Page 65 of Retrograde
Lucie and Brett had settled into a routine over the last few days. They would wake up, have breakfast outside, Brett would start work on whichever renovation task needed his immediate attention or attend an online therapy session, Lucie would get her laptop out and type and plan away, they’d break for lunch either with or without the Andersons, go back to work, shower, help Rosa and Maggie cook dinner and then escape to Brett’s room as early as possible and lock the door. Not once did they discuss what it meant, and not once did they hesitate when one of them went in for a kiss which always turned into more.
Lucie was addicted, and when Brett had been helping her pack her suitcase for Le Mans and teased that she’d better stay away from other drivers’ hotel rooms, she hadn’t commented. She’d leaned in for another kiss and the packing had been temporarily forgotten.
Still lost in her feelings in the boarding lounge, she came face to face with a photo of Brett on the front page of an Italian newspaper. The headline read ‘Disgraced IEC Star Cut From Team Permanently.’ Lucie was seething. She knew that newspaper had a reputation for misleading stories and smearing reputations of athletes, but this one was personal. She snapped a quick, sneaky photo and emailed it to the relevant team representatives.
Brett wasn’t disgraced at all. In fact, fans, sponsors and drivers had only expressed their concern, love and respect for Brett and whatever he was going through. Nobody had theorised or sent the rumour mill wild, and the team had made it abundantly clear that his absence was temporary, and he would be welcomed back when he was ready. Only Brett and the team bosses knew the timeline, so this speculation by some stupid journalist was nonsense.
She huffed and puffed while she pulled her laptop out of her cabin bag, wishing she’d had the privilege of using the team’s plane today. She had a short flight from Florence to Paris and they were sending a car to the airport for her, which would stop to get Bea on the way as per Lucie’s request, so at least she didn’t have to sit alone with her anger for too long.
The social media crews had a busy week ahead as it was, but the Girls Off Trackteam had a jam-packed schedule and Lucie’s head was about to explode. She was just finishing up editing their photoshoot and it was almost ready to roll out mid-race, and her interview with the sports magazine had been finalised and was due to be published the day before. But of course, they had their own VIPs coming to Le Mans this year, and she was supposed to be helping Faith film a podcast amid it all.
They were due to have Jennifer Lockhart host a workshop during the UK’s October half-term break later in the year. She was using it to test the waters and decide if she wanted her team to be a sponsor and host more frequently. If she did, Girls Off Track would be ableto expand beyond the IEC. If they could get Formula Voltz and perhaps one other championship involved, their reach would be astronomical. Even as it stood, they were in a position where they could afford to do pop-ups in different cities across the world.
By the time she was called to board, Lucie felt clearer-headed. The newspaper with Brett’s face on it had been folded up and put away, and she had successfully finished her tasks and finalised the schedule for the week. She was ready to tackle Le Mans head on.
Julien had agreed to be more heavily involved in content to take some of the pressure off Garrett in his first race with the team, and so fans hopefully focused more on Julien’s growing presence and less on Brett’s absence.
As she settled into her economy flight, having agreed with the team that it was silly to pay so much for her to sit in business class for an hour and forty-five minutes, Lucie inwardly rolled her eyes as her seatmate opened a second newspaper, straight onto another article about Brett. Lucie read some of it sneakily, almost laughing out loud at the theories the journalists were coming up with.
They had decided this time that Sienna was pregnant, and Brett was taking a break to raise their baby. None of these journalists were doing research, evidently. Lucie and Brett’s sisters had all posted video evidence of him at the farmhouse, and he had hinted at his location, too. It was obvious if they bothered to look. Imagine Sienna on a farm. It was never going to happen.
‘This is despicable, isn’t it?’ the woman next to her muttered in Italian. ‘Why can’t the tabloids leave thepoor man alone? He clearly has something going on, I’m sure speculation is the last thing he needs.’
‘They don’t care, they just want a pay cheque.’
The woman tutted, outwardly matching the anger Lucie had been feeling since the headline she’d spotted in the departures lounge. ‘They should care. Just focus on the sport, I say.’
Lucie silently agreed and spent the duration of the flight stewing over it. What the outside world often failed to understand was how deep an impact articles like this had, not just on the person at the centre of the story, but also on their families. Maggie didn’t deserve to see her son being torn apart, his life dissected. Even Sienna, as much as Lucie disliked her, didn’t deserve to have the world’s media publicly speculating on something as personal as her body and fertility.
‘You could at least look happy to see me!’ Bea flung herself onto the back seat of the SUV while their driver put her two cases next to Lucie’s one.
Her bubbly personality was enough to cheer Lucie up. ‘Sorry, hi.’
‘I know you usually travel with Brett, and everyone else has a travel buddy. That’s why I offered to keep you company,’ Bea smiled. ‘Plus, when Revolution offers a ride, you know it’s going to be decked out with all the best snacks.’ She pulled a packet of pretzels from the door pocket in victory, hastily plugging her seatbelt in when their driver returned to the wheel.
Lucie took the pretzel she was offered, savouring thesalt on the tip of her tongue. ‘How did we get here, hey?’ she teased, referencing a couple of seasons ago when you could cut the tension with a knife any time the two of them were in the same room.
‘I had a personality transplant, that’s how.’
They spent the drive to Le Mans laughing away as they reminisced about some of the IEC’s most scathing behind-the-scenes arguments, fall-outs and frenemy situations. It was just the distraction that they needed before the busy weekend ahead of them.
Stopping briefly at the hotel to drop off their bags and get their room keys, Lucie and Bea went their separate ways once they got to the circuit. Le Mans often felt like the Hollywood of motorsport in the IEC calendar; in the world of motorsport it was only rivalled by Monaco.
It was known to be a hellish twenty-four hours with crashes galore, technical difficulties, challenging team dynamics, a crazy amount of media attention, a higher fan attendance than any other race and a lot more time and money poured into the event. It wasn’t just about the racing. There was a drivers’ parade in the streets of the city, a funfair, more press, a full week of build-up before the race flag was waved. They had literal royalty here most years, and some of the world’s biggest celebrities attended, not just for publicity, but because they had grown up watching Le Mans and developing a love for it that non-racing fans would never grasp. They even had Hollywood actors racing the cars themselves or running teams. Le Mans was different. It was magical.
‘Lucie!’ Faith’s head of blonde hair whipped aroundto face her, hitting Julien in the face. He blinked but waved a hello, leaving his wife to abandon their conversation and run into Lucie’s arms. Julien often joked that there were three people in the relationship.
‘Hello, you.’ Lucie squeezed her back. She’d always been a hugger, and thankfully everyone at Revolution matched her energy. ‘Ready to crack on? We’ve got so much to do. First up is the podcast episode.’
‘One step ahead of you, I’ve already got the equipment set up in the drivers’ trailer.’
‘You’re amazing, I hope you realise that.’
Brett was going crazy at the farm. His mum and sisters were gallivanting around the local area, and although he had been busy with restoring Mateo’s cars, gardening and cooking with Rosa and sanding the floors, he had spent every spare second glued to his phone. His teammates had, with Jasper’s permission, kept him up to date with strategies and statistics in the team group chat, Revolution Royals, and Mateo had happily put the race on the brand-new TV in the living room.
He was kneeling in soil, replanting some of Rosa’s flowers, when Gabriel called him. It was the first time any of his bosses had picked up the phone to speak to him. He was grateful for that; some days when the team did choose to get in touch it felt like rubbing salt in the wound. They had stuck to texting every now and then to give him space, so naturally, whenGabriel Lopezappeared on his screen in big, white letters, his heart started racing. Why was the CEO of the organisation calling?
‘Anderson?’ Gabriel yelled over the noise. Did that man ever make use of conference rooms? He seemed to do all his business from cafés, hospitality tents and garages.
