Chapter Six

I felt like a kid again.

The thick smell of fuel swept through my nostrils as I entered the paddock, limbs shaky, my heart beating so violently, I was certain it was visible to the naked eye.

I hadn't set foot onto a track since Joshua had died. Before that, really. The smells, the sounds, the feel of the ground beneath my feet—it took me back two-fold. To the British GP, the last race I'd been to and Joshua's final victory. And to the jet ride on my twentieth birthday, an agonizing flight to Austria, while I was obscenely hungover and filled to the brim with distress.

Of course, the story was always the same. I arrived late. This time too late. Nearly snapping my ankle while I raced down the jet's stairs, my phone pressed flat against my ear. Calling. Calling. Calling. Breath held as the world threatened to come full stop. And finally, when my mom answered, and I could hear everything in the way she paused. The way no words found her, found either of us, because there was nothing that could explain the truth. Nothing that made sense anyway.

My brother had died while I was still in the air. The biggest thing in my universe, gone in the blink of an eye.

I remember throwing up on the tarmac. Hunching over on my hands and knees, no strength to stand. My hair fell in my vomit, but there was no one there to pull it back. Just me, with the rest of the world watching. Foreshadowing what was to come. The truth I'd always been afraid of—that without my brother, I was completely alone.

Now, of course, I was used to it. But it was hardly a comfort to be gawked at, which was what was happening now. I'd aimed to come early enough that I might see Charlie and wish him luck, but now I wondered if that was a mistake. It was still morning, with some staff meandering in, the chaotic rush of the upcoming afternoon only just beginning to seep in. Necks craned. Eyes lingered. I wanted nothing more than to turn tail and run.

"June-ah." I spun sharply, nearly slipping out of the heeled sandals I was wearing. My father stood behind me, in a team shirt, a backpack slung over his shoulder. A deep frown dug into his weary features, indicating an incoming lecture. "You've been ignoring my calls," he began, voice stern. "I've been calling for days."

I tried to appear nonchalant, even though the sounds emanating from the team garage were really starting to get to me, sweat beginning to build clammy in my palms. "My service is kinda wonky," I managed. "Did you need something?"

"Yeah. What are you doing here?"

His face was purpling with annoyance, just about as rapidly as nausea was creeping up on me. I couldn't be here. I'd tried and it wasn't working. Honestly, it was unbelievable how quickly my father had been able to return to a track after Joshua. In that sense, he was stronger than I'd thought, because I felt like I might puke at any given second. I refused to back down though, and so aloud, I said, "Charlie invited me," hooking my thumb into the lanyard around my neck, giving the pass a little wiggle. "He didn't tell you?"

He was staring, silent. Unsurprised. Unhappy, also. Like he'd seen this coming from miles away, and just hoped that he could will it away. His usual tactic. I lifted my chin, defiant, even as another wave of nausea rolled over me. "I'm going to go inside and grab a cup of tea," I told him, gesturing over my shoulder. "I'll see you later."

He didn't say anything to this, although I didn't give him much time. I retreated inside without a backward glance, and once out of sight, gasped in a few shaky breaths. The sounds from the garage were more muted now, but I still felt off-kilter, wrong, like when the tide pulls out from under your feet, taking the sand beneath your toes with it.

I was grabbing my tea, my mind slipping elsewhere, when I heard my name again. Gentle this time, and quiet. The roar in my ears lessened slightly and, turning, I found Charlie there, in a yellow and blue team shirt, holding a slightly green banana. "June," he said again. His brows pinched together. "Are you all right?"

He was busy. I could tell by his stance, slightly frozen, as if he'd been midstride when he'd caught sight of me, his shoulders angled stiffly. I coughed. "I..."

Staff were staring. Passersby sneaking glances as they edged around us. Up ahead, I could see Matteo, Charlie's trainer, waiting for him to catch up. "I'm fine," I managed. "Just not much of a morning person, that's all."

His eyes flitted to his watch. It was nearly ten now. Hardly an early bird hour. Still, it was his big day and I didn't want to make it about me. He said before I could tell him this, "You're white as a sheet, June."

"I, uh, ate some questionable sushi last night. It's probably just pre-food poisoning or something."

There wasn't an ounce of humor on his face. Not even a flicker of acknowledgement for my poor attempt at a joke. "Do you want to come to my room?" he asked instead. He gestured behind him. "I have some warmups I have to do, but you can sit at my desk. It's a little more private than out here."

I was minutes away from complete disaster. "You know," I said weakly, hand flying to my chest as I fought the bile down. "I really think I should just hang out here. Out of the way and everything. I have, uh, tea to drink."

Charlie was unconvinced. He jerked his chin in the direction of his trainer, who was now looking on, slightly annoyed. "Come to my room," he told me, this time not a question. You look sick."

I couldn't argue, if only because I was certain that, upon opening my mouth, I would immediately projectile vomit. So I followed him in silence, doing my best to shake away the stares I could feel hammering into my back, the whispers that I knew would follow.

Charlie walked close behind me as we followed Matteo to his room, his fingertips lingering at the small of my back. He was practically brimming with the need to say something, but held back, keeping quiet as three of us slipped through the door and shut ourselves in to the tiny space.

I huddled in the seat at his desk, leaning against the wall and closing my eyes. As if the room weren't already claustrophobic enough, three bodies being crammed in—one of them being F1's biggest heartthrob—made it all the more cramped. It didn't help that I could hear Charlie's heavy breathing as he went through his warmups.

"You should eat the banana I brought," he said between an exercise set. Suddenly, he was near, his body heat pouring over me in one giant rush. "It might help you feel better."

"It's green," I mustered through my teeth, cracking an eye to look at him. The roaring in my ears had started up again, sending my head into a tailspin. "It's not ripe."

"It's ripe enough," he insisted. "They're gross when they get too mushy anyway."

"They're gross when they're like that."

"Don't be such a baby, June."

I dropped my head into my hands at this. "I really can't talk about this," I told him. "It's grossing me out and I already feel sick. I'm totally going to throw up if you keep going."

"I'm not saying you should, but I feel like you'd feel better if you did."

"That's because you just want to win this banana argument, which is not going to happen. Because you're wrong, and you also should be focused on warmups."

"This I agree with," Matteo chimed in and, upon taking a peek, I found him shooting Charlie a very pointed look.

The next half hour passed quickly, despite the steady churning of my stomach, and in the quiet of Charlie's room, I found my nerves waning ever so slightly. I could do this, I kept telling myself. I had to. Not even for Charlie, or to prove a point to my father, or to pretend everything was fine, just fine. I had to do this, if only because Charlie had been right about one thing—at the circuit, on the track, enveloped by everyone and everything that Joshua had lived and breathed, it was almost as if he were here somehow. I could close my eyes and nearly pretend that my brother would burst through the door. Or appear on the TV, smirking his way through an interview. He was close here. It filled my heart almost as much as it made me swell with grief.

"I have to go." Charlie's voice cut through the quiet, and upon opening my eyes, I found him pulling on the rest of his team kit, cheeks rosy from his workout and anticipation. "I'll be back to check on you, though. Lay on the bed, June. Get some rest."

I did as he said without protest, too full of emotion to argue. When the door snicked shut behind him, and I was left alone once more, I couldn't help but breathe out a sob. Even the building—it smelled familiar. Sweat, and rubber, and something sterile in the unforgiving carpet. The tattoo behind my ear grew itchy again. The small 80 that I had gotten etched there following Joshua's death—his racing number, now retired—rarely bothered me. Most times, I forgot it was there. But in moments like these, it seemed to come to life tenfold like a soul awakening.

I scratched at it now, blinking away my tears as I stared up at the ceiling. Fine, just fine, I repeated to myself silently, over and over, as the white walls seemed to swallow me whole. Fine, just fine. Fine, just fine.

It wasn't like I believed it, really. But if I told it to myself enough times, maybe eventually I'd find some truth in it.

I eyed my father from my spot at the balcony railing.

He sat at the pit wall, rigid with focus, his back straight, shoulders set. I should look away, I knew. What with the race unfolding in front of me, nearly three quarters of the way done, with Charlie in the lead. But I couldn't bring myself to look at the track. Not the pit lane. Not the cars. I was zeroed in on my dad, deciphering every small twitch in his body language, to see what he might give away.

I knew he was proud, but still sat with his breath held, waiting to see how this race—and Charlie—might set the tone for the season. Mostly, I was fascinated by how unfazed he seemed by the rest of it. How the whirring of tools during pits, the engines, the fans in the grandstands all seemed to fly right over his head. Certainly, the headset helped, but still, I couldn't understand it. Everything I heard sent blood roaring in my ears. Nausea had been rising in my throat since the lights had gone out, sending the drivers off in a flash, but there he sat, immune to it all. Immune to the loss and the memories and everything Joshua had been.

Typical.

And also, as much as I hated to admit it, enviable. How he could sit there without a flinch, devoid of human emotion.

To be so numb.

And when Charlie was the first to pass the checkered flag in a blur of blue and yellow, I watched my father still. Watched how he pumped his fist and shouted at the monitor. Watched how he loved this sport and this new driver and this potential legacy of his come to life. This sight, at least, made it easy to remember the aim of this weekend. How I planned to leave it all behind as soon as my plane took off tomorrow.

I refused to watch my father ruin Charlie the way he had ruined my brother. There was no stopping it, I knew. But at least I wouldn't be forced to bear witness this time.

Pulling away from the railing now, I made my way down to the garage, where it was alive with joy. On the monitors, I watched as their second driver took P5—the best race results Helios had seen to date. I wanted to simultaneously shrink into a corner and let the mechanics drown me in their celebration.

They chose the latter for me before I could decide, sweeping me with them out of the garage, toward the barricade.

And then it was just Charlie, throwing himself halfway over the rail, hot and breathless, my cheek sticking to the side of his helmet as he put his hand at the back of my neck and held me close.

My heart knocked against my ribs at the nearness. But then he was moving on, yelling something, the world beginning to spin once more as he stepped away.

My chest ached at his hypnotism. I couldn't look away from him, even after everything, and that made me just like everyone else. The world, it seemed, somehow and impossibly, loved him even more than I ever had. When he smiled, when he waved, when he stepped onto the podium and raised the trophy high above his head.

I almost hated it, and yet I couldn't keep from beaming at the sight. My smile split wide across my face as I looked up at him. Pink-cheeked and sweaty from the race, his helmet hair hidden beneath a Helios cap.

He found me later, tucked up in his room once more, the lights off as I hid from the remainder of the celebration, waiting for the crowds to thin and settle. I stood when he entered, words on the tip of my tongue. A congratulations, or an apology, maybe even something meaningless just to fill the space. Whatever it was, I never got the chance. He swept me up into a crushing hug.

And with his face in my neck, no air in my lungs, he began to cry.

It caught me so off guard, my hands hovered above his back, unsure. Still, he sobbed, shoulders heaving, tears wetting my skin. His hair was sticky with sweat when I let my fingers weave through his locks—the evidence of his victory still fresh on every inch of him. "Charlie," I said quietly then. I rested my cheek against his. "Charlie, it's okay."

His own hands clutched at the nape of my neck, my hair bunching beneath his hand as he curled his hand into a fist. Each breath rose and fell slower in his chest, and still he held me this way in the dark, as if he were unable to let go. "June," he said eventually into the quiet. Just a whisper. "June. June. June."

"Yes," I whispered back. "Right here."

He pulled away ever so slightly, hands moving to cup my face. Sweaty forehead pressing to mine as he looked at me with his wide brown eyes, still bright with tears. He inhaled sharply then, gaze dropping to my mouth. His chin pushed forward, putting our lips and a hairsbreadth. And there he lingered, breathing raggedly as he fought the urge to close the last of the distance that remained between us. "June," he said again, just as quietly as before, and yet somehow so differently. "June Park."

"Why are you crying?" I asked in return, just as softly. "You've just won the first race of the season."

"I can't explain it."

"Try."

He shook his head. "I don't know how." Eyes fluttering shut, he exhaled again. "June."

"Yes?"

"June."

"Charlie."

He snorted out a gentle laugh. Then, "I couldn't have done this without you. Thank you for coming today."

"Are you sure it wasn't that seedy shumai restaurant you always go to?"

Another huff of amusement. He pulled away a little, but didn't release me. "I would say I'm pretty sure. Although the shumai probably didn't hurt." His eyes looked me over, reading every inch of my face in a single second. "Please don't run away," he said.

"Big ask, masterclass."

"I know."

I swallowed hard. "I can't make any promises, but I'll try."

"Thanks, Junie."

Reaching up, I smeared the last of the tear tracks from his cheeks, thumb lingering against his skin as I looked up at him. "Should we hide here for a little bit longer, or do you want to go wave to the world?"

"Let's stay. Just for a little longer."

He tugged me toward the wall, where we both sank to the ground, leaning against it, side by side. His hand held mine. In the quiet, his fingers traced circles on my skin. Everything unsaid still hanging thick and uncertain between us. "That's the last time I bet on Milo Neumann," I whispered into the dark.

"Knew you'd come around," he replied without missing a beat. "He's a total loser."

"Is it true he cheated on his ex-fiancée at the Miami GP afterparty?"

"Why else do you think she's his ex-fiancée?" Charlie turned his head to look at me. "Seriously, June. Please no disappearing act."

"I'm right here."

He squeezed my hand. "You know what I mean."

"I'll try." I looked away. "I could really use a burger from West End."

"I'll buy you one when we get back to the States."

"I only like the store on Fifth and Elm. The one on First isn't good."

"Fifth and Elm it is." I could hear his smile more than I could see it. "I'm glad you're here right now. It's much better than sitting in here alone."

My own grin pulled at the corners of my mouth. "Look out, guys. F1's most eligible bachelor might be in love with me or something."

Charlie nudged me with his shoulder and a shake of his head. His legs were stretched out before him like a little kid, still clad in his suit. "There's so much I want to tell you," he said then. "Years worth."

"Well, I'm right here."

"Not tonight, though. I just want to forget the world right now." His eyes found mine once more in the dark. "We have time for the rest of all that."

I tried not to think too hard about the statement, instead forging past it with, "And what exactly does forgetting the world entail?"

"A strong drink and a swim in my pool."

Drunk and practically naked. Sounded like a fantastic combination given all the current tension between us. My answer was a definite no, if I was smart. Instead, I said, "Can we stop by my hotel first? I need to grab a swimsuit."

"Well, it's that or skinny dipping." Leaning his head back, he blew out a long breath. "I'm not quite ready to wave at the world yet, Junie."

I rested my head on his shoulder. "I can wait. I don't mind," I told him. I gave his arm a firm squeeze. "It's like you said—we've got time for the rest of it."

a/n: please vote and/or comment if you enjoyed! i am so so so sorry it took a few extra weeks for me to update life is literally so hectic. i hope you are all enjoying the summer though and i will continue to do my best to update as frequently as i can :3 i don't have much time to edit currently, but i will still try to make time to see this story through! much love to all of u em xo