Page 5 of Green Flag (StormSprint #2)

And with Cris’s logical brain, knowledge of the sport and injuries… he knew Alv’s life was forever changed just like I did. Ciclati’s reputation too.

Livie stood to give me a hug and I held her tight. Sometimes, I wished we hadn’t met at work. Maybe school, or through a relative, so that the work drama wouldn’t hinder our friendship.

Cris squeezed my shoulder and then picked up the report I’d scribbled on, and we started to walk back through the tunnel to the Ciclati pit box. Before arriving, Cris asked Livie, “Can you bring Everly down to the pit box? Any other team members too. Especially Nix.”

She nodded, already tapping on her iPad as she left. That thing was glued to her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was scrolling through it while she and Nix were at it.

Before I could ask why Cris’ daughter was here, he clutched the report I’d given him to his chest. “I will read through this,” he promised with sombre eyes. As those eyes looked me up and down, he added, “But go get your leathers on before you hold us all up.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” I said, saluted him and grabbed my bag before dashing to the changing rooms.

I might have been eager to get back before Livie came down with Everly.

I’d seen her briefly last year, when she was just another team’s director’s daughter and had nothing to do with me. She’d partied harder than Nix, swaying her hips, necking shots.

Beautiful, troubled, trust-fund kid, through and through.

But the most stunning, troubled, trust-fund kid I’d ever met. Or not met.

How she was related to Cris was beyond me. She must have inherited 95% of her mother’s looks with her long, dark hair and hazel eyes.

The smooth complexion of her olive skin that I wanted to bite.

Those long legs I’d often seen on her stories at the gym.

Out of season, I’d found it hard not to fly to England in the hopes of bumping into her, but I didn’t want to come off as creepy.

I wasn’t obsessed. Just heavily intrigued.

As to what the daughter of Cris Bacque could be like, of course.

In the pit box, she sat in her father’s chair — no one else I knew had the nerve — and tapped away on her phone. She was even more startling in person.

Dark hair flowed past her shoulders in loose waves as she smirked with glossed lips at her screen. From her Instagram, I knew she had thick, pouty lips, not wide across her face until she was smiling and her whole face lit up. There were very few pictures of her grinning like that.

Her clothes were tight-fitting and casual. While many women dressed up for the races, a day at the track used to be normal for her.

Since her career had taken off in the last few months, she’d hardly been around.

I’d waited for the excuse to meet her. For her to be in the pit box.

And spent far too long stalking her profile and listening to her album, so if we did meet, I had to be careful what I let slip.

We were in the same room for five minutes. When someone spoke to me, I nodded, trying to tear my eyes away from her.

I should go over there and offer my hand, introduce myself and just slip into conversation that I knew her music, or discuss a gym-related topic I’d noticed her post the other day.

Something.

Anything.

But Livie took her away, leaving just the guys and Sally, the one female mechanic.

“Is Nix here?” Cris asked, peering around as I closed my locker.

He popped his head out from the garage door, sucking on a straw for an energy drink. “He is,” he said about himself.

“Right, gather round,” Cris said and everyone moved with startled glances at each other.

Some nodded and I expected him to discuss the inquiry — and tell everyone the same thing he had me, no media — but what came out of his mouth was, “So you’ve all met Everly by now.”

People mumbled in agreement. I hadn’t. Had he introduced everyone while I was getting changed? Did he know I had a fancying for her?

Had he seen that I’d liked every single one of her photos on social media over the last four years? How I’d drooled over her posts?

Oh, god damn, I was a creep.

She didn’t even follow me back.

One time, I’d been the first to like her post—before thousands of others jumped on the bandwagon—and it was probably my proudest achievement of the week. No, to be honest, month.

It had been a slow month.

“She is our temporary grid girl until we can replace Clara,” he said sternly.

God, what did he offer to get her to do that?

With her music on the radio, this was probably the last place she wanted to be.

“And she is my daughter. I don’t want her to be given special treatment.

She is here to do a job until she returns to university at the end of the month.

That’s two races. But nobody, under any circumstances, is to touch her.

Don’t look at her. Don’t breathe the same air as her.

I’ll remind you that relationships within the team are strictly forbidden.

Relations with my daughter will get you stricken off if not killed. ”

Nix chuckled, and Cris’s head spun to him with a disgusted grimace. “Nix, Arabella will be your grid girl for the month. Luca, Everly will be yours.”

Because Cris couldn’t trust Nix around his daughter.

A year ago, he probably had reason to.

“Not interested, Cris,” Nix laughed. “I’ve just got out of something if you remember.”

“Yes, with your previous grid girl,” Cris snapped. “Luca can be trusted.”

But when he looked at me with desperate eyes, I knew he wasn’t talking about his daughter.

“I can be trusted,” I grumbled.

My dark cloud didn’t stop threatening to rain for the rest of the day. I qualified worse than usual. Twelfth.

And with my track record of the last ten races, I doubted I’d end up finishing better than that.

When our trailers were finally ready, I couldn’t wait to hibernate in mine, far away from the hotels of busy workers and the existence of my fellow racers who still believed racing was their calling.

Whenever I got on a bike… There was this pent-up, nervous energy in my bones that Nonna Imelda would lose not one but two of her grandchildren.

Back at the hotel, Mum’s call didn’t help. She’d read the inquiry — all of the details, the mention of Alv using his helmet outside of the sport — and she cried down the phone. Wailed. Listening to her tears sparked my own and I blinked them back because I had to be strong for her.

“ You’re stuck there, ” she sobbed. “ With him. He’s not even taken accountability. You can’t… ” She let out a gasped cry. “ Luca, when we take them to court, it will turn nasty… I don’t want you in the middle of this. You’ve got to get out. Please. Please .”

It wasn’t the first time she’d begged me.

But what could I actually do? If I walked away, they would fine me. If I raced particularly poorly, no other team would take me on.

There was no way out.

Unless I risked it all.

This had been my plan to make my family proud of me. I didn’t know if that was possible anymore.

Some of the guys went to a restaurant nearby, knocking on my hotel room door, and asking me to come for the distraction, with sympathetic eyes and smiles.

I just wanted to wallow in my own self-pity. Alone.

I never drank before a race. Never.

But a whiskey was calling my name.

A couple of drinks in the empty bar, just enough to get me to sleep without my thoughts spiralling, and I’d be good. Better.

I didn’t trust myself to drink without supervision. The bartender gave me the same smile as my friends did. I was known fucking everywhere as the sad boy.

And Cris telling me to blame him swirled in my mind as the whiskey did in the glass. I might not want to admit it, but he was partly to blame. His team neglected the helmet. He was the director of the team. His team were the letdown.

My throat burned with how quickly I downed my drinks, not wanting to blame anyone but myself. Even if I knew how ridiculous that was.

It all made me want to drink harder. Risk it all. Get back at Ciclati. Get out.

But that would only prove them right, wouldn’t it?

This would be my final one. My nightcap. I swirled the remaining two fingers of whiskey, trying to bide my time.

I wanted to be alone.

I just didn’t want to feel it.

I wanted to be unknown. I wanted to be far away from all of this shit.

The bartender looked up with another sad smile as he took an empty glass from before me. But his half-ass attempt at sympathy broke as the sound of heels clicking their way over brought me out of my stupor.

He grinned at her, eyes travelling up and down as she settled onto the barstool, only one away from me.

I glanced over, only to freeze on the spot, breath caught in my throat.

Long, tanned legs. Shiny, dark curls. A confidence that radiated from the glow of her perfect, tanned skin in that tiny dress.

I had to remind myself to swallow because, if not, I wouldn’t be drooling over a phone like usual, but the bar.

Everly Bacque.

The one and only Everly Bacque was sitting beside me.

And I was done for.