Chapter Twenty-Two
Henri
My body relaxed the farther we got from London. My shoulders sat lower. My hands didn’t grip the car’s steering wheel with desperation.
“I can’t believe you race here!” Lily laughed, climbing out into the damp air with clear amusement. “Hope you’re prepared to be humbled by my racing today.”
My mouth twitched toward a smile. “Don’t get any ideas. Humility isn’t exactly my strong suit.”
“Shocking.” She kicked at loose gravel, grinning. “And here I thought you’d turned a new leaf—”
“Henri!”
The shout came from across the paddock, followed by a chaotic stampede of men in racing overalls.
Before I could brace myself, they’d engulfed me in a completely mortifying group hug.
“Guys,” I muttered, trying to extract myself. “This is really not—”
“Missed you too, mate!” éliott’s voice came from somewhere to my left, followed by a slap to my back that nearly knocked the air from my lungs.
My friend, Max, managed to disentangle himself first, his attention immediately shifting to Lily with an obvious interest that made something territorial flare in my chest.
“Well, hello,” Max said with an exaggerated wink that made me want to hit him. “Henri, you didn’t tell us you were bringing her. You’re even prettier in person than on the telly.”
I’m going to murder all of them.
Lily handled it with characteristic grace, holding out her hand. “Hi. That’s not true, but thank you anyway.”
“Ignore them,” I said flatly. “They have no social skills.”
But éliott was already leaning forward conspiratorially, his voice dropping to what he probably thought was a whisper, but which was absolutely audible to everyone.
“Personally, I’m just glad you guys finally got over all that weird, angry foreplay you’ve been doing all season. I mean, all Henri talked about last season was yo—”
I smacked him, hard, right on the back of his head.
“Ow! What was that for?”
Lily’s eyebrows shot up, delight dancing in her eyes. “Oh, did he now?”
I made a strangled noise, heat flooding my face. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
éliott nodded vigorously, completely ignoring my desperate plea. “Wouldn’t shut up about you, honestly. ‘Lily did this in qualifying, Lily’s racing strategy is brilliant, Lily passed me here.’ It was exhausting.”
I could feel my face burning now. “That’s not… That’s taken completely out of context.”
Lily grinned, clearly enjoying my suffering. “Well, that’s tremendously flattering, Henri.”
Max elbowed me with enough force to make me stumble. “You know, mate, you really did her description an injustice.”
“She’s literally on TV every weekend. Now, where’s our chariot of certain death?”
éliott led us through rows of magnificently ridiculous Beetles in every conceivable state of decay.
And then I saw ours.
An orange Beetle with paint so faded it was nearly pink in places. A racing stripe that didn’t really look like a stripe. The rear spoiler wobbled visibly in the breeze. And there was a crack running through the passenger-side windshield.
But what really made it special was the bumper sticker plastered across the back window: “Passenger Princess” in glittery pink letters.
Of course that’s our car.
“This is perfect,” Lily declared, walking around it like she was examining art. “This is absolutely perfect.”
I stood motionless, staring at the orange monstrosity with carefully controlled horror. “Lily, this thing is held together with duct tape and a prayer.”
“That’s the best kind of racecar!” She popped the hood—which took three tries—and peered at the engine. “Look at this beautiful disaster. When’s the last time you drove something that actually required skill?”
I snickered. “You mean, excluding our F1 cars?”
“Right then,” Lily announced, rubbing her hands together with determination. “I’m absolutely testing this first.”
I didn’t argue. Partly because she was clearly excited. But mostly because the thought of getting behind the wheel and being responsible for controlling something with zero modern safety features in deteriorating conditions made my body weak with anxiety.
To use Lily’s words, the car was alive. I watched from the passenger seat as she took the first corner and immediately discovered that this vehicle’s grip was casual at best. The rear end stepped out cheerfully, and she caught it with skill and instinct.
Her laugh of pure delight filled the cabin, infectious and genuine.
“Lily!” I heard myself say, my voice between panic and amusement as I braced against the door. “Mon dieu, slow down! This thing is older than my grandfather!”
She tackled the next corner with more confidence, letting the car slide and dance. No electronic aids, no computer control, no safety net. Just her and the car and complete disregard for mortality.
Despite my protests and my white-knuckle grip on the dashboard, I found myself laughing too.
Really laughing, with my head thrown back.
The kind of laughing I’d almost forgotten how to do.
By the time Lily brought us back, we were both grinning like idiots.
The car shuddered to a stop with what sounded like mechanical relief.
“That was the most fun I’ve had in a car since… Actually, I’m not sure I’ve ever had that much fun,” she announced, pulling off the helmet.
I removed my own helmet with noticeably shaking hands, and for a moment I tried to convince myself it was just adrenaline.
But I knew better.
My breathing had gone shallow, ribs tight with an anxiety I recognized too well. The realization that I’d be expected to drive next, and in the rain, no less, made panic pulse more insistently.
Lily’s hand settled gently over mine where I was gripping the dashboard. Her fingers were warm, anchoring me to something real instead of the spiraling thoughts.
“Hey,” she said softly. “You okay?”
My breath stuttered despite my best efforts. “I— Yes. I’m fine.”
Her fingers shifted beneath mine, our palms meeting briefly, before I pulled away. The softness of her touch lingered, warm and steadying.
Get it together. You’re fine. It’s just driving.
“I’m just excited to show you how it’s really done,” I shot back, defaulting to competition, because that was safe ground.
Lily’s eyebrow arched. “My driving was perfect, thank you.”
éliott gathered everyone for the rules briefing. “Right, it’s basically a sprint format. Forty laps, and whoever’s fastest wins. No contact, though these things bounce pretty well.”
Max pointed at me. “And no crying when your F1 skills mean nothing.”
I scoffed, trying to project a confidence I wasn’t feeling. “Good thing I brought the championship leader with me.”
I pointed at Lily, then leaned toward her. “You want to take the first session?”
“Obviously.” She was already reaching for the helmet again. “Someone needs to set a proper benchmark.”
“Confident. I like it.”
The rain started in earnest, transforming from drizzle to actual precipitation. Proper drops that turned the track surface into something approaching a lake in places.
My chest tightened further, watching the water pool.
It’s fine. This is nothing like Miami. Except it was. Rain and an unfamiliar car, with me barely holding it together.
“Remember,” I said as Lily climbed into the driver’s seat, my voice steadier than I felt, “this isn’t F1. You can’t just point it where you want and trust electronics.”
“Thanks for the revolutionary pep talk, coach. Any other groundbreaking insights?”
“Don’t get us killed,” I said, and there was more genuine concern than I’d intended. “Seriously, Lily. Just be careful.”
“I will,” she promised, touching my hand briefly. I knew she wouldn’t. Lily would drive this car like she drove everything: with complete commitment.
After twenty laps, Lily pulled over for the swap. We awkwardly maneuvered in the confined space, elbows bumping, her knee catching mine as she slid to the passenger seat. The brief contact sent electricity through me that had nothing to do with anxiety.
“She’s running beautifully,” Lily said as I settled behind the wheel. “Just trust the slide and don’t fight the steering.”
“Right,” I managed, but tension was creeping into my shoulders as I looked at the wet track.
“Henri.” Her hand settled on my arm. “You’ve got this. Slow hands, quick feet. And if it gets ugly, just bring her home. We don’t have to win.”
I nodded, pulling back onto the track even though everything in me was screaming to stay put.
It’s fine. Just drive.
For the first few laps, I maintained control.
My inputs were smooth, precise. Exactly what you’d expect from someone second in the championship.
But something was building with each corner.
Each time the car stepped out, each moment where grip became negotiation, I could feel panic rising like floodwater.
Austria had been a dry race, so I had a break from this fear, but driving now, it was starting to come back. A reminder of my F2 race in Barcelona.
The steering felt wrong, too big, too imprecise. Every input seemed delayed and disconnected.
Remember, this isn’t F1. Stop trying to drive like it is.
“Henri, relax your grip.” Lily’s voice came gently.
But I couldn’t. My knuckles were tight, arms rigid, and my breathing was becoming rapid and shallow. Then the rear stepped out unexpectedly. Instead of the smooth correction that should have been muscle memory, I yanked the wheel too hard.
We slid sideways, the world tilting at an angle that sent my stomach plummeting. For a heartbeat I was back in Miami, watching barriers approach with horrible inevitability. I got us straight again, but my hands were shaking violently now, vision tunneling, chest so tight I couldn’t breathe.
“Pull over,” Lily said immediately.
“I’m fine,” I forced out unconvincingly.
“Henri, pull over. Now.”
I jerked the car off the racing line onto grass and stopped abruptly, my whole body shaking with panic and shame so acute it burned. My head dropped against the steering wheel, trying desperately to ground myself.
Failure. Everyone can see you failing.