Chapter 41 The Grand Finale
The Grand Finale
Now
Juliette couldn’t deny it was an awkward car journey.
First, because Cap had failed to mention that Clyde had recently vomited, which meant the car reeked of regurgitated gravy bones, and second, because they hadn’t spoken a single word in five minutes.
But at least he’d let her drive. So that was something.
She eased onto the motorway. Sun beat down on the road, shimmering in gasoline waves.
Strange, she thought, for it to be so warm in December; she missed the frozen breeze off the Thames, the twinkling lights that cast candy-colored buses in icy white.
Of course, warm weather also had the unfortunate effect of reminding her of that summer with Dominic, when they’d spent their days at the academy lazing on a picnic blanket or driving to the local town for fish and chips.
A lump rose in her throat. At what point had Vance taken photographs of them together?
Had it been out in public somewhere? Or something more intimate?
God, even the thought of that…Her stomach climbed into her throat.
Dominic’s words in her hospital room came back to her.
I thought about what it would cost to go against him, in terms of a career.
So Vance had given an ultimatum: Stop seeing her, or leave the team.
She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised by what he’d chosen.
Dominic would rather cut off his hand than give up any advantage on track.
It was what made him the best racer in the world.
Still.
She couldn’t deny that it stung.
And Vance had ultimately let him go anyway. Was that why Dominic had rekindled things with her this year? Because he had nothing left to lose?
Cap cleared his throat, regaining her attention.
“So.”
She merged left. “So.”
“About the other day,” Cap began.
He paused.
Juliette glanced sideways. In retrospect, she ought to have expected Cap to show up at the hospital.
Baz hated conflict, and he’d developed a newfound sympathy for Cap after watching him sleep in the hospital waiting room, surviving on crisps and reruns of Peaky Blinders.
“I won’t lie,” Baz had said. “It’s difficult to stay cross with him when he’s using a towel as a pillow.
” Anyway, Cap had the uncanny ability to get his way in every scenario.
If he wanted to give her a lift, he was giving her a lift.
No, what she didn’t expect was this. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her brother struggle for words. There was something distinctly uncomfortable about it, like watching a comedian blank on the punch line to a joke.
“Look,” Cap said finally, “I should have never made it sound like you were any less capable than anyone else on the track. It was a shit thing to say, and if you’d said that about me in reverse…” He exhaled. “I’m just really fucking sorry, and I don’t blame you if you want to hit me.”
Juliette gripped the steering wheel. “Did Baz tell you to apologize?”
“Baz,” Cap said gravely, “has threatened to chop off my balls and wear them as a bow tie.”
“Baz said that?”
Cap’s mouth quirked. Just a bit. “I wish you could have seen it. He was swearing so loudly in Spanish that I thought the nurses might ring the police.”
Juliette couldn’t help it; Cap’s smile was infectious. For a moment they shared a brief, conspiratorial look, then her smile faded.
She turned back to the road. “You really hurt me, you know. You’ve always been my biggest supporter, and to hear you say that I’m…” Her chest tightened. “Well, you know what you said.”
Cap shifted in his seat. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t mean it.
If I’m honest…I’ve just been really fucking jealous.
You’ve done so well this season. The trophies, the sponsors, the legions of fans…
” He picked dog hair off the seat. “It’s not an excuse.
But I want you to know that’s the only reason I said it. ”
“Well.” Juliette cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
Cap nudged her. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“How?”
“I don’t know, but I will.” He paused. “Are we okay?”
Juliette took a left. “We’re okay.”
Or they would be, at least. Cap would have to do a hell of a lot of groveling, but she’d get there.
She would forgive her brother almost anything.
And anyway, she thought with rising satisfaction, it wouldn’t hurt to have an ace up her sleeve the next time someone had to sit next to Uncle Tim at Christmas dinner and listen to his conspiracy theories on how Big Pharma was injecting everyone with tracking chips.
Cap tapped a rhythm on his knee. A sign that he was debating whether to say something. And sure enough: “What did Hastings want earlier?”
Juliette flipped on the turn signal. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re done.”
Silence fell, broken only by the tick-tick of the turn signal. Cap pulled out a granola bar. He seemed to be biting back words, and Juliette raised an eyebrow.
“I thought you’d be pleased.”
Cap unwrapped the bar. “I’m only going to say one thing, and it’s probably stupid.” He shoved half of it into his mouth. “Hastings was my teammate for four years. I’ve seen him date dozens of women—”
“Is this meant to be helping?”
“—and he didn’t give a shit about any of them,” Cap finished. “You know why? Trying to get close to him is like—” He made a noise. “You can’t do it. He’ll bite off your hand. Only Liêm’s managed it, and honestly, none of us have a clue how.”
“Do you have a point?”
“He let you in,” Cap said. “That has to mean something.”
Juliette considered this. “You’re right.”
“I am?”
“That was stupid.”
Cap poked her. “Shut up.”
He was smiling, though. Juliette snatched the granola bar, ignoring her brother’s protests as she polished it off. “Penance,” she said through a full mouth, and Cap had the good sense to sigh and be silent.
There was a figure waiting for them in the car park as they arrived, shielding his eyes as he leaned against a wooden post. A female news anchor was eyeing him with interest, although Baz’s attention was on Clyde, who was happily trying to catch a squirrel. He looked up as they approached.
“Well?” Baz asked. “Did you both survive the journey?”
Juliette swung her legs out. “Cap let me drive. So yes.”
His gaze was cautious. “And you’re…okay?”
Cap bent down to ruffle Clyde’s neck. “She gets one free punch. Then we’re even.”
To her surprise, Baz smiled, and the dark circles around his eyes seemed to momentarily lighten. “Oh, I can think of a better punishment than that. Can’t you, Lettie?”
She frowned. What was he…? Oh. Oh. “No. That’s too mean.”
“Not mean enough.”
She shook her head. “He’ll never agree to it.”
“He has no choice.”
Cap scowled. “What the bloody hell are you two on about?”
“Pizza,” they said together, and Cap groaned.
“Oh, god, please. Anything but that.” He shuddered. “The claggy bread, the way the grease gets all over your fingers…” He gave Juliette a hopeful look. “Are you quite sure that you don’t want to punch me in the face?”
Someone shouted her name. Paparazzi lined the wooden posts, their cameras exploding like the silver flash of a blade, and her stomach clenched.
Damn. She hadn’t considered that the press might wait for her arrival, but it made sense; they’d want to know if she was racing today.
Cap placed a hand on her back as if he intended to hustle her toward the paddock, but Juliette shook her head.
“I’ll speak with them.”
Cap glanced at the mob. “Are you sure?”
Juliette pinched her fingers together. She’d spent too long hiding behind the wheel of a car, squeezing her eyes shut so that she couldn’t see the oncoming collision.
The press had been her champion and her critic, her defense and her prosecution.
But they didn’t know her. She hadn’t given them the chance to.
And how could you like something if you didn’t understand it?
“I’m sure,” Juliette said.
She drew a breath. Then she moved toward the reporters.
“Morning, ladies and gentlemen. Who’s up first?”
Juliette looked down at her coffee. It was her third cup.
The I-only-drink-this-in-emergencies coffee.
People scrambled around the garage, carrying tires and wrenches.
Ranya was leaning on her cane, saying something about tire degradation, although Juliette couldn’t concentrate.
Her stomach was a knot of jumbled wires.
Beside her, Dominic braced his elbows against his knees.
He’d changed out of the clothes he was wearing at the hospital and into a race suit, and she realized with a pang that it was the last time that one of them would be wearing the navy-and-gold colors.
Most likely her, with the way things were shaping up.
“Again,” Ranya was saying, “the aim is to make up as many positions as possible. Dominic’s car survived the worst of the damage, and he has the better starting position.” She paused. “Robert feels it’s imperative that we get him to the front.”
“In other words,” Juliette said, “you need me to hold up traffic.”
Ranya’s mouth thinned. “Yes.”
She’d suspected as much, but the blow came just the same. Still. It was the team’s only shot at winning a trophy, so she shoved down any resentment. To her surprise, Dominic cleared his throat. “That’s not fair. Marchmont deserves to run her own race.”
She could feel him trying to catch her eye, and she busied herself with slipping on her gloves. Ranya shook her head.
“It’s too big a risk. We have to do what’s best for the team.”
Dominic frowned. “That’s not—”
“That’s team orders.” She turned to Juliette. “I’m sorry.”
She swallowed. “I understand.”
Strategy was just strategy. It wasn’t personal.
It did mean that Dominic would get to keep the seat though, which was a shame, because she looked excellent in navy.
Someone called Ranya’s name, and their team principal started toward the computers, her cane clicking on the floor.
Even looking at it closely, you couldn’t tell that it was hollow, Juliette thought with admiration; it was the ultimate fake-out.
Dominic ran a hand over his face. “This wasn’t my idea. I need you to know that.”
Juliette rose. “It makes sense. You have the fresher tires. The better placement. I’d do the same if I was a strategist.”
“Well, it’s not fair.”
She shrugged. “Racing rarely is.”
“Drivers!” A person in a headset held up two fingers. “Two minutes to formation lap.”
Right. Juliette hastily yanked on her balaclava; sweat trickled down her neck. Just as well that she had an excuse to leave, because if she hung around any longer she might cry. “Good luck. I’ll see you at the finish line.”
Dominic rose. “Wait.”
Against her better judgment, she paused.
Dominic was watching her intently. He looked like an underpainting, she thought, like one of those layered acrylic paintings that he’d once shown her in a Parisian art gallery.
A thousand pictures contained within a single frame: a stern instructor; a supportive teammate; a patient friend; and something else, something more that she couldn’t define.
Dominic moved closer, and the smell of him was overwhelming, a combination of spice and skin.
“Not a day goes by,” Dominic said raggedly, “where I don’t regret what I did. But I want you to know that I never stopped…” His throat worked. “I just never stopped.”
Shock lanced through her. “Hastings—”
“Give me the chance to explain. I’ll tell you everything, I promise.”
A lump burned in her throat. “I can’t.” Heat burned in her cheeks, and even though part of her was desperate to speak with him, her stupid pride wouldn’t allow it.
“I get it, Hastings. You chose your career over me. Hell, I even understand it. But I can’t sit here and listen to you explain that you fancy me but it’s not enough—”
“Fancy you?” He flinched as if she’d struck him. “Juliette, if you think that this is some sort of fleeting infatuation for me—”
“Drivers!” Ranya clapped her hands. “To the cars. Now.”
Dominic reached for her, but Juliette was faster, darting out of his grip. She was halfway to her car when a voice called out.
“Juliette!”
She turned. Liêm was jogging toward her, his dark silky hair spilling out from a baseball cap. He didn’t look ready to race. Not remotely.
“Liêm.” Juliette picked up her helmet, half-distracted by the sight of Dominic starting his engine. “What are you doing? The race is about to—”
“I need to talk to you.”
She stared. “Now?”
“Please,” he said breathlessly. “It’s important.”
Juliette glanced at the track. “The race is starting. Can’t it wait until—?”
“This will only take a minute. I promise.”
Juliette shifted her weight. Drivers were getting in their cars. She really ought to get a move on. But there was desperation on Liêm’s face, as if he’d sprinted around the paddock to find her, and so she sighed.
“All right. What’s going on?”
Liêm’s gaze was unusually intense. “It’s about Dominic. And what happened two years ago.” His mouth flattened. “He told me everything, and you need to know the truth. Even if it’s hard to hear.”