35. Monza, Italy

35

Monza, Italy

“Mira, what’s this dinner you’ve got me scheduled for on Sunday night?” Her father was staring at the calendar on his phone in confusion.

Mira froze, turning to face him. “Um, that’s with me, actually.”

His eyebrows furrowed together. “You?”

“I’ve got something I need to discuss with you.”

Will. She was going to tell him all about Will.

She’d returned from New York head over heels for Will and ready to tell her father all about it. But in the chaos of packing the team and traveling to Italy after the break, there simply hadn’t been a good moment. It wasn’t fair to distract her father or Will with a bunch of personal drama in the run-up to a race.

But by Sunday night, the race would be over and she’d tell him everything. She’d considered bringing Will along for the dinner, but that was probably too much, too fast. She’d tell her dad about them herself and give him a minute to adjust to the idea before he saw Will again. Once he had a little time to process it, she was sure he’d be okay with it. After all, Will was on track to win the world championship. Her dad loved Will.

“You’re with me all day long, Mira. What do you need to talk about?”

“Not before the race. I don’t want to distract you.”

“You’re worrying me.”

She leaned up to kiss his cheek. “It’s nothing to be worried about, I promise. All good news. But it can wait until after the race, okay?”

He smiled and shook his head. “Whatever you say. Actually, I’ve got to get over to the race bay—”

She laughed. “See? Go. I’ll catch up with you in the pit lane.”

Once he’d gone, she checked her phone. If she hurried, she could make it over to Will’s motor home and wish him luck before he had to get ready for qualifying.

But inside, he was nowhere to be seen. Now she wouldn’t see him until after he’d run qualifying and finished up his strategy meeting with Tae, Harry, and her dad. She fired off a good-luck text to him as she clattered back down the motor home steps, so she didn’t see who was waiting for her there until she nearly ran into him.

“I thought that was you.”

Brody. Wearing his green race suit, arms crossed casually over his chest, he was leaning against the side of Will’s motor home and grinning down at her in a way that sent a pang of dread straight through her. He’d always deployed that boyish grin with such ruthless effectiveness. The years had been kind to him and probably always would be. Those tiny laugh lines around his eyes lent his face a sort of open friendliness that probably came in handy. He wore his reddish blond hair a little long, giving him a windblown surfer look he could still pull off. It made him look younger than he was, and Brody had never looked—or acted—his age.

She’d tried so hard to avoid this— him . But now he was here, and he was looking at her in a way that set off alarms in her head. Why, why, why was he seeking her out now? Why couldn’t she just erase him from existence, like blocking a contact on her phone, never to see him or hear from him again? But there was no blocking a real person, and after seven years, Brody McKnight, in the flesh, was standing in front of her, demanding her attention.

“I saw you scurrying past. How have you been, gorgeous?”

His familiar lazy Australian accent sent a wave of revulsion slithering down her spine. And that generic “gorgeous”? She’d bet money he didn’t quite remember her name, which after everything , was so insulting she wanted to scream.

How had she let this asshole wreck her life the way he had? He was nobody . Just some arrogant, semitalented piece of shit. Her nerves were making her feel shaky, but she refused to let him see that she was upset. No way would she give him the satisfaction of an emotional reaction.

“Brody.” Nothing about her body language or tone of voice was giving out any sort of invitation. But when had her wishes ever mattered to Brody? He’d always just taken what he wanted, when he wanted it.

“Nice to see you back on the track, doll. You’re looking great.”

“What do you want?”

He had the audacity to look surprised at her frosty tone, like he had no idea why she could possibly be angry with him. His golden eyebrows raised and he chuckled. “I just wanted to catch up, darling. To see what you’ve been up to.”

She flushed with anger, from her feet to the tips of her hair. It boiled up like a volcano in her chest, making her incandescent with rage. “It’s Miranda ! And I’m not your darling or your doll or any fucking thing else! I think you know damned well what I’ve been doing with my life, Brody. I’ve been putting it back together after you took a sledgehammer to it.”

Brody paused, a tiny hesitation in his slick game of seduction. His eyes, those twinkling green eyes she once thought were the clear, bright windows to his generous soul, flicked over her, assessing. The Prince Charming expression slipped for an instant before he recovered, grinning wider than ever. How had she ever fallen for this bullshit act of his?

“You’re still mad about that?” he said teasingly, like all he’d done was steal her parking space, not that he’d seduced her as a teenager, convinced her she was in love with him, and then tossed her out with the trash when the game stopped being fun. Her hands were shaking with the effort it took not to reach out and smack him.

“Mad?” She sighed, and raked her eyes down him in judgment. “I’d have to give a shit about you to be mad, and I don’t. If I’m mad at anyone, it’s me, for letting you take up so much fucking room in my head. You don’t deserve it. You never did. Everything about you is just a sad fraud, and I think you know that.”

He straightened up, all traces of that charming smile gone. He looked furious, which was good, because that’s exactly how she felt, and for once, he was going to hear it. “That’s why you always need a new girl, a younger one, because the young ones are easier to fool, right? They can’t see through you to what you really are, just a shell of a human being, filled with nothing but your own desperate, needy ego.”

His jaw clenched as he stared down at her. She willed herself to stare straight back at him. “You seem to have a lot of bruised feelings there, sweetheart.”

If she stayed another second, she was probably going to start crying, and she’d never let him see that. “I’m not your fucking sweetheart,” she spat, then she turned to make her escape.

“Hey.” He reached out and snagged her upper arm, his grip tight enough to jerk her back around to face him.

“YOU’D BETTER GET YOUR HANDS off her, McKnight, before I rip your bloody arm off.”

Brody slowly released Mira—the sight of his hand gripping her arm had Will almost nuclear with rage—and turned to examine him. When he’d rounded the corner and seen Brody talking to Mira, seen how obviously upset Brody had made her, he’d been furious. But he wasn’t going to intervene. He was going to let her handle him herself—until the bastard touched her.

“Do you have a problem, Hawley?”

“I have a problem with you pressing yourself on a woman who clearly wants nothing to do with you.”

“She and I are old friends, so how about you step aside, mate?” Brody’s broad, drawling Aussie accent was just as annoying as his smug, shit-eating grin.

“How about you get your bloody ass out of our paddock … mate ?”

Brody’s smarmy grin faltered, temper flaring in his eyes. “Look, keep your overtaking confined to the track, Hawley. Off the track, they’re all fair game.”

Will’s tenuous hold on his temper snapped. Reaching out, he grabbed a fistful of the front of Brody’s race suit. “She’s not some fucking game , asshole!”

Brody shoved at his arm and Will released him, breathing hard, teeth grinding in his fury. He felt Mira’s touch on his shoulder.

“Will, don’t. Just let it go.”

Brody’s eyes flicked from Mira, to his motor home behind her, and back to Will. “Ah, I see. I was poaching another man’s turf. Don’t blame you. I’ve sampled myself. Well worth it.”

It was impossible to tell if the roaring in his ears was his blood surging to a boiling point, or if it was his own shout of rage. All Will knew is that he lunged and his fist made loud, satisfying contact with Brody’s jaw. A sharp stab of pain radiated through his hand and up his arm, but he didn’t care, reaching for Brody, fisting his hands in his race suit again, hauling him forward. Brody swiped at him. Will dodged, but not quite fast enough, and Brody’s fist glanced across his cheekbone, snapping his head back. Before Brody could get in another one, Will drove forward, planting his shoulder in Brody’s chest and propelling him back against the side of the motor home.

Mira screamed, and the air around Will erupted in shouts as people rushed in from all corners of the paddock. Hands were grabbing at him, seizing his arms and shoulders, pulling him back away from Brody. A couple of Deloux mechanics had shown up, shoving themselves between him and Brody, and holding Brody back when he tried to come at Will again. Beyond thinking clearly, Will struggled against the hands restraining him, desperate to get at Brody and plant his fist in that fucker’s face, to wipe the smug smile off it once and for all.

“Will! Will, stop. Not here, not now.” That was Omar, shouting in his ear. Tae was there, too, on his other side.

“Leave him!” Mira said, planting a hand on his chest and putting herself in his line of sight.

As his eyes met hers, the rage ebbed. He was still shaking with unspent adrenaline, but he could think again. And this wasn’t great.

A cluster of Deloux mechanics were huddled around Brody. Several more Lennox guys had also shown up. Violet had materialized, too.

“Oh, my God,” she was muttering, “everyone’s recording on their fucking phones.”

“Get your boy out of here!” Omar shouted at the Deloux mechanics, still keeping one arm braced across Will’s shoulders to hold him back.

“Just who do you think you are, calling me a ‘boy,’ boy?” Brody shouted. Now Will was the one restraining Omar, who made a lunge in Brody’s direction. But the Deloux guys were pushing Brody back, dragging him out of the paddock before Omar could get to him.

“Stop,” he said to Omar. “I’ve already fucked up enough. Don’t make it worse.”

“Brody started it,” Mira said.

“Yeah and Will threw the first punch,” Violet snapped. Then she glanced at Will. “Sorry, but it’s true.”

“You’ve gotta go,” Tae said, taking him by the shoulder and turning him away. “You’re almost up.”

Fuck. Qualifying. He had to go out there and fucking drive. Now . His hands were still shaking.

Tae started dragging away Will, who stopped and turned back, looking for Mira. Every head in the paddock turned to watch as he crossed back to her. Well, fuck it. It was all out of the bag anyway—no saving that. So he wasn’t leaving without checking on her.

He took her by the shoulders, crouching slightly to look her in the eye. “Are you okay?”

She was pale but she nodded tightly. “I’m fine. I’m sorry. He just—”

“Stop. The only one who should be sorry is Brody fucking McKnight.”

She reached up and touched his face, the spot on his left cheek where Brody’s fist had caught him. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine. You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I’ve got her,” Violet said, stepping up to Mira’s side. “You just go run quali. We’ll talk after.”

After. There would be consequences for this. He didn’t know what they would be, but he was sure they were coming. No time to think about it now, though. He had to go get in the car and drive.

“I’ll see you after?” he said to Mira, brushing a couple of curls out of her face and tucking them back behind her ear.

She nodded. “Just go. Good luck.”

Will walked between Omar and Tae back to the race bay. He shook his hands out, trying to dispel the stiffness. His whole body still felt wired with adrenaline.

“That fucking asshole,” Omar muttered.

“He’s probably already in the FIA offices filing his fucking complaint,” Will seethed as the enormity of his fuckup began to register. A fight. A physical fight . He’d fucking punched Brody McKnight.

“Forget it,” Tae commanded. “The place to kick his ass properly is out on the track. Nothing else matters.”

Will nodded, but that was easier said than done. He did his best to put himself on autopilot as the well-oiled Lennox crew got him geared up and into the car.

A few minutes later, Tae’s voice crackled in his earpiece. “Okay, you gotta shake that off, Will. It doesn’t matter now. You’re okay to start the engine.”

Somehow he fired the engine and got out onto the track, running through the usual routines to warm up the tires and check the systems, even though his head was a million miles away. He could still hear Violet’s voice. Everyone’s recording on their fucking phones. By now it was out there. His gut hollowed out, that same feeling of pressing dread he used to get three years ago, waking up hungover and checking his phone to see just how bad the news was from the night before. None of that had been as bad as this was about to be.

But then he thought of Mira’s face, remembered Brody’s hand on her arm, and the rage flared up bright and hot, and for a moment, the only thing he was sorry about was not pounding Brody straight into the fucking pavement.

“Denis is pushing behind. Watch for traffic with Denis. You’re clear behind him.” Tae’s voice jerked him back to the present. The very important present.

So far he’d been running through the out lap pretty much on instinct. Weaving, slowing, gradually speeding up, letting the tires heat up until the engineers were satisfied with the specs. But qualifying starts were staggered and other drivers were out on the track already running at full speed, or in the middle of a cooldown lap. All he needed now was to stumble into someone else’s path and pile on yet another penalty on top of whatever was coming.

He held up on the weaving, allowing René Denis to scream past at full speed. As soon as the engineers gave the all clear, that would be him, and he couldn’t afford to be less than one hundred percent on his game. As he entered the last turn, he could feel it. The tire grip was perfect. He didn’t even need Tae’s confirmation that they were in the sweet spot of the engineers’ target window.

“All clear for your push lap,” Tae said, and Will smoothly applied the throttle as the car swung wide to the exit of Turn Eleven, starting his push lap.

On the straight, he opened the car up to the maximum, well north of three hundred kilometers an hour, and felt himself unclench slightly now that he was back in the zone. There was no traffic headed to the first turn, and he smashed the brakes and dropped down the gears, navigating the slow and clunky chicane. He smoothly applied the throttle on the way out, and then full energy as he headed toward the next turn.

It was an easy one and he found the absolute limit on the exit, trying to maximize the time on throttle as he eyed the traffic around him on the track, now on cooldown laps. It had become a game with some drivers to wait till the last second to get out of the way, or to casually narrow the entry and exits for those on push laps. Not enough for a penalty, but more than enough to steal a tenth or two from a competitor, which was sometimes all it took.

Before he knew it, he was flying through the straight, flanked by trees, and coming up on the high-speed chicane. Tae was barking stats in his ears, which just confirmed what he already felt in his gut. Despite the shitty start to today’s qualifying, he was dropping the hammer, laying down a time that would once again secure him pole position in tomorrow’s race.

There was a slow-moving car ahead and to his right, in the midst of its cooldown lap, but he’d pass it easily well before he had to swing out for the approach to the final turn. As he gained on it, he registered the flash of the car’s green livery. Brody. Of course.

But then the gap between him and Brody wasn’t narrowing at the pace he’d expected. Was that fucker actually speeding up on his cooldown lap, just to get in his way? Fine. He wanted to play it like that? Will would turn it around on him, and draft in his slip stream all the way up to the turn, using him to claw back a few more tenths of a second.

With the two-hundred-meter board in sight Will pulled out from behind him, but then, milliseconds before he began to pass, Brody twitched his wheels ever so slightly to the right. It was tiny, a wobble so slight it was impossible to say if it was there or not. But Will felt that wobble in his gut, as surely as if Brody had just thrown another punch at him. His body registered Brody’s movement even before his head did, and he moved to the outside edge of the track to avoid a collision. Motherfucker. But it was done now, he’d passed him. He could still save this. In his mind, he envisioned his best approach to the turn from his current, less-than-ideal starting position and angled the car into it, still flying at three hundred kilometers an hour.

That’s when he felt it.

Tink.

The sound of his back tire clipping Brody’s front end, because the motherfucker was still accelerating .

It all happened so fast. A shudder. A shriek of rubber on asphalt. A bank of flashing lights from the control panel. Just enough time to register a blown tire, and then he was spinning out, straight toward the wall. The sound was deafening: screeching tires, Tae shouting on Race Radio, and then the collision, the impact rocketing through his body as it slammed through the car, metal and fiberglass crumpling all around him. His head snapped hard against his HANS device as the car spun again, slammed against the wall again, and finally came to a stop. And then there was just silence.