Page 7

CHAPTER 7

Senna

A sound in the corridor brings my tears to an end. Fuck. It’s bad enough no one respects me, but if they find me crying to my big brother because I can’t manage my team, I’m screwed.

“I’ll talk to him, sis. He’ll behave better once we chat. I will make him listen,” Niki says.

“No, I need to fight my own battles. I’ll sort it. Don’t worry about me. I needed to get everything out.” And I had no one else to talk to.

I walk to the door of the gym and peek through the opening. No one is there, although there’s a faint smell of wood and lavender. I know who smells of that, but if Connor had heard me cry, he’d have made a point of showing me he’d heard.

I rub my thumb over my scar as anxiety grips my throat. Not that anxiety is ever far from me these days, but this is another wave for me to drown under.

“Senna—”

“No, Niki. I don’t need you to protect me or do the big brother thing. I need you to listen.”

He grumbles down the receiver. I shouldn’t have spoken to him, but he’d called me amidst a bout of insomnia, and I let everything out.

“Anyway, I wanted to tell you about the car,” I say. “Dad cut costs. We got through pre-season and practice okay, but qualifying is today, and we won’t have enough spare parts if something happens. We need investors.”

“You need to talk to Dad.”

“And let him see he was right and that I’m not good enough to run this team?” I flip my trainers off and start pacing the gym. “He wanted you to lead Coulter Racing.”

I should ask him how he’s doing, but Niki’s avoided that question since he walked away from everything he’d worked for and disappeared after signing Connor. I study my scar. After my accident, I walked away, too. Although at first I was devastated, over time I realised that my accident allowed me to consider other options for my future. I miss racing, but I’m lucky that I had other skills. I thought I’d find other ways to make my dad proud.

“Dad picked me because sometimes he’s a misogynistic arse,” Niki adds, dragging me back to the conversation. “You’re good enough, and most people at Coulter know it. And eventually, Dad will, too. But for now, you continue with the team. Once we win races, investors will flood in.”

“That’s easy then.” My chuckle is hollow.

“You got it in the bag.”

This time, I do laugh genuinely, although my heart aches. I miss my brother so much.

“So how are you? How are your scars?” I mean the emotional one as much as the physical ones.

There’s a noise in the background of the call, and I tip my head. “That’s the door. I’d best go,” he replies.

He’ll tell me when he wants me to know. As much as he’s the best older brother, he’s also independent and obstinate, like me.

“Please stay safe, okay?”

“Yes, sis. You too. Good luck with qualifying later and the race tomorrow. And try to get some sleep, even a couple of hours.”

We say goodbye as I hang up.

I need to get to the track and check everything for qualifying. This means putting my power suit on and listening to the songs that get me ready to face the shit that’s going to be flung my way, including whatever Connor has prepared for me today.

I slip my earbuds in, pop “The Man” by Taylor Swift on, and head back to the room. My gaze swings left and right as I hunt for my earlier eavesdropper, but there’s no sign of them. As I step into the lift, I catch the reflection of my red-rimmed eyes and pinched features. I flip the volume and let Taylor obliterate the exhaustion of the last week.

I rub my scar, remembering what my dad said after Connor had made me crash at seventeen. You were never going to be in Formula One, sweetheart. Everyone knows girls don’t do that. Maybe it’s time to find out what you’re good at.

Those words have acted as my personal motivation and boss origin story for the last ten years.

It’s time to kick ass and show the fans, my dad, and all the teenage drivers who used to bully me precisely what I’m capable of.