Page 12 of Green Flag (StormSprint #2)

Everly

All week, Ciclati members avoided me. In Valencia, it was much the same.

When I emailed Dad about staying into October, he simply replied with a half-ass excuse about university.

By the sounds of it, he hadn’t actually contacted them because he hadn’t stormed into my room, calling me a failure because I’d failed my last term and wasn’t welcome back without redoing the year.

I wasn’t necessarily complaining about being left to my own devices.

With my new lanyard, I had almost unlimited access.

With people ignoring me, I practically skipped around the trailers, no one questioning what I was up to.

And the positives kept on rolling in: the trailers had their weights stuck on the back of them for each new journey. As did each crate.

And the customs paperwork was easily accessible when you knew where to look: Dad’s briefcase. Working with all these ‘scary’ men meant he always gave me his spare room key in case I needed it.

My phone was full of evidence. It just needed to start making sense.

But the only witness who might know what really happened, Nixon Armas, had simply disappeared.

Whenever I did see him, he was with his publicist and it was hardly the time to start asking the important questions.

Nix had always backed Dad—he still did. And he was there the day Pedro was arrested.

If there was anyone who could slip up and say the wrong thing… it was him.

The whole ‘master plan’ of taking Dad down from the inside wasn’t working well if I was going to be on the inside for a matter of days.

With my university accommodation no longer an option, I’d had no choice but to move back home to Dad’s between races.

Which wasn’t a bad idea, because it meant I could go through his suitcase for evidence when he left it packed in the foyer for every flight.

Even with access to his room, I didn’t expect him to leave anything too important in the room he’d given me a key to.

Though I hadn’t got too far with my snooping in his luggage. Every time I’d gone to nosy, I’d been interrupted by a nattering Fia, willing to tattle on me.

Her vape in my pocket kept her quiet.

I was a sleuth for my rebellious teenage sister too.

Though I’d sadly been successful in finding dirt on my sister, there was no such luck for my father.

Nothing directly relating to him anyway.

But he wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t be obvious. And as much as he was an utter wanker, he adored his sons and Fia. If there were drugs, they weren’t at home.

He might be an emotionless robot, but when it came to anything other than empathy, he was rather intelligent.

He avoided me more than anyone else.

The only person who didn’t avoid me was Luca.

We’d gone round the stadium and he’d let me give my spiel. He asked follow-up questions and told me to slow down when I got a touch too enthusiastic.

He put on different roles, from crouching down with a pretend walking stick as a little old lady to someone who hardly spoke any of the three languages I could speak, to a prat who thought he knew more than me. That was the hardest by far.

When he riled me up, he jabbed me in the ribs and had me laughing again.

It was easy with him.

Not so much with the public, for sure.

But he didn’t flirt. Not even a wink. Which somehow made me feel like I’d been rejected… when I hadn’t.

Then he knocked on my door to give me some ‘safety tools’— a lipstick knife, a taser, a keyring that doubled as a knuckleduster.

He placed fifteen green objects in my hand, and he came into my hotel room to explain each to me.

A nervous energy ran through my veins as we were so close—and so close to a bed.

But he was all business, showing me how to use each item because I didn’t know how to punch.

When I finally nailed flicking the lipstick knife open, his grin was quick and wicked—but the look that followed? His eyes devouring my body? That one made my pulse trip over itself.

Then he left. Abruptly.

It stung. For a split second.

I liked how he looked at me like I was more than someone’s daughter.

It wasn’t until I FaceTimed Fia that night that I realised just why everyone else was weird with me.

She was munching away on a handful of nuts, chewing as loudly as she could, purposely to annoy me. As soon as she’d hit sixteen, her confidence had slipped to arrogance.

We spent most nights on FaceTime, talking absolute rubbish or living our lives in comfortable silence. Sometimes, we would watch a series, sometimes, she’d complain about school, and sometimes, we would brainstorm lyrics together.

Fia, my teenage sister, was my best friend.

Sweet? Maybe. Pathetic? Possibly.

“Shut up,” she said around her mouthful, mouth open, showing me her food, her face-mask slipping slightly down her face. “No way!”

“Close your mouth,” I grumbled, wrinkling my nose, still tinkering with my guitar as I lay in bed.

“They’re advertising your job!” she cried, the mask now drooping off her forehead.

I sat up, guitar tossed aside. “What?”

My phone chimed. She’d sent the job advertisement.

“Ciclati StormSprint are looking to hire a new grid girl…” she said, ripping off the mask as I read it on the screen. My stomach dropped. Round and round went Mum’s engagement ring. “Creative… innovative… charismatic…help create a celebratory atmosphere… knowledge of StormSprint…”

“Well, tick, tick, tick, tick, fucking tick,” I snapped. How could he do this, for fuck’s sake?

They wanted photos, socials, and an audition tape. Hours worth of work.

“Well, yes,” Fia said, swallowing her mouthful. “You do have all of those abilities, though I have them to a greater extent—”

I closed my eyes. I didn’t need this too.

“You’ve got to apply,” Fia said as if it were that easy. “You can’t get the job without it.”

“They don’t want me,” I grumbled.

She scowled. “Nope, none of this sad shit. We make them realise they don’t want you, they can’t be without you. Your audition tape should be a song. Then post it on your socials so they can see your audience.”

My brows lifted. “They don’t—”

“ They can’t be without you, ” she said again.

“Get the job properly and Dad can’t even sack you.

Look, you have over seventy-five thousand followers, Ever.

What other grid girl has that? What other grid girl has been interviewed on the radio?

Now pick up that guitar. I’ll start your application— practice for when I apply in a few years. ”

“How are you—”

“I know you better than you know yourself,” she sighed. “And if I don’t know something, I can find the paperwork here.” Clap. Clap. “Chop chop.” And she hung up.

She wasn’t biologically related to us, but she’d inherited Dad’s military regiment.

My fingers paused over the guitar, but without consulting my brain, I copied the job link and sent it to Luca. His reply was instant.

LUCA: And you’re applying? Right?

It would be presumptuous to think he wanted me to stay for anything other than our flirty banter.

But that encouragement was all I needed.

I picked up my guitar.

It couldn’t be my normal country taste. It had to be… sexy. It had to get me a job. The first few drafts may have gone too heavily on the storm metaphors. The second draft was a little too cringe. Once I realised talking about the danger might be insensitive post-inquiry, I started all over again.

Cringe was fine. Sexy cringe was better.

And, soon enough, it came naturally to me.

I recorded myself over and over with a generic strum of chords. I spent half an hour rearranging the words and changing the pauses before sending Luca and Fia a snippet.

FIA: Yes then!!!!! Nearly done with your awful school grades.

Her reply made me smile. His made me laugh.

LUCA: Now, before I open this, do I need to be alone?

EVERLY: It is 100% PG.

LUCA: Shame.

My heart pounded as I waited for him to watch it in his trailer. I hadn’t written anything in months. Nothing like this.

He didn’t send words — he sent a video. He was in bed, the camera quality grainy in the darkness.

I swallowed and pressed play.

His low, tired voice sent shivers down my spine.

“If you don’t release that, I will,” he said and sang one of the lyrics, perfectly out of tune. “And my voice is awful.”

He breathed in deeply and sat up in bed, the duvet falling to his waist. The camera stayed on his face, showing just collarbones and shoulders. If only he tilted it a little lower…

“You put that as part of your application, Everly, and you’re in. They can’t deny you when you’re literally a country star.”

High praise. I swallowed, eyes pricking. I’d been a country star for about a week. Tops.

“And you have so many followers,” he added. “They would be stupid not to keep you.”

But if Dad didn’t want me here, I wouldn’t be staying.

Maybe if I showed how it would keep me out of trouble…

But my track record at these events, with the people at StormSprint, wasn’t exactly squeaky clean.

More like filthy.

Because of Pedro.

The judgement over our age gap. The internal investigation into me when he was arrested.

“So send it,” he urged. “Before I send it to Livie myself.”

My stomach tied itself up in knots as he waved a kiss and the video ended.

There was no hiding the fact that Livie scared me with her all-work attitude. I didn’t want to disappoint her, but I also didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of her.

But what I wanted more than anything was to be on the brain of a certain number 68.

Luca.

* * *

I was trembling in my cowgirl boots. After Livie said I could wear whatever shoes I wanted, I’d gone for my sturdy favourites that Fia had bought me for my birthday last year. Lucky boots. Today, I’d prove my worth.

Because today, if Livie hadn’t already, she would hear my new song.