Page 73 of Full Throttle

Ranya’s expression softened. Or at least she wasn’t scowling, which was about as soft as their team principal got. “Take some time to think it over. I’m happy to answer any questions you have.”

She shuffled some papers, and a page came loose. Juliette’s reflex training kicked in, her hand shooting out to catch it. She paused. The words female and driver jumped out, and she swallowed, shoving the page toward Ranya.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to look.”

A terrible knot formed in her throat. Had the team already made the decision to drop her? Was this whole conversation just to cover their asses? Her brother Ben, who worked in corporate, talked about things like this sometimes. Performance improvement plans. They sounded like a prelude to getting sacked.

“What is that?” Juliette asked, nodding to the papers.

Ranya picked up her satchel. “Don’t worry about it.”

Why was it, Juliette thought, that people were so fond of that phrase when it only ever made you worry more? “Is it about my contract?”

“No, it’s…” Ranya rubbed at her face. “A group of us are pushing to start an all-female drivers’ academy. A place for aspiring athletes to learn how to be the best in motorsport. But it’s a pipe dream.” She shoved the papers into her satchel. “It’ll never get off the ground.”

Juliette deflated, her worry melting into relief. “Not enough funding?”

“Exactly.” Ranya snapped the satchel closed. “It turns out that the FIA don’t think the academy would drum up enough positive press to outweigh the cost. Anyway. A problem for another day. I’ll see you both at the next race.”

It was a clear dismissal. Juliette rose mechanically. Numbness filled her as she stepped outside; the warm night air settled on her shoulders like a shawl. Moonlight glinted off the damp track, turning it into the scales of some great serpent. It would have been beautiful, she thought numbly, if she didn’t feel like she might be sick.

Dominic tipped his head back against a brick wall. The strong column of his throat bobbed.

“Well,” he said. “Shit.”

Juliette closed her eyes. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

“Don’t look so sad. I haven’t beaten you yet.”

“You won’t,” she said automatically, although it was half-hearted. As much as it pained her to admit, Dominic had years of experience on her. He was one of the best racers in history. That much was indisputable. She stretched, then hissed out a breath as her ribs gave a painful throb.

Dominic’s eyes tracked the movement. “You ought to take something for that.”

Juliette resisted the urge to snort. “You’re such a hypocrite.” She nodded at his bandage. “What painkillers are you taking?”

“Cocaine, mostly,” Dominic said mildly. “I find it the easiest to snort.”

“Hastings.”

Dominic’s smile faded. “I don’t need them. It’s just a scratch.”

Juliette massaged her side. “There’s no shame in taking them.”

Dominic shrugged. “I never said there was. But my father used to say…” He looked down at the wet track. “Pain can be useful. It can motivate you to push yourself.”

“How so?”

Dominic exhaled. For a moment he was quiet, and she was beginning to think he might not answer when he said, “Did you watch my first win? At Silverstone?”

Juliette dropped her hand. “Funnily enough, I have better things to do with my evenings than watch your glorified highlights reel, Hastings.”

His mouth quirked. “So you did.”

“Yeah.” She’d watched it in person, tucked up beneath a blanket with her sister Rosaline, both clutching cups of peppermint tea. That had been the year that Cap started racing. “The weather was terrible.”

Dominic’s eyes reflected the wet asphalt. “Dad gave me a lift home, and he kept talking about that first corner, when I almost overshot the car. I told him that it didn’t matter. I’d already won. We got into this huge row. I called him something I probably shouldn’t have and…” He waved a hand, as if to signify that was irrelevant. “Anyway, Dad kicked me out of the car. Made me walk six miles in the rain. It hurt like hell, but you know what I realized? I had fucked up that first turn. And the next year, I did it better.”

Juliette stared. The distant rattle of cars filled the silence, an unending stream of traffic. She thought of a young Dominic Hastings trudging down the side of that motorway, his head bent against the rain, and a terrible ache filled her chest.