwork’s all sorted. Congratulations.”
My brain was struggling to process everything in front of me. She was here, with a foster a dog she’d arranged on my behalf, acting like I hadn’t laid my heart bare while she said nothing.
“You—” I looked from her to the paperwork to Archie, who’d decided the conversation wasn’t interesting enough and begun sniffing my doorway with focused enthusiasm. “This is crazy, even for you.”
“Meh.” She shrugged. Her curls bounced as she waltzed into my hallway, leaving me standing at the door, still holding a leash I didn’t remember taking from her.
“Lily, you have to take this dog back!”
A smile curved her mouth, slow, warm, and infuriatingly gentle, in a way that made my chest tighten.
“Why?” She tilted her head, meeting my eye with that steady, knowing look that always felt like she could see straight through every defense I’d carefully constructed.
“Well, you won’t go to therapy, will you?
So this is… therapy-adjacent. The next best thing.
” She reached down to scratch behind Archie’s ear, her fingers moving with ease through his fur.
“As much as a therapy dog can be anyway.”
I shifted my weight, suddenly hyperaware of how close she was; how small my hallway felt with both of us in it.
“I’m actually going to therapy now, thank you.” The words came out more defensive than I intended, but I needed something to break this tension, to stop thinking about how she’d looked at me in Austria when I’d walked away from the bar, to stop wondering what it meant that she was here now.
Lily’s head popped up, her eyes going wide. An incredibly pleased grin spread across her face, genuine and unguarded in a way that made my heart do something complicated.
“Henri, that’s—” She stopped herself, like she was trying to find the right words and was coming up short. “That’s really good. I’m proud of you.”
I began to tap against my thigh—a nervous gesture I immediately regretted, because it probably made me look as off-balance as I felt.
“After Austria,” I said, focusing on the dog, because that was safer than focusing on her.
“After everything with the press conference and Ollie’s interview, I realized I was barely keeping it together.
That everyone could tell I was struggling even when I thought I was hiding it well. ”
There was a tender silence between us, with neither of us saying anything.
Finally, I turned back to find Archie, but he simply trotted past my leg and jumped onto my sofa in the living room.
I gestured toward the couch, which Lily was now perched on next to Archie. Her shoes were kicked off by the edge of the seat, and she looked so relaxed, like she belonged on my couch.
I remained standing, watching her settle into my space like she’d done it a thousand times before, in previous years when hanging out had felt effortless. Rain-dampened curls fell across her shoulder as she leaned forward to stroke Archie’s head, and my chest twisted at the sight.
She looked different here—softer somehow.
The sharp edges she wore on track had melted away, replaced by this easy warmth that made my apartment feel less like a tomb and more like somewhere worth being.
Her sweater—oversized, cream-colored—had slipped off one shoulder, and she didn’t bother fixing it, just sat there, cross-legged on my couch, completely at home.
Beautiful.
Archie nuzzled into her hand, and she laughed this quiet, genuine sound that wrapped around my ribs and squeezed.
She’d bought me a dog. Sorted the paperwork, coordinated with the charity, probably dealt with a mountain of logistics I couldn’t even begin to imagine, all because she’d noticed something about me at an event we’d attended together. All because she cared.
That was Lily, though. Beneath all the competitive fire, the relentless drive, and the walls she’d built just as high as mine—she saw people.
Really saw them. She’d noticed I was drowning when everyone else was too busy asking if I’d keep my seat.
She’d shown up, and kept showing up, even when I pushed her away.
This is why I love her.
The realization settled over me—inevitable, soaking through every defense I had left. Not because she was brilliant behind the wheel or fearless under pressure. Not even because she challenged me in ways no one else dared.
But because she was kind. Because she cared enough to do things like this—absurd, wonderful things that cracked open the parts of me I’d spent months trying to seal shut.
She glanced up, catching me staring. A smile played at the corner of her mouth.
“You all right?”
Archie looked over at me again, this time making an effort to crawl into my lap. It was disarming and unfair. Dogs had this way of melting your heart, and Archie had done a mighty job in such a short period of time.
Lily’s gaze dropped to her shirt’s hem, and she began peeling at a loose thread on her sleeve. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper. “Keeping him, I mean. If you want me to take him, I will. The rescue asked. He took to you, and I thought maybe…”
“That depends. Can I keep him if I also have a therapist?”
She laughed, nodding. “He seems to really like you,” she said softly.
“He likes anyone with fingers.”
“That’s not true,” she grumbled. “He didn’t crawl into my lap once.”
“Maybe he has taste,” I muttered.
She snorted, the sound bubbling out of her unchecked, and damn it, I felt my own mouth twitch in response—but there was no tension between us, just a casual, light air. Like it used to be.
“You know, I miss hanging out with you.” Lily tucked one leg beneath her, twisting slightly to face me.
I blinked. “Me too.”
“I miss how we were. Before all this. We used to be such close friends.”
I stared at her, at the earnest tilt of her chin, at the vulnerability she wasn’t trying to hide. Something about that, her honesty, her willingness to meet me where I was rather than where she wished I’d be, felt good. It felt right.
“You want to be friends again?” I asked.
“If you’ll let me,” she said quietly. “If that’s still something you want.”
I looked down, rubbing the back of Archie’s neck.
Friends. The word felt too small. But maybe it was the only one we could fit into right now. The morality clause wasn’t changing, but maybe we didn’t have to do anything about that at the moment. Nothing banned our friendship.
We didn’t need to participate in this war between our teams.
“You know, I have an idea of what we can do to solidify this friendship.”
Her eyes widened a fraction. “Oh?”
“Every year, my friends host this little… competition… where we race Volkswagen Beetles.”
Her mouth fell open, then it curved into something between delight and hysteria. “Beetles? Like Herbie?”
“Yes,” I said. “Much like that delightful racing movie that made every F1 kid fall in love with racing.”
Lily’s grin bloomed. “You know, I’ve always wanted to drive one of those.” She laughed—a warm, cascading sound that felt like it rewired the entire room.
“I wasn’t planning to go initially,” I admitted. “Didn’t see the point. But my therapist”—the word still felt foreign, heavy—“thought it could be good for me. To remember what driving felt like before it became… whatever it is I’m feeling now.”
Lily’s expression softened, warm and aching. “Henri… that sounds perfect.”
I paused, then added, “I’ll need a partner.”
Her breath caught. Just slightly, but I felt it.
“A partner?” she echoed.
“Co-driver, technically,” I said. “Someone to yell at me when I’m being dramatic. And laugh when I stall out.”
She grinned. “Do you stall out?”
“Look, they’re hard cars to drive,” I said immediately, my hands in the air. “So…” I gave her a small smile. “What do you say?”
Lily’s lips curved upward, her shoulders relaxing as she leaned forward. The smile reached her eyes this time, crinkling the corners. Not the fake one I’d seen in a hundred press conferences, but something rarer that made my heart thump.
“Fuck it. Let’s do it.”