Page 27

CHAPTER 27

Senna

The camera focuses on Connor’s car, which has smashed into the wall.

There’s no movement.

“Please be okay,” I whisper to the screen, but still, there’s nothing.

The crowd is silent. The pit crew is frozen. Wetness covers my cheeks. I didn’t know I was crying.

“Please, Connor,” I whisper. And suddenly, I’m throwing my headphones down, jumping off my chair and running.

Where he crashed means he’ll be on the other side of the garage. Because of safety measures, I won’t get to him, but maybe I’ll get closer. It won’t help—nothing can—but I need to do something.

What if Connor needs rehabilitation or someone there for him? Connor has others, but he needs me.

I push past engineers and crew as I near the back of the garage. Steam rises from his car, and suddenly, there’s another threat. His car might spark! He could burn in there.

Tears continue to stream down my face; I might lose my best friend again. We’d just reconnected. I fired Antoine as soon as he started driving dangerously. Maybe I should have waited until the end of the race, because that must have spurred on his vendetta. He was possessed.

I reach the fence and relentlessly rub my scar as I hunt for movement.

Please, God, let him be okay.

My body is ice, and I’m sure my heart stops. My eyes are swollen from crying. The steam isn’t helping, either. I rush back and forth against the fence to get a better view.

And then I see him.

Connor slowly climbs out of the car. His body shakes violently. My fist is against my mouth. I’ll scream if I don’t keep my lips pressed tightly together.

He shakes his limbs. He needs to escape the car, but he’s frozen. Of course he is. He’s in shock.

“Connor,” I shout, although it’s more of a cross between a gasp and a shriek. He can’t hear me with his helmet on, but I won’t stop shrieking his name even as my throat is hoarse from steam and screaming.

Suddenly, he looks up and starts walking to the fence. There will be a gap—there’s always a gap. I search for it, but the steam hides everything.

As I investigate each part of the fence, a marshal points to an opening, and Connor slides through.

He pulls off his helmet. His face is the palest I’ve ever seen, and I reach for him. His skin is freezing.

As he opens his mouth, his lips tremble. He whispers something.

I lean in and catch his words. “Please don’t go to Australia.”

And then he falls to the ground.