Redline | L.Norris

twenty two

The next morning came softly, sunlight peeking through the curtains, the murmur of traffic far below, and the smell of coffee drifting faintly from the corner of the hotel suite. Isla sat near the window in one of Lando's hoodies, her bare feet tucked beneath the hem of the fabric, watching the world move quietly outside. She hadn't said much yet. Not since she'd woken up.

Lando was sitting on the edge of the couch, cradling a mug of coffee between his hands. Max had come by earlier, instinctively picking up on the fact that she hadn't answered his texts. He was now perched in one of the armchairs, legs sprawled out, watching her closely without pressing. They both were.

No one had pushed her. They didn't need to. Isla could feel it. The question lingering, the worry sitting unspoken between the three of them like fog. And still... they gave her space. That, more than anything, gave her the courage to break the silence.

"I was seventeen," she said finally, voice low. "Just starting in F3."

Both Max and Lando stilled, not interrupting.

"I didn't want help from my dad," she continued, still looking out the window. "He gave me the car. The team. But he said if I wanted to be taken seriously, I had to get my own sponsors. That's what real drivers do, they earn their way up."

Her hands twisted in the fabric of the hoodie. She swallowed.

"So, I did. I went to meetings. Sent out pitches. Did the whole dog-and-pony show. And one of the first people who actually said yes... was from a company called Steinetek. They were flashy, well-connected, said all the right things." Her voice faltered, just slightly. "Especially him. Markus."

At the sound of the name, Lando shifted forward. Max sat up straighter.

"He said he believed in me. That I was going to change the sport," she went on. "But it wasn't about that. Not really. It started with comments. Then little touches. Too familiar. Too fast. I tried to brush it off. Be professional, act like it didn't bother me because I needed that funding. Without it, I wouldn't finish the season."

Her voice cracked then, barely perceptible, but Lando heard it. She felt his gaze even if she couldn't look at him.

"One night, after a race, he cornered me," she whispered. "Said he wanted to talk about extending the contract. And then he—"

She stopped. Took a shaky breath.

"He didn't hurt me. Not physically. But he said if I told anyone, he'd pull the money. That no one would believe me anyway. That I was just another pretty girl trying to ride her dad's name."

Max muttered something under his breath. Lando's jaw tightened, but still, neither of them interrupted.

"I finished the season. Barely. The minute I got new sponsors in F2, I cut ties. Never spoke to him again." She turned then, finally facing them. "But it still follows me. I don't like being touched. I panic when I feel trapped. And yesterday... when I saw him again—"

She broke off.

Max was already on his feet, eyes burning, voice tight. "If I'd known—"

"You couldn't have," Isla said quickly. "I didn't tell anyone. I was ashamed."

"You didn't have anything to be ashamed of," Lando said softly. His voice had that steadiness again, the one she was starting to trust. "He's the one who should be."

"I know," she said, nodding slowly. "I know that now. But for a long time, it felt like I had to carry it. Like if I told anyone, it would undo everything I'd worked for."

Max crossed the room and wrapped her in a hug, strong and solid and brotherly. "You didn't have to carry it alone," he murmured. "Not then. Not now."

And when Lando stood and stepped closer, his hand brushing gently against hers, she didn't flinch. Instead, she took it, lacing their fingers together with quiet intention.