Page 45 of Start Your Engines

I turn her to face me. I choke at the redness of her eyes. I take her hand and lead her to the edge of the room. I lay down paper to protect our clothes and pull her to the floor to sit propped against a wall. Goosebumps cover my skin from her body against mine, but I don’t let go. As we sit side by side, I smooth my thumb over her skin.

I turn the music off, and we sit in silence.

“I will explain.” I count to five as I breathe in and to five again as I let it out. “Just give me a second.” I continue to smooth her hand with my thumb.

She nudges my knee with hers. “It’s going to be okay, Connor.”

I furrow my brow. “That day, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was trying to protect you.”

“From who?” she whispers, as if an invisible enemy can hear us.

“The other lads.”

“Oh.”

I look at her beneath my dark eyelashes. Her face stills. I snag air with a deep breath.

“I was trying to stop a particular group of drivers from hurting you. They’d planned to get in front of you and brake, making you total your car and scare you into never driving again.”

She trembles, and I don’t let go.

“Why?” It’s more like a gasp than a word.

“Because no one wants to be beaten by a girl – well, not no one. Me and Niki always grumbled when you won, but it’s always better to be beaten by the best, and you were. But those bastards hated you. It sounds ridiculous. Niki and I were the oldest ones racing in that championship. I was looking to move to Formula Two, but secretly didn’t want to go because I wanted to protect you.”

She turns to face me. Her eyes are wide. I want to cup her cheek and assure her it doesn’t matter, but she needs to know.

“The boys in that group talked shit about you. You know how hard it was to be a female racer. You told us about it whenever we talked about our crap days.” I give a hollow chuckle at the memory. “But it was worse than you knew.”

She gulps air, but I continue. “Every second Niki and I spent with them when you weren’t around, they told sexist jokes and made misogynistic comments. They were in a gang, egging each other on to be the worst versions of themselves. We tried talking to officials about it, but they said it was the heat of competition. One guy said, ‘All’s fair in racing,’ but it wasn’t. Not for you.”

“My dad said the same. It was like a racing mantra. And it was a different time. There were no women bosses, barely anywomen racing, and few high up in race control. We still had grid girls.”

She’s so animated, her shoulders tight, and she gesticulates with her spare hand.

“But that doesn’t make it okay.” She’s fought harder than every racer out there trying to give other women a chance, not that she’ll admit that.

“I know. We still don’t have a woman driver in Formula One, but I hope to change that one day if I keep my job.” She settles back down against the wall. “Why did they hurt me that day?”

I thumb her hand as I talk. “They’d talk about doing it every race, but with Niki and me protecting you, they never got close. A lot of it was talk. Not that it makes it forgivable.”

She grunts in agreement.

“But that day, Niki couldn’t race because he was ill.” The night before, I’d watched her sleep next to me through a movie and wanted to kiss her. I was happy Niki wasn’t with us then, but everything would have been different if he’d raced that day. “I overheard them talking about how it was their chance because I couldn’t protect you alone, especially as I needed to win that race for my future. Lapoire was scouting me, and I believed that signing with them would help my family. I tried to protect you anyway and keep everyone at bay.”

She leans against my shoulder. Her hair brushes my chin. Every word is essential, but I want to stay like this, keeping my secret and stopping her from hearing the truth. I close my eyes and run my finger against the scar. She shivers.

“They said on the twelfth lap, on Gutter Corner, the driver in front of you, Slater, would slow so it held you up and another one would sneak up the inside, push you wide, and it would slam you into the tyre barrier.”

She gasps. “I could have been seriously injured.”

“You were, and it was my fault.” I drop my head. “Knowing what was happening, I tried to keep you on a tighter line as we came up to the corner so you weren’t behind Slater, but instead of saving you, I oversteered and nudged you. You careered into the wall, crashing and smashing your hand. You never raced again. It was all my fault.”

Bile rises in my throat as I wait for her to walk away, but instead, she cups my face between her hands, lifting it. I stare into her hazel eyes, expecting to see them tight as colour flares through them, but instead, she blinks softly. They’re deep hazel brown.

“You were trying to save me,” she says.

“But—”

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