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My heart feels like it’s grown fifty sizes and is threatening to beat right out of my chest. While practice is supposed to be a time when the drivers get to know how their car performs on a track, it’s not without danger—like everything else in Formula World. There have been drivers who have been seriously injured or died during practice like . . .
“He definitely has a concussion,” Jack says. “Would you like to see the crash?”
“Not now,” I cry. “I want to see him. I need to be with him.”
Funny how I’ve dropped every pretense that we’re not dating. Right now, I don’t care who knows our relationship status. All I want is to know he’s okay.
Jack rakes in a breath. “Okay. Calm down. Let me get the latest.”
He slides on a headset. “What’s the situation? We’ve got Lily Onassis here.”
A pause.
“Oh shit. Okay. Okay. Right. We’ll follow along.”
I gape in horror as Jack stands. His mouth is in a hard, grim line, sending shockwaves of cold panic through my body.
“He’s not good. They’re going to airlift him to Montreal General. We’re going to meet him there.”
◊
I listen, mute with fear, as Jack describes the crash on our drive to the hospital. Lucas and Tanya are with us.
“He went into the hairpin, collided with the curb, lost his front wing, and then somehow the nose of his car went airborne. It all happened in a fucking instant, Lily, I swear. Then he flipped and crashed into the wall. When they took him out of the car he was asking for you.”
A whimper starts in my throat but I swallow it down. “The concrete wall? How fast was he going?”
“About a hundred forty-two.”
One hundred forty-two miles per hour. He hit the wall going that speed.
“Here.Autoweekhas a clip on Facebook.” Tanya hands us her phone.
I’m not sure I want to watch but I’m too stunned to protest. I watch the seven-second video, my jaw slack with shock. Seven seconds of pure torture. Max’s sleek, black car with orange trim skids for several yards on its side, then comes to a stop in the gravel.
“I can try to pull up the in-car camera if you’d like,” Jack says.
“No. Not now.” Turning toward the window, away from Jack, Tanya, and that devastating video that’s now trending on social media, I shut my eyes and try to think positive thoughts. But the horrifying crash video runs in a loop through my brain all the way to the hospital.
“They’re going to meet us at a side entrance,” Tanya says to Jack.
I turn to Lucas, who is sitting next to me. “How terrible is this? It seems terrible.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know, Lily. I wish . . .”
“What?” I stare at him. Lucas is a handsome guy, all bronze skin, green eyes, and dark hair.
“I wish he’d kept his mind on racing and not on you.”
My eyes shut. Exactly what I need. More guilt.
Once there, we jump out and are ushered into a private waiting room. It’s clearly meant for children and families because there’s a rainbow painted on one wall and a kid-sized table and chairs in a corner, along with toys. The three of us wait for what seems like hours—but it’s only twenty minutes, according to my phone. During that time I call my father and update him, then stare at the children’s toys.
Finally, three doctors walk in. I leap from my seat. “How is he?”
They recognize that I’m practically breathless with worry, and tell me to sit.
“Calm down,” one doctor, a man with a smooth bald head and a French accent, says.
