Page 31 of Formula Chance

The sincerity in his tone loosens something in my chest, and for the first time since Jeddah, I feel like maybe, just maybe, I’m not in over my head.

But I want to change the subject. “Are you getting excited about Melbourne?”

“Yeah, of course I am,” he says. “Got the expected nerves but looking forward to getting in the car this week.”

Nash has only been in the simulator, but this week we’ll take him to Silvercrest so he can practice in the real deal. He sets his beer down, only half emptied, and settles back on the couch. Propping one foot on his knee, he drapes his arm over the back of the couch, and I can’t help but notice the back of his hand just a foot from me.

The skin is ridged, some of it red and glossy with white patches. It’s not the first time I’ve looked at them the past few days, but it’s the first time I’ve seen them so up close. He notices me looking and doesn’t say a word.

“Are you fully recovered?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He lifts his hand, holds it up and twists it back and forth as if studying it. “It was just damage to the skin. Luckily the muscles and tendons were fine, and the grafts helped with the elasticity, so I don’t have too much tightness.”

He drops it back onto the couch and my eyes move to his. “What happened?” I ask quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, I think he won’t answer. I mean… I know what happened, as does everyone who was in formula racing. We saw it happen in real time, watched replays, read all the news articles and then even broke the crash down within our own teams so we could learn from it. It was horrendous losing Matteo Ricci that way and no one wanted to see it happen again.

But I’m not asking that.

I’m asking what happened to Nash because that’s something I’m not privy to. We had broken up and my one attempt to reach out to him was shot down.

“It was the third lap,” he says, his tone as if he’s watching it from a muted distance. “Matteo and I were side by side, going into Turn 3. He clipped me—just barely—but it was enough to send us both spinning. When we hit the barriers, my car caught fire almost immediately.”

I hold my breath, not daring to move a muscle to distract him from what I’m guessing isn’t a pleasant retelling.

“The flames were everywhere. I could hear Matteo screaming and I was trying to get out, but the heat… it was unreal. My hands…” He trails off, flexing his fingers. “They were on fire. I was on fire. And Matteo…”

His voice cracks on the last word, and a lump rises in my throat. “Nash…”

He shakes his head, holds up a hand. “For a long time, I blamed myself.”

“No,” I exclaim. “The race stewards analyzed it thoroughly and Matteo came onto you. There was nothing you could have done to avoid it.”

“I blamed myself for not getting him out,” he clarifies.

“No,” I say again, shaking my head adamantly. “I watched that video a dozen times. There was no way you could have. The investigation revealed his harness locked and he couldn’t get out. You couldn’t make it past those flames. There wasn’t a single thing you could have done to help him.”

Nash tips the beer up, takes three long swallows. I watch his throat working and he gives a mirthless laugh. “Yeah… that’s what I’m told over and over again, but it’s still…” He shrugs, studying the bottle label, as if he can’t quite put it into words.

“Hard to understand how you made it out and he didn’t?” I guess.

Eyes lifting to meet mine, he looks surprised but nods. “Yeah… it makes no sense. Why am I the lucky one?”

“Why are you questioning it?” I counter. “It just happened.”

Nash shrugs. “I guess.”

“Why does it matter? You’re alive and that’s what’s important. At least to me, anyway.”

Nash jerks, looking at me in question.

“What?” I exclaim with a laugh, standing from the couch and taking my nearly empty wineglass into the kitchen. “I’m allowed to care for you, you know.” I glance over my shoulder. “Want another beer?”

“Yeah, sure.”

I grab a bottle for him, top off my wine and settle back onto the couch. He takes the beer from me. “Cheers.”

“So tell me more about your recovery from the injuries?” I ask before taking a small sip of the red. “You had to have multiple surgeries, right? I can’t imagine that was pleasant at all.”

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