Page 172 of First in Line

Something broke between us. Something I’m not sure we can fix.

And it fucking terrifies me.

“Evie?” I call out.

We’re heading to Monza, just north of Milan, for the next race. It’s right here in Italy, so we’re driving there. It should take around four hours, and we will not be crossing any borders. Alas.

Walking toward the bedroom, I call out for Evie again. Where is she? A prickle of concern spreads in the back of my neck.

She hasn’t been feeling her best since we came back from the Netherlands. At first, I thought it was because of the crash. Partof me worried it reopened old wounds and brought her doubts and reluctance back to the surface. But when I found her that evening, doomscrolling on her laptop while downing a bottle of wine, I understood where the problem came from.

And as much as I tried to comfort and reassure her, I understand where she comes from. The internet has a way of poking at your insecurities, and she’s become a target overnight. The shock was brutal, and she’s had no time to adapt. Unlike me. It started slowly for me, first in F2, then during my rookie season. Hell, I’ve read and seen mean shit targeted at me since F4, even.

So, as sad as it may be, I got accustomed to it. And by the time it got really bad, there were far more people who loved me, and they drowned that fucked-up noise.

But Evie got none of that. She didn’t get the slow climb, nor did she get the supporters. Or barely any. The few comments that don’t attack her usually sexualize her, and the ones who defend her never quite catch on.

Because yes, I looked. Even before I found her that evening, I looked at what people were saying online. And it’s ugly. It’s fucking foul, but I can’t say I’m surprised. It’s the internet, and she’s a woman. They’re unforgiving. Men and women alike. She could be the best fucking person in the world—which, in my eyes, she is—they’d still find some nasty shit to say about her. It’s a useless talent that millions of people seem to have. And a bunch of them have decided she’d be their next victim.

Fuck… no wonder she’s been feeling terrible.

We should have kept our relationship private, just for a little longer. It’s still so new, so fresh, that I’m not sure we’re prepared for this. But we have to be. I want to believe we’re strong enough to overcome anything. Even an army of fucking morons talking out of their asses.

As I arrive in the bedroom, I look around for her. She isn’t here, nor is she in the walk-in closet or the bathroom. But her suitcase is all packed next to mine, ready to be put in the car. I roll them out into the hallway and continue my search.

When I see the door that’s open a little farther, I pause. I found her. She’s in Ophelia’s room. Which can’t help her gloomy mood.

I reach the door and softly knock on the frame, eyes landing on her. She’s standing before the changing table, staring at the wooden box perfectly centered on top of it.

“There you are,” I say when she doesn’t notice the knocks.

Startled, she turns around, looking a little embarrassed, as if I caught her doing something she shouldn’t.

“Sorry, I just… I wanted to soak it all in before I lea—before we leave.”

“It’s okay, princess. You have every right to be in here.”

She smiles sheepishly and returns her attention to the box.

“You never opened it, did you?” I ask, coming in to stand beside her.

“No, I… I wasn’t ready then.”

“And now?”

“Well, I’ve been staring at it for ten minutes. So I’m not sure. Probably not.”

We both stare at it together in silence, like it’s a sacred relic.

“When it happened, I… I refused to hold her,” I confess to her for the first time. “I thought it would break me, that having her tiny, cold, lifeless body would bring me to my knees, and I’d never get back up.” My fingers go to the box, following the engraved letters of her name on it. “I’ve regretted it ever since. I wish I could have held her, just once. She deserved that. She deserved to know that even in death, her daddy loved her. But I fucking failed her. I failed her in so many ways.”

Evie hooks her arm onto mine and rests her temple on my shoulder.

“We both did, Jax… And she knew, by the way. She knew you loved her. During the brief moments they let me hold her, I let her know how much she was loved, and that she had to fight to live so we could love her for the rest of our lives. So we could watch her grow up. So her daddy could teach her how to drive, like he did with Mommy. I begged her to stay with us because we wouldn’t be able to live on without her.”

After a pause, I clear my throat, chasing away the tight ball that grew in it. “You were right. We couldn’t live on.” I kiss the top of her head before facing the box again. “Do you want me to open it for you?” I offer.

She seems so thankful as she looks up at me and nods.