The next wave floods the shoreline, and I’m wiped out. Max is only talking to mebecausehe and Sarah broke up. He’s sorrybecausehe doesn’t have anyone else. With him, I’m always plan B, and this surprise—the Max pain—picks up the sting of Arthur vanishing again, spits in its face, and takes its rightful place in my aching heart.
“And about that guideline thing Holmes mentioned, let me explain that super fast,” Max says. “The team wants you to stay in the same room as Sarah whenever we travel from now on, since she’sthe marketing manager. They said it’s just to keep an eye on stuff. But it’ll be cool, right?”
Right. “Sure,” I say, because I just want to go.
“Cool,” Max says, visibly relieved. “I’ll show you where her room is. And hey, after the summer break, you only need to stay with her in Belgium, the Netherlands, and Italy. We’re almost done. Then the next generation of Black & Graywood can really kick off.”
Once I’m sitting on one of the queen-sized beds in my new, cold, silent room, I realize that Max hadn’t told mewhyhe and Sarah broke up, a question that now seems invaluable and all-important with Sarah sitting cross-legged on the other queen-sized bed. She’s staring at her phone, headphones in, which is all she’s done for the last half hour since I key-carded myself in. Once, when I padded to the closet to hang my charging cables up, it had almost seemed like she might say… something.
It’s been fifteen minutes since then, and that chance is long gone.
My heart beats in my wrists as I struggle with my new suitcase’s zipper. She’s mad. Clearly. But I don’t know if this is the anger of a woman who’s been dumped or the resigned chill of the dumper. I don’t know if—or, more likely,how—Max dragged me into it, since they walked into the club together last night. Which is when I should’ve gone over to them. Next time Arthur gives me interpersonal relationship advice, I’m turning the David Bowie karaoke all the way up.
I stow my suitcase under the bed and sit again. Our flight back to Texas is early tomorrow morning. Maybe—and this is wishful thinking—Sarah is exhausted from the drama and just isn’t up for late-night chats.
She pops out one headphone, rolling it into her palm, and my heartbeat stops.
“Look. I’m only going to say this once.” Contrary to her words, Sarah isn’t looking at me. Instead, she’s staring at the turned-off television mounted by the desk. “I liked you. I know you’re shy, and Max—screw him. But I’m a girls’ girl, Lilah. I would’ve told me, if I were you.”
Seconds tick by as her words click together. This isn’t about Max. She’s angry because of me.Imessed up.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my throat already scratchy. “I know. I wanted to. It’s just…” Justwhat? I didn’t know if she’d believe me? I wanted Max to grow up and own his misdeeds? I was busy losing myself in a fake situationship with a Formula 1 driver, and telling her that she was the other woman could’ve gotten in the way of my sexy, secret documentary about him? A documentary that will bite Sarah in the ass, too, since she’s the marketing manager.She’sthe Ignition employee who’s been in contact with Max from the start. She probably got reamed today for not keeping me in line.
If Arthur and I pull off our plan, Sarah will have to deal with the brutal professional ramifications of letting a scandal explode under her watch. Then throw in the team principal firing a driver, losing millions in revenue, and fucking up plans for a new U.S. circuit?
I’m not just ruining Max and Ignition’s movie. I’m ruining Sarah.
“I’m just sorry,” I whisper.
Her chin wobbles as she shakes her head. She tries to talk, then can’t, and grabs her other headphone from her ear. “I’m sorry, too,” she says, quieter, more heartbroken than before. “I don’t want to be angry at you. I know he hurt you, too.”
“You can be mad at me. I can take it.”
That makes her laugh, then choke slightly, and she grabs herduvet cover and presses it into her face. “Screw him,” she yells into the blanket, the sound mostly muffled.
I wait, and seconds later she has the blanket back on her lap, twin black eyeliner smudges on the white cotton. “I never even liked him that much,” she says in a rush. “But I thought it was safe because he was, like, not a Formula 1 asshole, but surprise, he was just an aspiring Formula 1 asshole, and why is that way worse? I can’t even—Lilah, I can’t even tell you how many guys here have treated me like this. And it’s already so freaking hard to be a woman in motorsports, and my grandfather keeps setting me up with guys who literally want me to quit my job to be their trophy wife and I… I wanted to be happy, and I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
She goes quiet again, staring down at her hands. At one point, seeing Sarah go through the same Max-induced heartbreak that I had would’ve been a toxic fantasy of mine. Like maybe if someone else shared the unique, twisted pain of getting destroyed by a “nice guy,” I’d be able to fully let it go.
Reality is a different story. There’s nothing emotionally satisfying about how tears swim in the corners of her eyes. This misery doesn’t like company at all.
“When did he tell you?”
“Not until yesterday, I swear. I hate cheaters. That was one of the first conversations we had. He told me that we could never meet until he moved to Texas because he had a crazy roommate who…” Sarah claps a hand over her mouth. “I’m going to kill him. You’re going to see me on the news.”
“He isn’t worth it. You’re too pretty for serious jail time.”
A sad laugh bubbles up inside her again, then she groans. “I really, really wanted to be your friend.”
Two months ago, I wouldn’t have known how to react to that.The older version of me probably wouldn’t have believed her. But this me, who’s seen how Max has been able to mess with my head?
When Sarah’s eyes lift to mine, I see her nervousness, that she’s scared of what I think of her, desperate to fix what she didn’t break. She’s another girl trying her best after getting duped, and I want to be her friend, too. It can be that playground simple if I let it be.
“Who said we can’t be friends?” I say, frowning. “Whoever he is sucks.”
Slowly, she turns toward me more. “I… yeah. He does.”
“We probably should be friends, just to really stick it to him.”
