Chapter 27
Ronan
The screaming fans are gone now, replaced by the sterile hum of hospital machinery and the low murmur of too many people crowded into a waiting room built for half this number.
The air smells of disinfectant and burnt coffee, scents I know I’ll forever hate after this.
Nearly every driver is here, slouched in hard plastic chairs or pacing the narrow stretch of floor.
The race was called, never resuming after the crash.
Nash took podium, but there was no ceremony.
It would have been disrespectful, and no one wanted it anyway.
I was disqualified, having pulled my car over when I saw Francesca’s in the wall.
I didn’t know what happened. Only saw the red flag alerts and came upon the horror of the crash.
I should have driven by at the red flag pace, but I saw Francesca being held back by marshals and couldn’t ignore it.
I was so relieved at seeing her upright, but I could immediately feel her fear and grief. I couldn’t get to her fast enough.
Union Jack Motorsports has gathered in a tight knot in a corner, faces pale, eyes fixed anywhere but on each other.
Bex hovers close to Nash, while Posey sits rigid a few seats down with Lex’s arm around her.
His expression is unreadable, but his foot taps a restless rhythm against the tile.
Carlos’s parents aren’t here—couldn’t be, not with their health—but word has spread that a private jet is already in the air to bring them.
Everyone waits, suspended in the kind of silence that’s louder than engines could ever be.
My eyes are fixed on Francesca, standing by herself near the window.
Her arms are wrapped around her stomach, her eyes blankly overlooking the parking lot.
She hasn’t spoken since the ambulance pulled out with sirens blaring.
I took that as a hopeful sign, that they were rushing Carlos to the hospital, but Francesca’s look was so bleak, I was afraid she knew something I didn’t.
When the ambulance was out of sight, I looked down at her.
Her cheeks were still wet, but her eyes were dry.
She didn’t blink. Didn’t cry anymore. She just… calcified. Became hard as rock.
Nash sits beside me, elbows braced on his knees, fingers locked like he’s praying. I jolt when he speaks. “Is she okay?”
I tear my eyes from Francesca to find him staring at her with worry. There’s only one answer. “No. She thinks she caused the crash.”
“She didn’t,” Nash says. “I saw the footage. When the Matterhorn spun out, no one could have avoided that mess.”
“I know,” I murmur. But that doesn’t matter to Francesca. I tried to tell her that a bit ago, but she walked away from me to stand sentry at the window.
A cup of coffee appears under my nose and I glance up to see Luca standing there with the offer. My stomach rebels at the idea, but I take it anyway. “Thank you.”
I watch as Giulia and Alessio enter the waiting room, moving to Francesca’s side at the window.
I met her brother for the first time about an hour ago when we all arrived and we’ve barely said two words to each other.
As they should, they’re rallying around Francesca, but I can see she’s not responding to them any better than she did to me.
“She’ll be all right,” Luca says softly, and my gaze turns back to him. “She’s strong.”
I know she is, but everyone has their limits. I cannot adequately begin to catalog the storm of emotions within me right now, but the main one is worry for my girl.
A stillness permeates the room, and I turn to see a doctor walking in, pulling a surgical mask off his face.
He glances around at the crowd, seeming to be at a loss as to who to talk to.
The Union Jack team principal moves to him, dread on his face.
I stand up and start making my way back to Francesca.
She turns, and it crushes me to see her eyes filled with hope.
It hurts because I can tell by the look on the doctor’s face it’s not good.
I reach Francesca’s side just as the doctor addresses everyone in the room.
Calm, clinical, mercilessly final. “I’m sorry. We did everything we could. He never regained consciousness.”
A warbled sound issues from Francesca and I step in to wrap her in a hug. Her mother squeezes her shoulder, tears flowing freely. The doctor continues to talk, explaining the injury.
“We did everything we could, but the injuries Carlos sustained were too severe. The protective cell of the car held up, but the force of the crash caused catastrophic trauma to his brain. When a car stops that suddenly, the body can be held by belts, but the brain still moves inside the skull. That movement tore connections that simply can’t be repaired. ”
I tune the doctor out. That’s an injury we all know too well in this sport.
The cars we drive have become so sophisticated in their safety measures, creating a survival cell that can keep most of the body intact.
And yet, they haven’t been able to figure out how to protect the brain from such sudden force.
Carlos isn’t the first to perish this way.
A sudden wave of grief hits me because although I wasn’t super close to Carlos, we had become better friends. And no matter, any time we lose one of our own, whether we’re friends or enemies, it hits way down deep.
Nash swears under his breath. Bex covers her mouth with one hand, her eyes squeezing shut. Posey bows her head, and Lex rubs a hand over his face, features tight.
Francesca doesn’t move. I squeeze her gently and wait for a reaction—tears, anger, anything. But when she finally lifts her head, it’s worse than I imagined. Her eyes are flat, her face carved from stone.
“That’s it, then,” she says quietly. Her voice doesn’t break. It doesn’t even waver. “I’m done.”
The words hang there, cold and absolute.
Giulia makes a sound of dismay. “Oh, no… please don’t say that. You just—”
Francesca cuts her off, pulling away from me so violently, I have no choice but to let her go. I exchange a worried look with her brother.
“I caused this,” she says, loud enough to carry through the room. Everyone turns to look at her. “It’s my fault he’s dead. My wheel clipped him and that’s what caused the crash.”
“That’s not what happened,” I say, but she glares at me, silencing my words.
“Don’t. I don’t want speeches about how these things happen or that Carlos would want me to keep racing. I don’t care.”
I reach out to her, intent on keeping my thoughts to myself and only offering support, but she jerks away like my hand burns her.
Her eyes snap to mine, blazing now, not with tears but with fury. “Don’t you dare, Ronan. Don’t tell me it’s going to be okay. Don’t tell me to keep going. I’m done.”
The words gut me, not just because of what she’s saying but because of what’s buried inside them. She’s not angry at me—she’s terrified. She can’t bear the thought of ever going through this again.
I want to tell her the chances of this happening again are slim. That I’ll never let it happen. But I can’t promise her that, not in this world. Not when I’ve seen too many crashes, too many funerals.
So I stand there helpless and hollow as she turns on her heel and stalks toward the exit.
“Go after her,” Giulia encourages me. “She needs you more than any of us because you understand this.”
I nod at her mother, accept an encouraging smile from Alessio and take off after her.
“Francesca, wait,” I call, following her through the sterile corridor. My boots echo against the linoleum. I catch up just outside the doors, the cool air slamming into us as they slide open.
She spins on me, her hair whipping across her face. “I need you to leave me alone.”
“Like hell I will.” My voice cracks like thunder, louder than I meant. “You don’t get to walk away like this—not from me.”
Her eyes flash, but her words are low, controlled, terrifying in her calm delivery. “You have no say in this, Ronan.”
I stare at her, knowing nothing I say will make her feel better. I can only be there for her.
She narrows her eyes, frustration causing her face to redden. “You don’t mean enough to me offer an opinion.”
Ouch… that one stung, but I also know that’s grief talking. I’m a professional at rooting out lies from truth when words are intentionally thrown to hurt. I’m Vivienne Barnes’s son, after all.
Regret flashes in her amber eyes, but she remains resolved. “If you care about me at all, Ronan, you’ll let me go. You’ll let me have my space to deal with this.”
I blow out a breath of frustration. Giving up is not in my nature, but I get the impression that Francesca will hold it against me if I don’t give her the space she’s asked for.
For once, I don’t fight. Not when she looks like this—frayed at the edges, brittle enough to shatter if I push too hard.
I nod. “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know,” she says, sounding so tired. “I just… need to be alone for now.”
“I’ll come check on you later,” I say, assuming she’ll be at her flat.
She disappears into the crowd outside, leaving me on the hospital steps with nothing but the hollow certainty that if I don’t find a way to bring her back, I’ve lost her for good.