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She touched his wrist cautiously.
“Franco, are you all right?”
He blinked, then turned to her with a blank, pale look on his face. It was horrifying.
“He got away. I don’t know why I did that. I just know he had something to do with it, Violet.”
Franco’s voice was robotic. She wondered if he had ever been in a crash before. She also wondered when the last time it was that he ate.
She ran her fingers up his arm and traced them in a circle on his skin. He wasn’t quite looking at her but beyond her.
“Let’s get back to the garage and talk, okay? Maybe get some lunch.”
She spoke to him in a hushed tone, like she was trying to calm down a rabid dog. She wasn’t afraid of him, more so, afraidforhim.
Then, Franco’s voice was suddenly stern and certain.
“No. Not the garage. Someone could be listening. Somewhere else first.”
Violet ran her hand down to his hand, where she slipped her fingers between his loosely curled fists. She pulled him out of the gift shop when he didn’t grip her back.
“There are a bunch of people with phones recording you. They probably recorded the outburst at the press conference. We need to go somewhere private.”
“There’s a coffee station just for drivers,” he said, barking his reply. “Let’s go.”
Fans sporting their favorite drivers’ names emboldened on hats and T-shirts stood awkwardly around them, but most of the frenzy had died down. Violet was glad to feel Franco taking the lead again, taking her into a back lot area where the drivers and their families could park their personal vehicles and hang out.
They stormed through the lot and came to an indoor/outdoor lounge area. It was mostly empty except for a man reading his tablet and the barista behind the counter.
The sun had finally come out, and it bored down on Violet, who felt droplets of sweat beading on the back of her neck. The race was still going, the roars of engines beyond them taking the majority of the attention from onlookers.
Franco ordered two coffees for them, color slowly beginning to return to his face. He still had trouble looking at her directly, which was alarming. They sat in a booth that looked out onto the track.
They faced each other, and Violet couldn’t take it anymore. She was a direct woman. Anything left unresolved or tangled had the tendency to sprout fables in her mind.
“I appreciate your taking the time out of your schedule, honey,” she said, the affectionate term merely slipping out.
“Hmm,” he grumbled.
He was gazing behind her as if on high alert. Violet reached out and touched her thumb and forefinger to his chin.
“Franco.”
His dark eyes slid to hers, and she watched light bloom there. A reassuring wash moved through her, almost like a nudge from her tiger, glad to have finally captured his attention.
“Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. So I’m a little … rattled.”
Violet nodded sincerely, then let her hand fall to the table.
“Do you really think someone sabotaged the car?”
“I do,” Franco said, raising the paper cup to his lips. “And the man that I saw just now … the one I chased. He was one of the wolves who attacked us on our run. I’m sure of it.”
Violet let out a long sigh. She had yet to be afraid, other than when the tires of Franco’s car burst into flame. She had been watching over the monitor, her entire heart sinking into an abyss at the thought of his demise.
She swirled the caramel-colored beverage in front of her, peering into the cup like a wishing well.
“Why do you think they are doing this? Especially if it hasn’t happened before … I’m starting to wonder if it does have something to do with me.”
