Breaking the Grid

Film

It's late, and I've just gotten back to my hotel room. The door clicks shut behind me, and for the first time all day, I let out a long, deep sigh, dropping my shoulders and letting my bag fall to the floor. I feel completely drained, every muscle in my body aching, but at the same time, I've never been this happy. My body's exhausted, but my mind is still buzzing from the race, replaying every turn, every overtake. I can't wipe this stupid grin off my face.

I had left the trophy with the team director—he promised to bring it back to London safely. I didn't trust myself not to break it before I even got on the plane.

I throw myself onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, my smile only growing wider. My cheeks actually hurt from smiling so much. It's been hours, and yet, the feeling hasn't faded. The rush, the elation—it's all still there, bubbling inside me like it's going to burst out at any second.

After a minute, I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, turning it on. Almost immediately, it starts vibrating non-stop—calls, texts, notifications flooding in from everywhere. I ignore most of it for now and scroll straight to the family WhatsApp group with the Antonellis. Elisabetta's already sent a video. When I open it, the living room appears on the screen. The TV shows the exact moment I crossed the finish line, and I hear them all screaming. Marco's literally jumping up and down on the couch while Elisabetta yells at him in Italian, telling him to get down before he breaks something. I laugh, holding the phone close to my chest for a second, letting the warmth of the moment sink in.

A ton of messages come in from the group, congratulating me, saying how proud they are. I smile, my heart swelling. I tap out a quick reply, promising to call them all tomorrow when I can actually speak without the chaos in my head.

Then, I move to Kyra's chat. There are so many messages from her, starting from the moment the race began. She was commenting on my driving, on how close I was to the other drivers, sometimes throwing in remarks about how crazy things were getting on the track. It's kind of adorable, really—her talking to me like I'd actually see her texts mid-race. I can't help but smile, imagining her sitting at home, all invested and maybe even nervous.

Without thinking much, I tap on the FaceTime button.

The screen shows "Connecting," and my heart skips a little. I'm not even sure why I'm calling, but after a day like today, she's the person I want to talk to.

The screen takes a moment to connect, and for some reason, my heart is pounding like I'm back in the car, revving for a start. I feel an odd mix of excitement and nerves as I listen to the ringing sound. It's just Kyra, I tell myself, but that doesn't stop the slight flutter in my stomach.

Finally, the screen lights up, and there she is, her familiar face filling the screen. Her hair's a little messy, like she's been lounging on the couch, and there's a softness in her eyes that instantly puts me at ease.

"Hey, superstar," she greets me, her voice full of warmth. The nickname makes me smile, but it's not just the words—it's the way she says it, like it's the most natural thing in the world. "You look like you've had one hell of a day."

I laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. "Yeah, something like that. I think I'm still processing it."

She grins. "I was watching you the whole time. Couldn't believe how you handled those last few laps. My heart was racing just watching you."

I chuckle, shifting on the bed so I'm lying on my side, holding the phone in front of me. "I nearly lost it at the end there. When I saw the gap open up, I just went for it. I don't even know how I managed to keep the car in one piece."

"Well, you did more than that. You won. And it was amazing, Blair." There's a quiet admiration in her voice that makes my chest tighten a little.

"Thanks," I reply softly, feeling a bit shy all of a sudden. "I saw the messages you sent me... about the race and everything. You're cute, you know that?"