Page 20 of Full Throttle

Liêm shook his head. “Not with the same resolve and bitterness.”

Dominic slumped back in the seat. It had been three weeks since he’d met with Ranya and convinced her to give him a contract with Toro Significa. Only nine days since he’d found out that Juliette Marchmont was going to be his teammate.

“We’re adults,” Dominic said. “I’m sure we can be civil.”

Liêm gave him a look. It was the same look that Liêm used to give him at boarding school, whenever Dominic tried to rappel out of a window or sneak an extra rice pudding cup. He had been perfecting that look for fourteen years.

Dominic relented. “I’m going to talk to Marchmont like a normal person. We were friends once. I’m sure we can be friends again.”

Liêm pulled a face. “You don’t have friends.”

“I have you.”

“Besides me,” Liêm countered.

Dominic opened his mouth and then closed it.

Ah.

Maybe Liêm was right.

But that had been a purposeful choice; at school, Liêm had been captain of the cricket team, while Dominic had barricaded himself in their bedroom, memorizing track layouts. Liêm had tried to drag him places—to the football pitch, or the pub on the weekends—but Dominic had refused. He didn’t need friends. The fewer people you cared about, he reasoned, the fewer people who could hurt you.

Liêm tilted his phone. “People think you’re a grouchy bastard, you know.”

“Well,” Dominic said, “that’s simply untrue.” He crossed his ankles. “My father’s assured me that he had me within wedlock. I’m perfectly legitimate.”

There was that look again. “Dom.”

“Look,” Dominic said, “I don’t care who I’m racing with. I’m just going to focus on winning.”

“A race?”

He shrugged. “The season.”

The limousine swung. Liêm pitched sideways but kept himself upright with remarkable core strength. “No offense, mate, but you’re driving the worst car on the grid.”

“I can win in any car.”

He said it like it was the truth, because it was. He’d put in the work. Years of sprints with sandbags strapped to his shoulders, reflex training and neck stretches, protein shakes and physio appointments…He’d watched his father’s old race tapes over and over again, trying to memorize exactly how the nose of the car turned through the chicane. “Because that,” Vance liked to say, “is what it takes to be a champion.”

“Dom…” Liêm shook his head. His virtual opponent scored a goal, although he didn’t seem to notice; his face was unbearably gentle. “You know as well as I do that you’re never going to win in that car.”

“Watch me.”

Liêm sighed. “I’m not going to be able to stop you, am I?”

Dominic thought of their trip to Vietnam four years ago, when they’d driven around on motorcycles. They’d sheltered under a worn tarp in the sticky heat, eating banana and coconut cream, watching as the storm clouds rolled in. The skies had opened, and Dominic had run into the storm, whooping like a maniac as rain pelted his face. Liêm had watched from the safety of the tarp, shaking his head with fond exasperation. I know better than to try to stop you.

And although Liêm was looking at Dominic as if he’d gone mad…

“I’m going to do it,” Dominic said decisively.

He snatched Liêm’s phone, sending the ball careening toward the net. The ball went in with a plink. Confetti rained down on the screen.

Liêm looked glum. “You made that look easy.”

Dominic gave the phone back. “It was a team effort.”