Page 63 of Cross the Line
Branny approves my request and tells me to stay close. We’ll get a warning before the restart, but I need to shake off some of the adrenaline the race start and being in P2 has brought me.
One of the mechanics helps me out, and another brings over an umbrella as I take off my helmet and balaclava, even though I’m already soaked. From what I can tell, the rain has nearly stopped, and with it as hot as it is today, even with that torrential downpour, the track is going to dry quickly.
And that means we have to get rid of these slow-ass wet weather tyres and switch to the faster slick tyres ASAP.
I stop at the pit wall to check the weather screens and tell Branny and the race engineers what I’m thinking, then head into the garage, seeking one person. Mark tries to catch me as I come in, but I wave him off and make a beeline for the back corner. Some of the tension floods from my shoulders when I spot her, and I swear she looks just as relieved to see me.
It takes everything in me not to gather her in my arms, although I can’t resist the urge to run a hand down her arm and pull her a little closer. I dip my head to her ear as if I’m trying to have a private conversation. There are cameras around, so if we’re caught on film, it’ll look perfectly innocent. Which it is . . . even if there’s nothing particularly innocent about the way I feel standing this close to her.
I don’t actually need to talk to her about anything. All I want is to be close, to bask in her presence and let her bring me back from the sharp edge of realism that I probably won’t keep P2 for long. I need a reminder that I can do this, even if the odds are stacked against me. From her, all it takes is a glance and a smile, and a surge of confidence re-emerges.
The look she gives me is one I’ve come to crave. One I’ll miss far more than I could have imagined possible when our time together is up.
Big brown eyes meet mine and there isn’t a shadow of doubt behind them. She believes I can do this. That I can do anything. It fills me up. Convinces me that she’s right, that Icando anything, including win this race, even if there’s a seven-time world champion in front of me.
‘Think you can give me a pep talk?’ I request, though I don’t really need one now.
Her laugh has my heart racing and a grin spreading across my face. I’d do anything to keep hearing that sound.
‘Okay, let’s see what I can do.’ She takes a deep breath, then launches into it. ‘I watched you and Oakley compete in this one karting race when you were fourteen. It was raining, and I was so upset that my dad dragged me along that weekend, because I was stuck wearing this ugly plastic poncho the whole time. The thing covered up my outfit – one that I’d picked out on the off chance that you’d notice me.’
I blink at her confession and pull back a little so I can look her in the eye, but she grips my arm, keeping me where I am.
‘Not that you ever did,’ she goes on, her tone full of humour. I’m dying to see it on her face, but she hasn’t loosened her hold. ‘But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I forgot all about my ruined outfit and my terribly frizzy hair as soon as you shot off the line like there wasn’t a drop of water on the ground. You had zero fear. Oakley, on the other hand, played it safe. He finished fourth. But you won.’
Contrary to what Willow thinks, I was scared shitless the whole time, but I refused to let that stop me. I learned young that I could feel the fear and still drive hard.
‘I know you’re still that fearless fourteen-year-old,’ Willow continues, strong and certain. ‘So, go back out there and drive like it. Go win.’
Finally, she drops her hand from my arm and lets me pull back. I study her open expression, the dimples peeking out from both cheeks even though her smile is small and a little bashful.
There’s a wash of red on the high points of her sun-kissed face, but her eyes are alight. There isn’t a touch of shame or embarrassment there. She’s aware of the implications of that story, acknowledging the crush that never went away, and it’s taking every ounce of strength I have not to kiss the hell out of her and show her that crush is anything but unrequited now.
‘Fuck, that might be the best pep talk I’ve ever gotten,’ I admit, my voice a little raspy from the effort of holding back.
She gives a mock curtsey, her dimples deepening as she grins. ‘Always happy to help.’
I hope she means that, because I don’t think I can live without it now. I don’t think I can live without her.
‘Restart in fifteen!’ rings out from behind me, and I’m dragged back to reality, forced to leave the bubble of happiness. ‘Standing start!’
I exhale, knowing I need to get my head back in the game. But I’m more confident now than I have been in years.
‘I better get back out there,’ I say, though I don’t let go of her arm.
Willow nods, not pulling out of my grasp. ‘Guess you should.’
‘Not going to tell me to be careful this time?’
She wrinkles her nose, and goddamn if it doesn’t make me want to press my lips to hers even more. ‘Nah. You know what you’re doing.’
‘Yeah. I’d say I do.’
There’s a beat of quiet between us as I try to convince myself to leave, though it’s not the least bit awkward or weird. Finally, I shoot her a wink and take a step back.
That’s all it takes for me to be swept back up in the madness. But I’m freshly determined, and I’ve got my eyes set on the podium.
I make my way back out to the pit lane but frown at the intermediate tyres on the car. They’re far better than the full wets, but they’re not what I asked for.
