Page 29 of Racing Hearts
I walked into the room and threw my trophy onto the sofa. Matteo’s voice pulled me out of my fog.
“Luca,” Matteo said as he handed me a towel. “Howdidyou know Georgia wasn’t okay?”
I shrugged. “Luck, I guess.”
“Luck? Really?”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. Because truthfully, I couldn’t articulate how I knew. I’d felt it in my gut, the way you feel a storm before it breaks. Something wasn’t right.
“Fine, keep your secrets.” Matteo picked up the trophy to admire it. “Anyway. Nice driving today. Really. You know, Rennen approached me after the race.”
I blinked. “Why?”
He looked uneasy as he placed the trophy onto my coffee table. “They’re interested in you.”
I scoffed. “Don’t waste your time, Matteo. Hermes is where I belong.” I tried to sound more convinced than I felt.
Matteo looked like he wanted to press, but something in my face stopped him. He exhaled slowly and stood. “It doesn’t hurt to have a conversation, Luca. But it’s nothing we need to talk about now. Get changed, press conference is in a few.”
As the door shut behind him, I continued to stare at the trophy. The room felt hotter than it should with the AC blasting, and that feeling was bubbling back up—the one where no matter how hard I fought or how well I drove, things around me would never change.
Rennen F1 wasn’t going to happen.
Michael Rossi, three-time World Champion for Hermes, had no intention of watching his son wear another team’s colors. Hermes was his legacy.
As far as my father was concerned, I was going to die in his shadow.
Chapter Twelve
Georgia
Once the podium celebration was over, I was moved back to the medical tent, and after some more fluids, I was beginning to feel like a new person. The podium celebration had breathed new life into me. Getting up there and being able to accept the trophy, it gave my critics less fuel to the raging fire that seemed to be my racing career.
Or so I hoped.
“How do you feel?” Isabelle called out from behind me.
“Much better, thank you.”
“That was an excellent race today. You showed great pace, and I’m sorry we didn’t prepare you enough as a racer. Next time, tell us when there’s an issue. The championship isn’t more important than your safety.” Her words hung heavy. It wasn’t often Isabelle admitted fault, and I didn’t take the apology lightly. I nodded slowly, searching her face.
“Well, thankfully Henri was quick to bring me in here.”
“You mean Luca,” she corrected.
I blinked in confusion. “Luca?”
Pausing, I closed my eyes, trying to remember the events that had led to the medical tent. I remembered the weight on my chest, my hands trying to grip the halo. I’d somehow made it to the weigh station. And then, as things were going dark, a familiar scent of lilacs and pine trees surrounded me. Where did I know that cologne from?
Then it clicked. It wasLuca’scologne. Somehow, he’d sensed my desperation and had been the one to pull me from the car.
But how did he know?
I sat up a bit straighter, swinging my feet off the edge of the cot. The thought of him seeing my panic before I had even registered it unsettled me. A strange warmth bloomed in my chest, one that had absolutely nothing to do with dehydration.
“I-I need to th-thank him,” I said suddenly.
“Well, fortunately, you’ll be able to do that at the press conference. Starts in thirty.”
