Page 3 of Green Flag (StormSprint #2)

I used to think he loved me for who I was. Now I wasn’t sure he ever really did.

Sure, he’d become a fuckwad, but his name still tasted bittersweet.

“He was the sports analyst before Abbé. He shipped drugs across the world,” she told me. “Using the transport Ciclati offers for the races.”

I nodded along, agreeing with the lie as I had for the last four years. The only thing he was guilty of was being with me, and that was enough for my dad to ruin him.

“He got caught a few years ago but was released three months back,” she continued. “But he recently threatened to come onto the grounds.”

That was news to me.

If he was threatening Ciclati, he might be able to help me more than I’d originally thought. I’d messaged him as soon as he was released, wondering if he’d give me evidence against my dad, but I’d been ghosted.

If he wanted to come back here, there had to be a reason. Maybe he had proof that my dad had been the one responsible all along.

But he couldn’t stomach seeing me because I was the reason he’d got locked up.

“The grid girls are giving tours,” she said as we walked. “You must know loads of people from before, right?”

I shrugged. A lot had changed in four years.

Further down the corridor, leathered and looking serious, stood Nixon Armas, Ciclati’s most formidable racer. Ruthless. Bad boy. The current champion of StormSprint.

He was the one constant at Ciclati other than my father.

“Alright, Ever?” he asked, but his eyes were on Livie. He didn’t wait for my response, just breathed in deeply. “You busy, Livid?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice tight as she gestured me through the tunnel.

He started to jog backwards, keeping pace with us. “Where are you two off to?”

“The lounge,” she said curtly.

“I can come,” he said with a nod and followed our direction as Livie kept telling me about my new role.

Nix was there when my dad framed Pedro, when everything came crashing down. If anyone knew the details, it would be him.

“So, Ever,” he said warmly as we sat in the busy VIP area. “Didn’t realise you actually had a job here.” He gestured to the lanyard I wore. “I overlooked that.”

Livie was tapping away on her iPad, sorting out my temporary contract, but she muttered about how observant he usually was. Nix grinned—or, rather, smirked.

“Technically, I don’t start until tomorrow,” I said and lifted my gin. “I’m just here to sign forms for the month I’ll work here.”

Nix’s brows knotted.

“Dad thinks it’s just for the month, but I’m hoping to stay.”

“That would be nice,” Nix said, leaning back in the wide armchair. “Have hardly seen you around the track this season. Your dad’s missed you.”

“Missed me?” I laughed and downed some more of my gin and lemonade. “He only ever bitches when I’m nearby.”

“He’s always talking about you being at university,” Nix said.

That soured the drink in my mouth.

“I’ve caught him singing your song a few times as well,” Livie beamed.

“The clean version,” Nix added with a chuckle. “He still can’t cope with his precious princess swearing, of course. As if you were still sixteen.”

“Shit, I’ve got a meeting.” Livie gathered her belongings, throwing a bag over her shoulder. “And I’ll go and print those documents for you to sign, Everly.”

“Wait,” Nix called, sitting up. “We still need to talk—”

“About your interview, I know,” she said, standing and chucking her bag over her shoulder. “Later.”

I knew Nix was a prick when it came to his image, but damn, did his publicist have a serious dislike towards him. He huffed, like her absence had stolen his air.

Nix watched her go and I took the opportunity to down my drink. I might need a little liquid courage. If I only had a month here, I’d need to be bolder than I originally planned.

I jumped into Livie’s seat beside Nix. His relaxed posture didn’t change. His eyes only narrowed. “What are you really doing here, Ever?”

I smiled, cocked my head. “You worried I’m here to steal your spotlight?”

But I dragged my bag over to me and pulled out my hand lotion, avoiding looking at him.

In my peripheral vision, I couldn’t help but see his smirk as he finished the rest of his juice. “Never. I have the best publicist out there.”

His smile and gaze remained on me.

“I’m excited to be on the track properly,” I said with a shrug, starting to coat the cream on my hands and rub it in.

My fingers were so dry with the changing of the seasons.

I tried not to screw up my nose — the steroid cream was unscented but, as a constant user of it, I could smell the chemicals and worried someone else may too.

“Haven’t spent actual time with you in years. ”

“That’s true,” he said with a nod and rested his glass on his crossed knee. “It’s been, what—four years since you were here for more than a race?”

“Yeah, I haven’t really been here much since…” I rubbed the lotion harder into my skin, between my fingers, unsure of what to say.

Since the inquiry. Since Pedro. Since everything imploded.

They had started an inquiry into me, seeing if I had any involvement in the drug trafficking.

When the production company I’d signed with for an album caught wind, they dropped me.

And when I needed the sport I loved most, I had been banned from it for a year.

When I was allowed back, everything had changed. Everyone eyed me with suspicion.

But not Nix.

He cleared his throat but didn’t move, other than his eyes glancing around the room. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

That discomfort meant I had to retreat. He wasn’t going to talk about him here in public. I couldn’t exactly blame him, but…

“Anyway, moving on from him,” I said with an exaggerated smile that was far more chipper than I felt and dropped the lotion back in my bag. I’d start again later. I’d get him alone.

“Have you?” Nix asked softly, brows down in sympathy. “He’s completely out of the picture, right? For both of us?”

I nodded. Pedro was trash now. He had to be. “Of course,” I said, even if somehow, after everything, I felt my stomach knot at those thoughts. “You haven’t heard from him, I assume?”

He placed his drink on the table this time. “Have nothing to say to him.”

But that confirmed my suspicions. Pedro was in contact with Nix. Nix just might not respond.

If Pedro was still watching Nix and threatening to come onto the grounds… he still had an issue with Ciclati, and he might help me.

“What are you doing later? I know you can’t drink before the race, but…”

It hadn’t exactly stopped him before. If I could supply him with enough alcohol, he might talk.

“I’ve got an Airbnb,” he said. “I’m staying there.”

“Well, would you come to the hotel for a cheeky drink with me?”

“A drink?” He blinked. “What would make this drink ‘cheeky’?”

His French accent thickened and I could see him racking his brain for what the word meant.

“I think it’s just British slang,” I laughed. “Like, a word for something you shouldn’t really do.”

“Everly,” he said, glancing over at the people by the bar. “If you’re talking about… I’m not… Putain, c’est mal . I’m not going to go on a date with you.”

Shit.

I hadn’t meant that. But of course that was what it sounded like. I’d meant ‘cheeky’ as in drinking before the race.

He sat up straight, both feet planted on the ground. “I have… I’m with someone.”

“ With someone ?” I asked. His last girlfriend had been photographed with him no less than a month ago, but Dad had said they broke up. “With who?”

“It’s complicated,” he mumbled. “God, Ever, I don’t — you’re like a little sister to me. There’s nothing… There wouldn’t be anything…” He looked around frantically as if to find the right words in the air. But he already had. We were like brother and sister. Estranged. “I’m in love.”

“You’re what?” I practically spat. “You?”

“Ever, I think you’re amazing, you know that. It’s just… we’re friends.”

“We’re friends,” I agreed enthusiastically. “But I really didn’t mean in the romantic sense, Nix. I just… I used to have friends here. Well, I used to have Pedro. And now…”

I have no one.

I couldn’t say it out loud.

Because it was painfully true. Not just on the track.

Nix’s smile was soft. “You have a friend, Everly.”

My eyes were not watering. I blinked down at my empty drink and offered to go and get us another before delving into his shenanigans across the season.

It wasn’t long before the media manager was back and awkwardly said, “Cris wants us all down in the pit box.”