Page 111 of Cross the Line
Iwantto be sick. I want to let out the bile churning in my gut as I watch hell unfold in front of me. There’s nothing but flames and twisted barriers and shattered carbon fibre. I want it gone. I want it scrubbed from my being. I don’t want to remember this for as long as I live.
The smoke from the fire reached us in the pit lane just seconds after the crash. The flashing lights of emergency vehicles are muted by the dark plumes, but the sirens are deafening. Person after person runs toward the chaos to help the drivers involved in the worst of it. I wish I could do something – anything – but just like most of the D’Ambrosi garage, I’m frozen in place, knowing the worst has happened.
And Dev is somewhere in it.
I always thought I’d be more responsive in the face of an emergency. I didn’t think cold shock would settle into my bones and nearly bring me to my knees. I thought I would run and scream and claw my way past anyone who tried to hold me back.
But I’m not. I’m just . . . numb.
I can’t watch it transpire like this, but I’m stuck, rooted to the ground, mind whirring with the loudest, most painful white noise. I refuse to believe this. The boy I love can’t be twisted up in those barriers. I can’t lose him like this. I can’t lose himat all. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—
My phone buzzes in my white-knuckled hand. The faraway sensation cuts into my spiral and snags my attention. Words flash across the screen. It takes a few seconds for me to blink away the cobwebs.
Chava. A text. All capital letters.
HE’S OK. DEV IS OK
——
Dev is okay. But Zaid, Axel and Lorenzo are not.
It’s been hours since the crash, and all I know is that the three are in intensive care. That they’re alive.
The D’Ambrosi garage was solemn and quiet before I slipped out. I made my exit the second I got the news that Dev was being discharged from the hospital after being evaluated out of an abundance of caution. The whole team was lost for words as we waited for news on Lorenzo’s condition. But all we heard were terrible whispers. Of the drivers involved, he was in the worst shape when the helicopter took him away from the circuit.
And it seems he still is.
‘I’ve got some updates,’ Dev says from where he’s stretched out on his hotel bed. He’s got an ice pack pressed to the back of his neck with one hand, and his phone in the other. He walked away with bruises and whiplash, but that was the worst of it. ‘Zaid’s wrists are fractured. Axel’s pretty badly burned. And Lorenzo is . . . They’re saying he might be paralysed from the waist down.’
I don’t know what to say. Past sobbing into his chest when we were reunited and telling him how much I loved him and how glad I was that he was okay – how glad I was that he swerved just in time – I’ve barely spoken a word to Dev. Because that could have been him. It could haveso easilybeen him.
Now, though, in the privacy of his hotel room, I’m back to being numb and speechless. I sit in the armchair in the corner, legs drawn up to my chest, arms clutched around them, trying to hold myself together.
I’ve seen crashes before. Bad ones. Ones that resulted in just as many injuries, some even worse. I was there for the last F3 race that Oakley participated in before retiring. Was there when a boy nearly died that day. It was Oakley’s final reason for leaving the sport. Back then, I thought I’d understood his decision, but I carried around a hint of resentment too because he’d chosen to give up such a promising future. One I’d never come close to having.
Now, I wish I’d never felt that resentment. There’s no shame in not wanting to put your life on the line for the sake of entertaining others. I may have never told him how I really felt, but I still apologized when he called earlier to check on Dev and me, even if he had no idea what I was talking about.
But unlike my brother, Dev pushes harder when fear grows. He doesn’t back out. Doesn’t back down. He keeps going.
What happened today isn’t going to stop him.
It’s like he’s reading my mind when he says, ‘We all know the risks when we get in the car.’
I drag my gaze up from the spot on the carpet I’ve been absently staring at for god knows how long. His expression is solemnly determined, like he’s ready to convince me of his choice to race – and keep racing – if he has to. Is he thinking of Oakley and his decision to leave? Does he think I’d pressure him to do the same?
Is it wrong for me to not want him to give up his dreams, no matter how dangerous for him and for my heart?
Silence hangs as we consider each other, a dare passing between us. But there’s nothing to dare. Nothing to challenge. We’re on the same page.
‘I’m not going to tell you to stop racing, if that’s what you’re waiting for,’ I say, the words thick from the tears I’m still choking back. ‘And it’s not because I don’t care about you. God, Dev, I’m scared for you every time you climb into the car. But this is what you chose to do. What you love.’ I swallow past the lump in my throat, but my voice still cracks when I speak again. ‘All I can do is ask that you come back to me every time.’
His expression immediately softens, the hard set of his jaw relaxing and his eyes going soft. ‘I’ll always do my best. I promise.’ He sits up slowly, putting the ice pack and his phone on the bedside table. Then he extends his hands to me. ‘Come here, Willow.’
I hesitate before unfolding myself from the chair, knees and hips and shoulders protesting with every move. The ache seeps through me as I crawl up the bed to Dev’s awaiting embrace. I force myself to focus instead on his solid chest and strong arms and the coolness of his hands. His nose brushes against mine, luring my lips up and my head back, and I let him kiss me as the tears spill down my cheeks.
It’s far from perfect, but it says everything we need it to. He understands and respects my fears. There are no guarantees that he’ll leave every race alive and unscathed. And I accept that he’s going to keep doing this until the day he can’t or doesn’t want to any more.
As he clutches me to him, my shoulders droop, my body coming down from the surge of adrenaline it’s been running on for the past few hours. I’m safe here in Dev’s arms, and he’s safe in mine.
