Page 17 of Formula Freedom (Race Fever #3)

Reid

W e pull into the small lot outside Lara’s apartment complex in Torquay just after eleven a.m. The late-morning sun casts long shadows across the gravel and I ease the rented SUV into a spot before killing the engine.

The two-hour drive from Melbourne was quiet, but not awkward.

Comfortable. Granted, we’re both tired as hell because we were up all night celebrating the race finish.

We hopped nightclubs, dancing and drinking, along with Carlos, my teammate Gunner, Sebastian Wolff over at Freedom Dynamics, and Ronan Barnes who drives for Crown Velocity.

He’s a bit of a douche but Gunner invited him along, so not much we could say about it.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter. I had Lara by my side and while we all sat together as a group as we skipped around the Melbourne nightlife, she and I danced the hours away while sipping cocktails.

When we got back to the hotel, I fucked her in the shower, and then once again in the bed, and we were both exhausted by the time we fell asleep.

We left for Torquay after breakfast, both of us eager to get out of the city.

As pre-planned, our parents stayed behind. They have tickets to the Regent Theatre this evening and they’ll do some shopping tomorrow before heading home. That means I have a full day and a half with Lara before they arrive and we have to go back to pretending to be just friends.

As for Lance, he’s apparently off to Italy to pitch his product to the Rosso Corsa GTX team, at least according to my parents who talked to him last night after the race.

Honestly, his departure is welcome at this point, because Lara’s not ready to deal with him and I don’t know that I ever will be.

I can’t speak for Lara’s mind or heart, but I don’t know if I have it in me to forgive what he did.

“I hate this part,” Lara mutters, staring up at the second-floor windows where she used to live with my brother.

I’ve never been here before and am not looking forward to seeing a glimpse of what she and Lance had together, but the sooner I get her out of that part of her life, the sooner she can move on with me.

“Packing definitely sucks,” I murmur.

She nods. “It’s not about the stuff. It’s just… crossing the threshold. Seeing everything where I left it. Like nothing happened.”

I reach across the console and squeeze her hand. “You don’t have to do it alone. In fact, tell me where everything is and I’ll do it all. You can wait down here.”

She offers me a small, grateful smile. “In case I forget to tell you a million times after this moment, thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

“No thanks needed,” I assure her.

I get another smile, this one more confident. “I know and that’s why I’ve always adored you. Let’s get it done.”

Their apartment is exactly what I expect for Lance—pristine, minimal, sterile. It doesn’t strike me as lived in so much as staged, but it goes against everything I believe Lara to be.

Warm, creative and a little chaotic in the best way, and yet I see none of that in the furniture or décor.

I can’t tell what belongs to Lara and what doesn’t until she starts moving through the space, opening drawers, pulling sweaters from the closet, setting things in soft piles on the bed.

I help without question—gathering the shoes she wants, wrapping her jewelry in a cloth pouch, folding a faded university hoodie I’ve seen her wear a hundred times. Every so often, she pauses with something in her hands, her gaze going distant.

At one point, she finds a small wooden picture frame in the back of a drawer—an old photo of the three of us at the beach when we were maybe sixteen.

Lance in the middle, his arm slung over each of our shoulders.

I’m grinning like an idiot. Lara looks sun-kissed—full-body freckles proudly displayed, her hair in wet ringlets around her face.

We all look so happy. She stares at it for a long beat, then places it face down on the nightstand without a word.

We finish in under an hour and I’m surprised at how little she actually has of her own. It’s just clothing and toiletries and a few pictures of family. The boxes and bags fit easily in the SUV, and she doesn’t leave a note behind. Just a clean sweep of the life she’s walking away from.

Before we leave, she reaches into her purse and removes a small bag. I’m surprised when she pulls out her engagement ring. I last saw it that night she showed up at my hotel—she obviously hasn’t worn it since.

Lara stares at it a long moment before placing the ring on the coffee table and walking out the door.

“You okay?” I ask as she settles into the passenger seat of the rental.

She gazes up at the second-story apartment she just vacated. “Yeah, actually. I mean, I moved in after we got engaged, but it never really felt like my home. That was all Lance.”

And now, she’s cut the last tie to him, as evidenced by leaving her engagement ring for him to find. It’s a harsh message she’s leaving and I hope it fucking hurts.

Torquay still looks exactly as I remember it—sun-bleached and sleepy, with low-slung surf shops, old brick cafés and narrow roads that wind toward the beach.

The scent of salt in the air is like home to me and every third car has a board strapped to the roof.

It’s the kind of town that slows your heartbeat the moment you arrive, where wetsuits hang like wind chimes on front porches and kids ride bikes barefoot without a care in the world.

It was the absolute best place to grow up and I miss it when I’m gone. I expect one day when I’m done with racing, this is where I’ll put down my own roots.

We go to the Candlish house—only one street over from my family home—and the place is empty and quiet.

It’s a well-kept, two-story brick home set back on a neatly landscaped lot, with a wide veranda that wraps around the front and overlooks a garden filled with lavender and native grasses.

The paint on the white trim is fresh, the front door a cheerful sage green.

A swing bench creaks slightly in the breeze, and a set of worn but polished wooden rocking chairs flank the entry.

Not flashy, but warm and solid—like everything I know about the Candlishes.

Lara unlocks the front door and I follow her in like it’s second nature.

If she didn’t have her key, I know the spare is under a potted plant to the right of the door, just as I know the third step on the staircase creaks.

I’ve spent hundreds of hours in this house, probably as much time as I did at my own.

Likewise, Lara was at our house just as much, us kids bouncing back and forth between the two.

We carry everything to her bedroom, stacking the bags neatly along the wall.

I do a slow turn, taking everything in. The room is exactly how I remember it—pale blue walls, a floral duvet faded from years of sunlight, and a cluttered old desk beneath the window, still covered in sketches and half-used notebooks.

Lara’s surfboard is propped in the corner and fairy lights are strung across the curtain rod.

I pause near the bookshelf, eyes catching on a crooked photo of the three of us—me, Lara and Lance—grinning after a beach day at Bells.

It’s different from the photo she left behind at Lance’s apartment, but still the same—the three of us together.

We took dozens of those photos over the years.

Lara walks up beside me, makes a small hum of distress in her throat and reaches out to the frame.

Just like the one back at the apartment, she turns it over, presumably because she doesn’t want to see Lance’s face.

That works for me, because I don’t want to see it either.

Lara sits on the edge of the mattress and stares around, eyes scanning the room like she’s not sure what to feel.

I take in the old, braided rug, a memory hitting me square in the chest. We sat side by side, backs against the bed while she tutored me in physics.

I watched her scribble equations in that messy, looping handwriting and tried not to think about how good she smelled.

She was brilliant, even back then. Stubborn as hell. And so damn full of light.

And yeah… I so had a thing for her.

“Everything’s exactly the same,” she murmurs. “It’s comforting.”

I stay quiet. Let her have the moment.

She leans over, reaches for a framed photo on the bedside table, stares at it and then turns it for me to see.

It’s just the two of us, taken about four years ago.

I was competing in a rally race in the United States, and she’d flown over with my parents to cheer me on.

I won that race, and in the shot, she’s leaning against me in a sundress, laughing at something. God, we look carefree.

I take the picture from her and study it.

“We always looked good together,” I say with a lopsided grin.

But truly, she’s the one who makes that picture shine.

I take in her long red hair draped over shoulders dotted with freckles that multiplied under the summer sun.

She used to hate them, bemoaned them all the time.

But now she’s more poised and confident, and her makeup is always light so that they’re celebrated and not hidden.

“Ever wonder where we’d be right now if things had been different?”

I blink at her, then set the photo back on the table. “Different?”

She nods. “Us. I mean… if we had tried to make it work after that one night together. Would we have made it or maybe crashed and burned because of the stress?”

I sit down beside her, elbows resting on my knees. “I don’t know. I’ve thought about it though. Had all kinds of what-ifs.”

“Me too.” She exhales. “Even as I was accepting Lance’s ring, I was wondering what if . God, that makes me sound so fickle.”

I chuckle. “You’re the least fickle person I know, and I think when you accepted Lance’s proposal, it was the right thing for you at the time.”

She’s quiet for a long moment. “I used to think you just didn’t want me.”

“I wanted you so much it scared the hell out of me,” I admit. “But I was afraid if I let myself fall for you, I’d mess it up. I’d get distracted. Or worse—I’d lose you to the lifestyle before I could ever hold on to you properly.”

She looks at me, eyes shining with humor. “I mean… if you think about it… that’s about as mature a decision as you’ll ever make in your life.”

I smile. “I wasn’t as wise then as I am now, but I think we’re right where we’re supposed to be at the exact right time.”

She bumps her shoulder into mine. “Well, good thing I’m wise enough for both of us.”

I chuckle, then lean in to kiss her cheek. “Damn right, you are.”

“I have an idea,” she says, a gleam in her eye that makes my heart pound. If she wants to get naked and christen this bed in a way I used to dream about, I’m down for it. “Let’s go surfing.”

Not nearly as enticing as sex, but a surge of excitement courses through me. If I couldn’t be a professional race car driver, I’d have taken a shot at surfing as a career, and it’s been a hot minute since I’ve been out. “I’ll have to run home and get my suit and board.”

“You’ve got ten minutes,” she says, shooting off the bed. “I’m thinking we only need spring suits.”

That’s a good call. It’s going to be in the mid-twenties Celsius today and the water temps are probably still mild enough to not warrant a full suit.

“I’ll be back in ten,” I say as she dives into her closet, searching for her wetsuit, but she’s not even paying attention to me.

She’s in surf mode.

?

The water is colder than I remember. Or maybe I’m just not used to it anymore. I wish I’d gone with my full suit but seeing Lara dive in with just her spring suit, her arms and legs bare and letting out a delightful shriek, I suck it up and don’t complain.

It’s been a couple years since I surfed, but the rhythm comes back fast—paddle, pop up, glide. Lara’s already out there, bobbing on her board, her long braid wet and draped over one shoulder.

“This was a good idea,” she says, splashing me with a grin.

“You have them occasionally.”

We float for a moment, letting the swells lift and drop us gently.

“Where are you headed when you leave here?” she asks.

We haven’t made any specific plans other than for me to take a few days off, mainly to be with her. I did invite Carlos however and he’s coming tomorrow.

“Gotta get back to Monaco to deal with some sponsor stuff. But I’m yours till then.”

“We’ll make the most of it,” she assures me and then catches sight of an incoming wave that she intends to catch. I watch her ride it in, the loss of her by my side palpable. I bypass my own wave that comes through and wait for her to paddle back out to me.

“What are you waiting for?” she teases. “Afraid you’ve forgotten how to get up?”

“Never afraid of that,” I promise her. “But I was thinking… why don’t you come home to Monaco with me?”

Lara blinks a few times, her gaze casting out to the ocean and then back to me. Her gray eyes look almost blue in the sunlight. “And do what… just hang?”

“Well, your work is remote. You could work there, and yeah… we’d hang. I’d show you around. You could then come along to Zurich where I’ll need to do some stuff at headquarters before the Suzuka race.”

Lara’s teeth press down into her lower lip as she considers the offer. It’s sexy as hell and I want to kiss her. “What would our parents say?” she asks.

I shoot her a censuring look. “In case you didn’t realize, we’re both adults. And friends. And you’re sort of hiding from your crazy ex-fiancé. I’d imagine they’d think it was a cool idea.”

“Or they’d think something was going on between us and be disapproving because it’s way too soon.”

“You’re looking for problems before they arise,” I say. “Come on, Lara. Have some adventure. Besides… I don’t want to leave you behind.”

Not ever again.

Her face softens and I see her hesitation melt away. “Okay… I’ll do it.” Our eyes lock onto each other from across the boards. “You’re kind of perfect, you know that?”

“Nah,” I say. “I’m just finally getting it right.”