Chapter Nineteen
Henri
The bar Georgia had picked was the opposite of the paddock chaos I’d been drowning in all weekend.
Low ceilings, warm amber light pooling in corners, wood beams overhead.
A track played softly through hidden speakers, the kind of classics that belonged in piano bars, not the aggressive club music that usually followed race weekends.
I stood at the far end of the polished mahogany counter nursing a whiskey I couldn’t really taste. Today had been perfect and everything I’d worked for.
So why does it all feel so fucking hollow?
éliott planted himself beside me like a loyal guard dog.
After the race, I’d finally called him and apologized for being so cold, and in typical éliott fashion, he was incredibly forgiving and understanding.
He always had been. éliott was talking with his hands, gesturing wildly, expressions cycling thought at least six different emotions per sentence.
I nodded at what I hoped were the appropriate beats, making the right sounds of acknowledgment, but my mind was somewhere else entirely. My eyes felt heavy, gritty, like I’d been awake for days instead of just one long, exhausting weekend.
The door opened with a soft chime.
I felt her before I saw her. That inexplicable awareness I’d developed over years of racing alongside Lily Blackwood, of knowing exactly where she was on track without even looking in my mirrors. Some sixth sense that existed independent of logic or reason.
Lily stepped through the doorway first, hesitating just inside the threshold like she was already regretting coming.
She wore dark jeans and a simple top, her hair down around her shoulders instead of pulled back like it usually was for racing.
She looked softer somehow, less armored than she did in team gear.
Beautiful. She looked absolutely beautiful.
The light caught the gold in her hair, turning it warm honey. Without makeup, freckles dusted across her nose—the same ones I counted that night in Las Vegas.
Her eyes found mine almost immediately, like she’d been looking for me.
For a suspended moment, we just stared at each other across the crowded bar.
Then a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
She lifted her hand in a small wave, almost shy, and my chest tightened so hard I forgot how to breathe.
I managed a nod, unable to trust my voice—unable to do anything but hold her gaze, an unspoken congratulations floating between us. Was she thinking about our kiss in Montreal? Or Monaco?
Then Ollie stepped in behind her, his hand settling possessively on her lower back, guiding her forward like she needed his direction to navigate a simple doorway.
The smile disappeared from her face as if it never existed. She looked away first, breaking whatever fragile connection we’d forged, and let Ollie guide her deeper into the bar.
Georgia’s head snapped up mid-laugh, her eyes clocking them before they fully entered. She excused herself from the cluster of Hermes engineers she’d been entertaining, her smile widening in that genuine way that meant she was happy to see Lily, not just being polite.
“You made it!” Georgia’s voice carried across the bar as she wrapped Lily in a hug.
I turned back to my whiskey, staring into the amber liquid like it held answers.
“Henri.” éliott’s voice pulled me back. “You even listening to me?”
“Sorry.” I took a sip, the whiskey burning pleasantly down my throat. “What were you saying?”
He gave me a long look—the kind that said he knew exactly where my attention had gone. “I was saying that you drove brilliantly today. Best I’ve seen you all season. Whatever was in your head this weekend, you channeled it perfectly into the car.”
If only he knew what was actually in my head.
“Thanks,” I managed.
“But.” éliott’s tone shifted, becoming more serious. “You also look like shit. When’s the last time you slept?”
“I sleep fine.”
“Bullshit.” He flagged down the bartender, ordering another round without asking if I wanted one. “You’ve got that look. The one you get when you’re running on fumes.”
I didn’t argue, because he wasn’t wrong.
My gaze found them again, almost involuntarily. Lily and Ollie made their way to the bar, Ollie already signaling the bartender with that easy confidence. His hand returned to her back, casual and possessive in a way that made my head hurt.
Or my heart.
Then Lily stepped sideways, creating space between them. His hand fell away.
Ollie seemed to notice me at the same moment I was staring. His eyes met mine across the crowded bar, blue and calculating, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth like he’d won something.
Then Lily’s gaze followed his.
Her expression when she saw me was complicated, layered with things I couldn’t quite parse in the dim light.
Not quite a glare, but definitely not happiness either.
After Saturday’s press-conference disaster, I couldn’t blame her.
We’d both said things we shouldn’t have.
Her press-conference insult still stung like an open wound.
I looked away first, focusing on my drink with more intensity than it deserved.
“You want to leave?” éliott asked quietly. “We can go somewhere else. Grab Luca, head back to the hotel, and drink just the three of us.”
“No.” I set my glass down. “Georgia organized this. I should stay.”
“Being here out of obligation isn’t the same as actually being present, my friend.”
When did éliott become so wise?
The bar filled up gradually, more team members, a few other drivers, the usual post-race crowd seeking refuge from the intensity of the paddock. The noise level rose, conversations bleeding together into an indistinct hum punctuated by occasional laughter.
“You won today. You’re supposed to look at least moderately happy about it.” He studied my face with a scrutiny I could never quite escape. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Just tired.”
His gaze flicked toward where Lily had disappeared into a booth in the back with Georgia. “Does this have anything to do with—”
“Don’t.” I cut him off before he could finish. “Please. Not tonight.”
He squeezed my shoulder before collecting his drink from the bartender.
I nursed my whiskey and tried not to track Lily’s movements across the room, failing spectacularly. The booth in the back corner had become a small gathering: Lily, Georgia, Ollie, and a few other drivers.
“I need some air,” I told éliott, setting down my glass with more force than necessary.
“Want company?”
“No. Just give me a minute.”
I stepped outside through the side door that led to a narrow alley behind the bar. The night air was damp and cool, carrying the faint smell of rain. Cigarette smoke drifted from somewhere nearby, mixing with the scent of garbage bins and old cooking oil.
I leaned against the brick wall, letting my head fall back, eyes closing against the dull throb building behind them. The muffled bass from inside the bar pulsed through the wall, a steady rhythm that did nothing to settle my nerves.
You won today. You executed perfectly. This should feel good.
So why did everything feel like it was falling apart?
I went to head back inside but stopped just inside the doorway, something cold settling in my chest that had nothing to do with the windy weather outside.
Ollie had his arm stretched along the back of the booth behind Lily, not quite touching her, but close enough to stake a claim.
She laughed at something Georgia said, her face more relaxed than I’d seen it in weeks.
Luca was gesturing wildly with both hands, probably telling some ridiculous story, and éliott was shaking his head with that fond exasperation he reserved for Luca’s antics.
The rational part of my brain knew I was being unfair. Knew that Georgia had invited them, that there was nothing wrong with Lily being here, that I had no claim on who my friends spent time with.
But the irrational part—the exhausted, emotionally raw part that had barely held it together all weekend—couldn’t stand there and watch this.
Couldn’t pretend to be happy while Ollie smiled that easy smile and Lily laughed with my sister and everything I wanted sat right there, impossible and out of reach.
I turned and walked back out before anyone noticed me standing there.
The street was quiet, rain-slicked pavement reflecting the amber glow of streetlights. A few tourists hurried past, hunched under umbrellas, oblivious to the man who’d just won a Formula 1 race and felt more alone than he had in years.
I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to Georgia: Sorry. Had to leave. Thanks for organizing tonight. No explanation, because I didn’t want to admit what I was doing.
Running away.
As soon as I walked into my hotel lobby, I couldn’t bring myself to head up to the room, so I opted for the hotel bar instead.
A tired bartender polished glasses with the detached focus of someone working on pure muscle memory.
A few scattered patrons occupied various corners, nursing late-night drinks in that particular solitude that hotel bars specialized in.
I claimed a table in the back, half-hidden by the darkness of the restaurant, jacket discarded over the chair beside me. I rolled up my sleeves at some point, undid the top buttons of my shirt, shed the layers of presentation I maintained for cameras and sponsors.
The whiskey in front of me was my second. Or third. I’d lost count and didn’t particularly care. The party had started to feel like too much, and I was pleased to escape into something quieter.
The ambient music shifted to something slower, lonelier, the piano barely audible over the quiet murmur of conversation and the clink of glassware. I was halfway through a thought about whether I should just go to bed when I saw her.