Page 112 of Cross the Line
That’s all I can ask for, even if it can’t always be like this.
Dev
‘What do youmeanthey’re not cancelling the race?’
I track Willow’s every move, words failing me. She’s livid because this upcoming weekend’s race at Suzuka is going on as scheduled. The FIA announced it a few minutes ago, and I thought telling her over morning coffee in bed would be just another part of our conversation. I didn’t expect to start my Monday watching her pace the room in her strawberry-print pyjamas, curls flying in every direction as she shakes her head in pure disbelief, but here we are.
‘Three drivers are still in the hospital!’ she rants. ‘Yes, they’re alive, but they may never race again! How can they not cancel it?’
The only answer I can come up with is a weak, ‘The show must go on.’
That comment has her whipping around and clenching her fingers at her sides, like she’s ready to scream again.
Before she can, I put my hands up. ‘I know it’s shitty. But that’s why teams have reserve drivers. Other sports have substitutes too. They get called up if a player gets hurt. It’s the norm.’
‘It’s all fuckingridiculous.’
She’s furious, but she burns so brilliantly. And this passion is because of me. Last night, she told me she’d never stop me from following my racing dreams, but her concern is the trade-off, and today it’s manifesting in the form of anger.
She’d probably kick my ass if I said it out loud, but she looks so goddamn sexy as she huffs and stomps over to the balcony and throws the doors open. She pauses and draws in a deep breath, though it does little to dull the flame still scorching within her.
‘What if you all refuse to race?’ she suggests, whirling back around to look at me. ‘If the entire Drivers’ Association bands together on this, maybe they’ll call it off.’
I try not to scoff. ‘That’ll never happen. No one even brought it up in our WhatsApp group after the announcement was made. Honestly . . . I think most of us want to do this.’
‘Most of youare thrill-seeking hooligans who need to pull your heads out of your—’ She cuts short, drawing in yet another shuddering breath. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just . . .’
‘The hottest thing I’ve ever seen?’ I supply, flashing a lopsided grin that manages to pry a laugh out of her, even through her anger. ‘Keep yelling, baby. You’re making me hard.’
‘You’re ridiculous.’ She’s scolding me, but she’s mostly mad at herself for giving me that beautiful sound.
I’m about to get out of bed and convince her to come back and calm down – and, all right, maybe do a little more than that – when my phone buzzes on the bedside table. I freeze when I see the name on the screen.
‘It’s Howard.’
My eyes dart to Willow again, and I watch as her own go wide, her wild hands motioning to the phone.
‘Answer it,’ she hisses, like she’s worried that Howard can hear her. ‘It could be important.’
She’s right. But what if it’s bad news? That’s the last thing I need after the shit show of yesterday. Still, at her insistence, I scoop up the device and answer on speakerphone.
‘Hello?’
‘Mascort has been in touch,’ Howard says, skipping over the pleasantries.
My stomach drops straight to the floor. Shit. His tone is impossible to read, and it’s left me fearing the worst.
‘Zaid won’t be returning for the rest of the season,’ he continues.
Even though I had a feeling that would be the case for my future teammate, I hate to hear it. ‘Shit.’ I suck in a breath, ready to ask if he’s heard anything about Axel’s condition, or even Lorenzo’s, but he speaks before I can.
‘Mascort wants you to take his seat for the rest of the season.’
My heart lurches as I lock eyes with Willow. Did I hear him correctly?
From the way she mouths,oh my god, I know I’m not hallucinating.
‘You’re kidding me,’ I blurt.
