Pit Lane Persephone

Chapter 26: Seb

"Can't we just go directly back to the hotel?" I ask, turning off the highway at the same place Lauren exited just a few hours ago, but now from the opposite direction. It's been a hell of a long day, and even though it's barely eight, I just want to go to bed.

Nando shifts in the passenger seat next to me. "I had to take the train here because of you, so the least you can do is buy me a drink."

Sure, remind me that I chose the girl over you. "If all you want is a drink, let's just stop somewhere," I say, motioning with one hand toward the lights in the distance.

"You know it's not the same."

I shake my head. I know where exactly this is going. "I am not helping you pick up girls on a race weekend."

"I don't need your help." He actually sounds offended. "You just have to stand there and be Seb Bianchi, superstar."

I let that one go without comment. When we pass the turn off to Podere Benessere where my comfy bed is waiting at the end of the tree-lined driveway, I break my silence. "You should have called my parents for a ride instead of taking the train. They also came up here from Rome today, you know."

"Shit. Why didn't you tell me? I had to spend an hour and a half train ride on the Frecciarossa sitting next to this Napolitano in a suit trying to sell me life insurance," he says.

I sniffle, and my stomach suddenly feels off. "I would have if I'd known," I say, ignoring the sudden nausea. What is this? Guilt? Or anxiety? Maybe a drink would be good.

"They came unannounced?" He turns to me, his face half-bathed in shadow from the passing streetlights.

"More or less," I say, ignoring my role in the misunderstanding and the chill that runs through me. "And get this. Now thanks to them, Lauren knows about Nadia."

"What?" He grabs the cap on his head. Like that would ever fall off even from shock. It's probably grown to his hair by now. "Oh my god, dude. I'm so sorry. What did she say?"

I shrug, recalling her reaction. While I didn't expect to make the revelation right then and there, her response was somewhat anticlimactic. "Nothing, really."

"That's good, I guess," he says. "So which one was it? Your mom or dad?"

I laugh. "Who do you think?"

We look at each other and say in unison, "Dad."

Nando laughs. "Of course it was. Your mom has a much better filter."

A sign for Mugello Campeggio appears on the side of the road. "You sure about this?" I ask one last time.

He gives me two thumbs up. Bastard.

I park inside the campground that abuts the racetrack. The lot is only about a quarter full, but that's expected for this early in the week. We both know this place well and head directly to the cabin that doubles as the local pizzeria and bar. Before I make it up one step, I turn around, run to the nearest tree, and puke my guts out.

* * *

Lauren

Stopping halfway in the Cadmium garage, I blow my nose. The elephant-like trumpet call echoes across the concrete room louder than I expected, making me flinch. I throw the tissue in the nearby bin. Maybe those damn crows had been onto something.

Luckily, the place is pretty empty, so I don't have to share my misery with the whole world just yet. Only a friend who's hidden halfway behind my bike on the far side of the box.

"Hey there, stranger," I say, coming around to the same side as Shane.

He looks up from fiddling with something at the base of the steering column. "What are you doing here, Dimas? You look like death. Aren't you supposed to be quarantined?"

"I have the flu, not the plague." I lightly punch him in the shoulder. "Besides, I had a few minutes to kill before the mandatory riders' meeting, and I heard you'd be here."

"You heard right," he says with an extra dose of sarcasm, reaching for the wire cutters in his lap before returning his attention to the bike.

Hmph. What crawled up his butt?

"Anyway, long time no see. What have you been up to?" I ask, genuinely interested. We've both been preoccupied with other stuff and I've truly missed him.

"The usual, I guess. Had a couple days of training at HQ in Geneva." He snips off the end of a cable tie holding the timing transponder to the motorcycle with a faint click. Turning back to me, he wrinkles his brows. "But what do you mean long time? It's only been like a week and a half since the Sachsenring."

I stick my hands in my pockets and rock on the balls of my feet. "Has it? Seems like a lifetime ago."

"I suppose it would if you've been as busy as you." He rolls backward and pivots to face me. His face is sterner than I've ever seen it. "Which begs the question: what are you doing Lauren?"

"Me? I've had loads of press things—"

He shakes his head. "No. I mean, what are you doing with Seb Bianchi. I heard you two are sharing even germs now."

"Oh, that's your problem." I take a step back and cross my arms. It's true Shane and I haven't talked since the fake news broke, but why is it his business anyway? He'd hit on me once, but I thought I made it clear that our friendship didn't give him access to get in my pants. And like I'd meant to get Seb sick too (or him me since we don't know who had this bug first). This is too much, even from him. "What are you, jealous?" I ask.

"And here I was thinking you weren't going to be just another WAG," he says, avoiding the question. Before he can roll past me I grab his shoulder.

"I'm not a WAG." With my free hand, I make air-quotes for the stupid acronym. More power to those girls who support their guys, but I have my own career to worry about.

Shane motions for me to lean closer. "Are you sure?" he whispers. "Because I heard Seb may finally have a contract for next year, but you're still without a ride. And you know where that leaves a significant other in the paddock. Or am I wrong?"

I straighten up while continuing to stare at him. Is it true? Will Seb get the renewal at Cadmium? Shane's job certainly gives him access to every team and garage. He could have easily overheard the news before an official announcement. But what if it is? Good for Seb, right? This still has nothing to do with me.

"Screw you," I say, walking away and hoping—superstitions be damned—that I'd never see another crow in my life.