Page 89 of Formula Dreams
“I’m not racing,” I say, trying to back out of his embrace.
“Easy now,” he murmurs, pulling me in to press a kiss to my forehead.“You race when you’re ready to race, but you’re still coming with me.You’re coming back to the track even if it’s just to cheer me on.I’m not letting you walk away from a career that you were made for.”
“But I might never—”
“Doesn’t matter.However long it takes, but you’re going to do it by my side.”
And then it’s on me.The dam breaks and my tears fall hot and silent as I press my forehead to his chest and his arms tighten around me.Strong and sure, holding me like he can absorb every broken piece.
“I love you,” I choke out.“It’s because I love you that I ran away.”
“I know.”His mouth presses to my head, his voice rough with relief.“But that’s not the right reasoning.I’m asking you to come backbecauseyou love me.”
For the first time since Silvercrest, the air in my lungs doesn’t feel poisoned.Instead, it feels like maybe there’s a way forward.
Ronan tips my chin, his eyes searching mine as if to make sure I really believe it.I don’t look away because I’m spellbound by the devotion I see in him.
“I’m terrified,” I admit, the words tumbling out with the tears.“But I’m more scared of not being with you.”
The corner of his mouth curves, the relief shining in his eyes.“That’s all I needed to hear.”
His lips find mine, the kiss steady and grounding.It’s like he’s staking a claim neither of us could ever walk away from.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine.“Pack a bag, Accardi.We’ve got to catch a flight to Monaco.”
A shaky laugh slips out of me—thin, watery, but real.I curl my fingers into his shirt, hold on tight, and let myself believe him.Believe us.
Because love and fear may walk hand in hand in the world of race, but I’m never going to let fear be the thing that wins.
EPILOGUE
Ronan
Silvercrest is nothingbut pure pandemonium.
The engines have long been silenced, and the post-race interviews done.Most of the grandstands are still packed, fans riveted to giant screens around the track to watch the podium ceremony.Other stands have been emptied, only for the fans to crowd around the base of the elevated podium where the winners will be honored.
The smell of rubber and fuel hangs in the air, clings to my hair and clothing.It’s familiar… a part of me on a cellular level.One of the stewards motions me forward because it’s time.
I step out from behind the massive backdrop laden with sponsor logos to a deafening roar of the home crowd.I placed third, a big points win for Crown Velocity.The world tilts for just a second as the enormity of this moment hits.
Because it’s been a year since Carlos died on this very pavement.A year since I almost lost Francesca to her guilt and fears.
I reach over, touch the patch on my shoulder.It’s small, barely bigger than a business card but it has one word embroidered on it.
Carlos.
Black on black, easy to miss unless you’re looking.But I feel its weight heavier than the trophy that’s handed to me.I shake hands with the VIP presenting it and hold it up.The crowd roars it’s approval because a British boy just took third at the British track of Silvercrest.It doesn’t get a whole lot better than that.
The announcer calls second place and from behind the backdrop, Nash Sinclair emerges.His purple and gray Titans racing suit is still zipped to the top and he’s wearing a ball cap with a tire sponsor logo on his head, same as me.The crowd cheers, but admittedly, it’s not as loud as mine.I don’t say that to sound egotistical, but Nash is American and he’s racing for an American team, although it was originally based in England.Titans Racing has made their mark on the Formula International world and they’re going to continue to be a huge contender going forward.
Nash bounds up the tiered podium, that grin of his making every camera flash.Several American flags whip in the stands as fans scream his name.He takes his place, accepts his trophy, and hoists it up with both hands in victory.
Then his gaze comes to mine and we both smile, because they always save the best for last.
The announcer’s voice rolls like a drumbeat.“And your winner… first place at Silvercrest—Francesca Accardi!”
The crowd detonates.If I thought they were loud for me, the sound explodes outward like an atomic bomb.True, she’s Italian not English, and it’s also true that as a driver for the Titans she doesn’t race for an English team.But what sets her apart is the fact that she’s the first female driver in Formula International history to take the top spot on the podium.
