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CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

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SPORTS FANS ACROSS THE WORLD MOURN THE LOSS OF ONE OF RACING’S MOST LEGENDARY CHARACTERS.

Godspeed, Mr. Lennon. You will be missed.

Rain changed everything.

This whole season we’d only had rain once, and it had been a pathetic, spitting rain that barely wet the pavement. Caused one driver to spin out, but nothing more.

Today was far more.

The chances of crashing were high. Focus couldn’t falter for a second. Seventy-eight laps. Already the pit lane had water enough for the crew’s feet to slosh. This would be messy. But like hell was it going to be a mess from me. Not today.

“Ten seconds,” Beck said in my ear.

The crews sprinted back into the garages, and I wiped away the water dripping down my visor. The lights went on and off.

Spray immediately blinded me.

Fuck , this was why this was so hard. The visibility was almost zero, but I couldn’t go slower or I’d lose my position. The brake lights in front of me were the guide I followed.

The speed helped clear my visor a bit, blowing away the water. The trails from the other cars didn’t, though, splattering it.

But the track wasn’t bad. All things considered, on the wet tyres, it could be worse.

Outside of this car, it was worse. Inside it nothing could reach me. I was a racer, and this is what I did. He was watching right now.

He promised.

Beck was quieter than during a normal race, letting me focus and navigate the weather.

Lap twenty was the first crash, and a safety car. Nothing that made a difference, since it was in the lower standings, but it gave the rest of us a breather as we slowed.

We changed tyres, not risking it. The team had three sets of wet tyres per race, and there was still my pit stop. Fresh tyres now gave me the best chance of keeping on the road.

“Currently P-6,” Beck said. “All green over here.”

I said nothing.

What was there to say?

Laps through clouds of mist blended into one another, like those dreams where nothing felt real until the last second, and yet you noticed every detail and every shift of your body. Every sense was alive, but you were outside of yourself.

“ Red flag . Red. Flag. ” Beck’s voice told me just before I saw it myself, hitting the brakes in time to save myself from hitting the massive fucking pile-up in front of me.

One, two, three… four cars. Two of them were light blue. Fuck. Fuck .

I managed to get past the wreck to circle back to the pit lane. We would need to restart after that. “River?” My voice rang with terror. Not today. Not fucking today.

“He’s fine,” Beck said. “He and Ronan are both fine. It looked worse than it was. Bachman and Payet are fine too. Go ahead and pull through to P-3 for the restart.”

Wait, what? “P-3?”

“Toma slipped ahead of you. And Rossi was already there. He managed to avoid the crash.”

All right. P-3.

If it was possible, the rain fell even harder. Fifteen laps to go, and they were the worst conditions possible.

The lights went on, and then off.

The spray wasn’t nearly as bad behind two cars instead of five. I still couldn’t see shit. But it was better. Third place. I could keep this third place for him. For Vance Lennon .

Antonio Rossi was slow in front of me. The Griffin car couldn’t keep up with mine, and every time he took a corner slower than he needed, I grit my teeth. This track was terrible for overtaking, but I needed to do something. Ten laps, and I wasn’t going to get stuck behind someone being cautious.

He took the next turn too wide. Too close to the wall. Nearly colliding. And leaving an opening.

I know damn well Vance Lennon didn’t teach his granddaughter not to go for an open gap.

River’s voice echoed in my mind and I went for it, just getting by Rossi’s car by inches. He fell away behind me, speed still not enough.

“P-2,” Beck said. I heard the tension and the nerves and shoved them aside. This was exactly where I was fucking meant to be.

Aran’s car was in front of me, throwing spray, but I could see now. Just me and just him.

We came up to the brutal chicane of turns five, six, and seven. It was where I’d fucked up yesterday. The turn was almost hairpin, and even in dry conditions?—

Aran locked up. His car skidded, turning too far toward the inside, and I moved. There was no thought, only reaction as I dragged the car around the outside and through the turn as he caught the car before he put it in the wall. Barely.

Suddenly there was no spray but the rain falling from the sky. The road was open in front of me.

“You are now leading the Grand Prix.”

I sucked in a breath. “Oh my god. Holy fuck.”

Beck’s voice was warm and steady in my ear. “You can do this, Nes. You know what to do. Head down, get it done.”

There was no one who could catch me. The last five laps I pushed just as hard. I wasn’t going to give him the dishonor of taking this easy.

“Last lap, Vanessa.”

The road disappeared under me, and the checkered flag waved as I crossed the line to the roaring crowd, here in spite of the rain.

“P-1,” Beck said, clear emotion in his voice. “P-1, Vanessa. You did it. You won the Monaque Grand Prix.”

Tears spilled over and I let myself sob once. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you for everything.” The words were aimed at more than just the team, and everyone knew it.

I raised my hands in victory when I got out of the car, jumped into the arms of my team, and celebrated. River had me in his arms and kissed me, the rest of them too, before they took me to the podium.

Relief hit me. I won. I won .

I did it.

Happiness mingled with grief. This was everything I wanted and everything he’d wanted and he’d never get to see it now. But he would have.

I took a shaky breath as they called my name and I stepped up onto the platform. The tallest one. My pack stood in the crowd below, staring at me with such awe and love…

I would get through this.

He would have seen this.

It wasn’t grandpa’s spirit that drove me to win. He would have smacked me if I said that. I did this. I won. I held it together, and if he’d been here, he would have seen me win. This was for him.

I burst into tears when they handed me the trophy, everything rushing back in at once. For once, I didn’t care about looking weak, I just wanted to feel it all. The happiness and the grief, the joy and pain.

My face kept breaking, but I stood straight as the anthem played, the trophy in my hand. “If you’re really up there watching,” I whispered, “You owe me a big explanation for pulling this shit.” Then I lifted my gaze to the lightening clouds and closed my eyes. “Thank you.”