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I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t let him see me like this. I couldn’t⁠—

“Maisey.” His voice cracked slightly this time. “Please.” Something inside my chest splintered open at the sound. Because he sounded scared. I heard muffled voices outside after that. Sebastian maybe. Another deeper voice I couldn’t process through the roaring in my ears. Then Theo again. Quieter now.

“Baby, please.”

A sob climbed unexpectedly into my throat before I could stop it, apparently that tiny sound was enough. Because suddenly I heard movement outside. Fast movement. Then the sharp sound of a hotel keycard failing once before succeeding. Eventually, the door swung open hard enough to hit the wall, but I didn’t look up. I could hear Theo was already inside, saying something quietly to the employee before the door clicked shut again.

I heard his footsteps stop abruptly the second he saw me sitting on the bathroom floor. Silence filled the room. And for one horrible second, shame swallowed me whole.

Because there I was, still in oversized sleep clothes, hair tangled, eyes swollen from crying, arms wrapped around myself like I was physically trying to hold my body together.

Theo stared at me like someone had reached into his chest and ripped his heart out.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. His face crumpled instantly. But I didn’t see any pity there, only a matching look of pain.

“Theo,” I croaked weakly, mortified tears burning hotter now. “You shouldn’t be here.” His expression snapped up at that.

“Don’t say that.” He crossed the bathroom in seconds before dropping down onto the cold tile floor directly in front of me without hesitation. I looked up, seeing his team kit on, and another wave of sobs broke through. Because all I could see was that day. He was 10 years older, and his hair was longer, but he was in the same dark suit, only racing for a different team. Before the race, I had barely seen him, and I remember being annoyed that he hadn’t come to find me, hadn’t snuck into my trailer like he did some races. I could smell the smoke again, feel heat trickling up my arms. Distantly, I noticed my head shaking, my heart beating too fast as I cried.

“You left me.

“You left me.”

“You left me.”

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel the cool tile under my feet or seeping through my pajamas. It was getting louder and louder in my head. I was back in the car, the familiar orange and white streaks I loved. Then I was ripping off a glove, struggling to pull crushed hot metal from me. The scene blurred, and I was being carried away. Then surrounded by beeping machines in a sterile white room.

The beeping woke me first, slow and methodical and steady. The pain came next, running through me, slowly revealing itself. I tried to move and instantly regretted it. A broken sound escaped my throat, which felt bone dry.

“Hey—hey sweetheart, don’t move.”

Mom.

I blinked against the bright hospital lights until her face came into focus beside the bed. Her eyes were swollen red like she’d been crying for hours. Maybe days.

My throat felt raw. “What…”

“You’re okay,” she said quickly, voice shaking. “You’re okay.”

I wasn’t. I could feel that instantly. My entire left leg felt heavy and numb at the same time. My hand burned so badly it felt submerged in acid. When I looked down, bandages covered so much of my body I felt the air get sucked right out of my lungs. My leg was elevated and wrapped thick from thigh to ankle. My left hand and wrist were completely covered in white dressings. Fear clawed up my throat.

“The race?”

Mom let out this wet laugh-sob. “Maisey⁠—”

“What happened?”

“You crashed.”

Bits and pieces slammed back into me then.

The spin.

The fire.

The metal.

I sucked in a sharp breath. “How bad?”