Pit Lane Persephone

Chapter 27: Lauren (Part 2 of 2)

My eyes are closed, so I'm not sure if the engine sounds and loudspeaker announcements are coming from the television or from outside the trailer. By the slight stereo-echo, I'd guess it's probably both. I take a deep breath and peek through my lashes. They're replaying highlights from the race—look, there's Mr. Firenze 2018 Sergio what's-his-name holding my umbrella—and I really am trying to pay attention, but the ambulatory clinic's bed with its raised back and fluffy pillow is too comfy. Or maybe the mild sedative trickling through my IV is just making me loopy.

I shift, the bed's vinyl cover crackling under my kangaroo-skin suit that's still covering most of my body save for one arm. The droll commentary from BBC Sport about tire grip or some such fades into the background before my head droops to the side.

"Dio dannato! Cosa ti è successo?" I don't understand the meaning of the words, but the irritable tone rouses me. I've never been so happy to hear Seb curse as I am now.

I turn my head and look up. Rounding an exam table where a medic is taping up some guy's ankle, my teammate is rushing to me. Since I'd heard his entire press conference on TV and he's also still unchanged out of his leathers, my little nap probably didn't last long.

"Hey. I saw you got third. Well done," I say, my voice more hoarse than I expected.

He ignores the praise and takes my hand. Squeezing my fingers, he strokes my knuckles with his thumb while looking me over for—what I can only assume to be—any signs of injury. "What happened to you?"

"It's okay. I'm okay," I reassure him, forcing a smile in spite of taking all my energy to do so. "I guess I'm just not as good at shaking off being sick as you are."

Seb's shoulders visibly relax, and he sits on the edge of the bed. "Nicola say you did not crash. You retire from the race by choice?" he asks.

"More like necessity, but yeah." I push myself up to be more at eye level, and the walls go all Inception. Those are some good drugs the doc is giving me, yo.

"How many laps did you do?" he presses on, sweeping my hair from my shoulder.

The answer can easily be gotten from the results on the broadcast, posted online, or even printed out by the officials and left in every garage by now. The fact that he doesn't know means Seb came to see me as soon as he could.

"Twelve. And every one of them felt like I was going to die." As if by Pavlovian reaction (that's the one with the dogs and the bells, right?) to the memory of struggling for breath, I cough. "I probably should've stopped at eleven because when I got back to the pits, I fainted as soon as I handed the bike over."

His eyes widen at hearing about the loss of consciousness. "That is why you are here?"

I nod, understanding his concern. Had I blacked-out on track, I'd most likely be in the hospital right now. "Yup. Exhaustion and dehydration. Nothing a little intravenous fluids and rest can't cure." I raise my left arm—the clear tube inserted with a needle into the crook of my elbow—thankful I'd gotten off easily.

Seb reaches back and pulls closed the privacy curtain behind him. "I was very worried about you," he says.

I smile, this time for real. This guy is so genuine; he should come with a trigger warning. "Thank you," I whisper.

With his eyes locked on mine, he reaches out and grazes my jawline with his fingertips. My skin tingles at his warm touch as a fluttering of butterflies erupt in my stomach. When he leans in, I panic and turn my head. "Don't," I say.

He pulls back, two vertical lines appearing between his brows, and I immediately wish I could get a do-over. What the hell am I thinking? Once again, I'm a raging dumpster fire who needed emergency care halfway through what should have been a simple race, but he still wants to kiss me. AND I PUSH HIM AWAY!

Goddammit, Lauren, you are the biggest fool who has ever fooled.

"Is this about Nadia?" he asks.

Okay, so fair question especially since it was the last thing we privately talked about. Is it about her, though? Sure, finding out about Nadia freaked me the hell out—especially the part where he was able to keep it a secret from literally everyone but his parents—but the more I thought about it this week, the less sense it made. Seb won the world championship during their supposed relationship, so it's not like actually being with her messed with his performance. On top of that, he just had his best results in nearly three months, so whatever has been going on between us hasn't been an issue. Then again, we haven't really spoken in days, so he's had time to de-stress and recuperate from anything mental and physical I could have inflicted.

Hell, this is making my head hurt.

"No. No, of course not." I pinch the bridge of my nose to relieve the escalating pressure while squeezing my eyes shut. "I mean, I kind of had some thinking to do after what Shane said." That not-so-pleasant convo in the pit box a few days ago about falling into WAG status immediately comes to mind, probably thanks to the mention of his ex.

"You speak to Shane about us?" he asks, slipping off the bed beside me and standing up.

"What? No!" I lean forward. "I swear. There was no us to talk about."

Seb clears his throat. "Okay."

Holy shit, what did I just do? That's so not how I wanted that last part to come out. There is an us. I want there to be an us. I just obviously wouldn't talk to Shane Hooper of all people without Seb being in on it.

Tears flood my eyes, and I reach for his hand. "I didn't—"

The curtain pulls back with a swoosh. "How are you do—" Dad freezes when he sees I'm not alone. "Oops. Sorry. I didn't realize you had a visitor."

Seb backs away. "It is all right. I need to go anyway."

"Wait. Seb . . .." I call after him, but he leaves me watching helplessly as he walks out.

Dad pulls a chair up to my bedside. "I'm a bit confused. I thought it was all for show."

My eyes are still on the door. I kind of wish I had not let the true reasoning behind his stupid Coliseum plan out of that room. That way, I could cry on Dad's shoulder like I really want to right now. But I was more worried about him thinking that I was prioritizing a guy over racing, which I'd never do. I mean, look at where a kiss got us.

I sigh. Everything would be so much easier if Dad had it right about things between me and Seb being all for show. Maybe if I said it enough, I could convince myself that my feelings aren't real.

"It was," I say, testing the lie, but my heart still hurts.

"Then maybe you two should have a talk because there was nothing fake about the look on that boy's face," Dad says, thumbing toward the exit.

I sniffle, unable to argue against that truth bomb. So instead, I'm going to nitpick on semantics. "Seb's nineteen, Dad. He's not a boy."

"As long as I'm more than twice his age, he'll still be a boy to me."

"Well, he was just being nice," I say, hoping he won't come up with a hot take about the pitfalls of relationships.

Luckily, he just nods. "I'm sure he was." With his invisible dad hat firmly planted, though, his dark brown eyes silently beg me to reveal more.

I feel like I just accidentally broke up with someone who I wasn't even officially together with, so I'm really not in the mood. "What? Don't you dare make a comment about what my face says."

He shrugs. "I wasn't going to."

"Okay, then," I say, leaning back and closing my eyes.