Page 9 of Formula Freedom (Race Fever #3)

Lara

T he door to the suite clicks open a little before nine o’clock, and the sound sends a surprising jolt through me.

I set aside my laptop from its position on my knees and my project sketches slide off the couch cushion.

I’ve been trying to focus all evening—trying to dive into the residential development project I’ve been assigned for a new coastal resort near Byron Bay—but my mind keeps drifting.

To Reid. To Lance. To everything in between.

I push to my feet as Reid steps in, tugging off his Matterhorn jacket and running a hand through his messy blond hair. He looks exhausted. And still stupidly gorgeous.

“Hey,” he says, voice warm but undeniably tired.

“Hey,” I reply, crossing the living room to meet him. “Long day?”

“You could say that,” he murmurs, setting his keys and phone down on the console table.

I hesitate, then add, “I watched practice today. You looked good out there.”

He glances over at me, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah? You catch my little detour through Turn9?”

I laugh. “You made it look intentional. Like you were just, you know, inspecting the gravel.”

“Perfect excuse,” he says dryly. “Felix wasn’t impressed.”

“You still finished strong,” I offer. “Third fastest overall.”

His smile widens, a little more genuine now. “Could’ve been better. I had more pace, but we were trying a few setup changes. Mostly went out heavy on fuel to simulate long-run stints.”

I love that I understand so many of the elements of Formula racing. Pace isn’t just about raw speed, but consistency—lap after lap, sector after sector—especially when the car’s heavy and the tires are degrading. It’s the difference between setting a single fast lap and actually winning races.

I grew up in this world, sitting in the stands, memorizing lap charts while cheering Reid and Lance through karting, rally and every Formula step after that. Racing is about managing everything that tries to slow you down.

“Still,” I say, experiencing an unexpected bubble of pride, “you looked… in control. Fast.”

Something flickers in his eyes—gratitude maybe, or something warmer—but he just nods. “Thanks. Means a lot, coming from you.”

There’s a beat where we stand there, some kind of unspoken current humming between us, before he rubs a hand over his hair and says, “Mind if I grab a quick shower before we catch up?”

“Of course not,” I say quickly, stepping aside to let him pass.

I retreat to the couch while he disappears into the primary suite bathroom. I listen to the muted sounds of the shower running and let myself breathe for the first time in hours.

Today has been… full. Emotionally exhausting in ways I hadn’t expected.

Mum and Dad called this afternoon, checking in.

They were supportive as ever, promising that whatever happens next, they’ll back me.

No judgment, only heartbreak that I’ve been living under Lance’s thumb for so long and didn’t think I had a safe space to share that.

I reassured my parents that it was only because I was trying to handle it myself and that it did not reflect on my trust in their support.

I really got choked up when Leanne Hemsworth called—Reid and Lance’s mum.

I’d barely answered when her soft, tearful voice filled my ear, telling me how sorry she was, how much she loved me, how none of this was my fault.

It broke something open inside me that I hadn’t realized I was still holding on to.

I cried after that call for a solid half hour.

But her words reassured me, and they were the same ones I’d heard over and over today.

“Lara, darling… we love you and always will. Just as I will continue to love both of my sons. But I won’t ever support Lance in a way that makes light of what he put you through.

It’s something we’re all going to try to reconcile. ”

I appreciated that so much. Not once did I expect Lance’s parents to turn on him.

That’s not who they are. It’s not who I am either.

Just because Lance did something very wrong to me doesn’t mean he should be cut out of everyone’s lives.

It’s just now… he can no longer be a part of mine, and I can’t envision how that’s going to look in the future.

Do we stop having family get-togethers? Or do we have them, and I choose not to go to avoid Lance?

Or maybe Lance doesn’t get invited? It’s all so sad—almost an end to life the way I knew it, and I’m mourning the loss for everyone.

But after those two calls, I was able to focus a bit and work became a welcome distraction—CAD files and zoning regulations don’t require emotional energy, and I got lost in my job. I love what I do and I’m especially grateful that I can work remote.

But what really made my day was watching the practice session on TV. And to be honest, I watched Reid and that sent my heart racing for other reasons.

He was magnificent out there. Smooth. Aggressive when he needed to be, patient when it counted.

My years of cheering on Reid and Lance as they progressed through their racing careers has made me a savvy spectator, and I know a good run when I see it.

When the session ended, I found myself grinning like an idiot.

The shower shuts off and a few minutes later, Reid reemerges, his hair damp, a Matterhorn team tee stretched across his broad shoulders, loose joggers riding low on his hips.

He flops down onto the couch beside me with a groan, grabbing one of the throw pillows to hug to his chest.

“I’m glad today is over,” he mumbles.

I laugh. “You were great though.”

Reid cocks an eyebrow. “I fishtailed in gravel.”

“You recovered well. Very graceful fishtail. I’d call it a flourish .”

He chuckles and tosses the pillow aside, lacing his fingers across his tight abs. “Thanks for sugarcoating it.”

We fall into an easy silence for a moment, the kind that only comes with years of knowing each other.

Finally, he says, “I had a run-in with Lance today.”

My heart lurches and I sit up straight on the couch before angling to face him. “What happened?”

Reid leans back, resting his head on the cushion and staring at the ceiling. “He was just… there. Said he wanted to talk about you but then he started blaming you.”

I can’t help the whimper of distress that comes out of my mouth.

Reid’s head rolls my way, his eyes narrowed. “I shut that shit down. Told him don’t ever blame you and to stay the fuck away.”

“And he accepted that?” I ask hopefully.

“Not quite. He then turned it on me. Said I was pissed because he got you and I didn’t.”

“Oh,” I murmur but immediately dismiss that accusation. Reid doesn’t want me like that. “What happened next?”

“I almost punched him, but Carlos pulled me back.”

I settle into the cushion beside Reid. “At least we know he’s still in Melbourne,” I say.

“Yeah,” Reid mutters. “But I don’t think he’s going to walk away from you without trying to get you back.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “He texted me several times today. No threats. Just apologies. Promises to do better. To change.”

Reid’s gaze sharpens. “Are you entertaining any of it?”

The question isn’t accusatory. It’s careful. Protective.

I bark a bitter laugh. “No. God, no. He hit me and I’ll never give him another chance.

” Reid studies me, silent, waiting for more.

I push my hair off my forehead and exhale.

“I stayed too long. I knew it. I regretted it for months. I was done with that relationship long before he smacked me. But our families are so close, and I didn’t know how to end it without hurting everyone. ”

“You wouldn’t have hurt anyone,” Reid says gently. “Only Lance. Did he have any clue you were thinking of breaking it off?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so. I mean… I just sort of fell in line and kept my mouth shut most of the time so he wouldn’t be provoked. I was trying to come up with a good exit plan, but I just couldn’t figure it out.”

“I don’t know how you did it,” he says and then nudges my shoulder. “I mean… you were playing a game. Acting to keep the peace until you could figure a way out.”

“It was hard, especially as he got more controlling and verbally abusive. And… we weren’t even intimate anymore. He didn’t seem to care, so that was a relief.”

Reid’s eyebrows lift slightly, and my cheeks flame hot that I just said that.

I give him a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry if that was too much information. I mean… especially since we…”

The words trail off. Reid and I had our chance but it didn’t work, and I should have never mentioned anything about such private moments between Lance and me.

“It’s okay,” he says, reaching over and taking my hand. “I’m a big boy and I know exactly what I lost when you started dating my brother.”

I know what I lost too, because try as I might to love Lance the way I did Reid at one time, it never reached that level of complete and total adoration. Nothing was as good… the affection, the talks, the sex. But I keep that to myself.

“I couldn’t stand it,” I say instead. “Finding out he was cheating almost felt like relief. Like I finally had an excuse strong enough to leave without the guilt.”

A wave of shame burns through me, but Reid squeezes my hand, warm and steady. “You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he says. “You were surviving.”

I blink rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“You’re free now, Lara.”

I nod, breathing through the tightness in my chest.

After a long moment, Reid releases my hand and once again laces his over his stomach. A small smile plays on his lips. “Remember when survival was just trying not to get dunked off a surfboard?”

I snort. “Or trying not to get caught when we snuck in after curfew.”

“Pretty sure our parents knew,” he says, mock serious.

“Yeah, we weren’t that sneaky,” I reply, grinning.