Page 85 of Formula Dreams
I catch glimpses as they pull Carlos free and lie him on the ground.He looks so still, limp as a rag doll.They start chest compressions on him and that renews my efforts to break away.
Then suddenly, those hands are gone, immediately replaced by arms that wrap around me from behind.Strong and solid, anchoring me.
“Francesca,” Ronan says, his mouth near my ear.“Calm down.”
He’s here.He stopped.He left his car… the race… and came for me.
My knees buckle, vision blurring with hot tears, the guilt crashing over me.I caused this.I did this to Carlos.
I twist in Ronan’s arms, stunned, meeting his eyes through the haze.His helmet is gone, balaclava around his neck.“I did this to Carlos,” I wail, the tears flowing freely down my cheeks.
“No, you didn’t,” he says fiercely and pulls me into him.“That’s the risk of this sport.We all take it.”
My head twists, eyes staring dully as they load Carlos onto a stretcher.
“I’ve got you,” Ronan murmurs, holding me tighter as I sink into despair.“It’s all right.You’re not alone.”
My body caves, shuddering sobs breaking free as I bury my face against him.Marshals shout, smoke billows past us, but in the middle of it—his arms, unmovable, keep me from falling apart.
Behind us, CPR continues.Compress.Breathe.Compress.Breathe.The awful rhythm of final chances.
And I know.We all know.
This isn’t how race days are supposed to end.
CHAPTER 27
Ronan
The screaming fansare gone now, replaced by the sterile hum of hospital machinery and the low murmur of too many people crowded into a waiting room built for half this number.The air smells of disinfectant and burnt coffee, scents I know I’ll forever hate after this.Nearly every driver is here, slouched in hard plastic chairs or pacing the narrow stretch of floor.
The race was called, never resuming after the crash.Nash took podium, but there was no ceremony.It would have been disrespectful, and no one wanted it anyway.I was disqualified, having pulled my car over when I saw Francesca’s in the wall.I didn’t know what happened.Only saw the red flag alerts and came upon the horror of the crash.I should have driven by at the red flag pace, but I saw Francesca being held back by marshals and couldn’t ignore it.I was so relieved at seeing her upright, but I could immediately feel her fear and grief.I couldn’t get to her fast enough.
Union Jack Motorsports has gathered in a tight knot in a corner, faces pale, eyes fixed anywhere but on each other.Bex hovers close to Nash, while Posey sits rigid a few seats down with Lex’s arm around her.His expression is unreadable, but his foot taps a restless rhythm against the tile.Carlos’s parents aren’t here—couldn’t be, not with their health—but word has spread that a private jet is already in the air to bring them.Everyone waits, suspended in the kind of silence that’s louder than engines could ever be.
My eyes are fixed on Francesca, standing by herself near the window.Her arms are wrapped around her stomach, her eyes blankly overlooking the parking lot.She hasn’t spoken since the ambulance pulled out with sirens blaring.I took that as a hopeful sign, that they were rushing Carlos to the hospital, but Francesca’s look was so bleak, I was afraid she knew something I didn’t.When the ambulance was out of sight, I looked down at her.Her cheeks were still wet, but her eyes were dry.She didn’t blink.Didn’t cry anymore.She just… calcified.Became hard as rock.
Nash sits beside me, elbows braced on his knees, fingers locked like he’s praying.I jolt when he speaks.“Is she okay?”
I tear my eyes from Francesca to find him staring at her with worry.There’s only one answer.“No.She thinks she caused the crash.”
“She didn’t,” Nash says.“I saw the footage.When the Matterhorn spun out, no one could have avoided that mess.”
“I know,” I murmur.But that doesn’t matter to Francesca.I tried to tell her that a bit ago, but she walked away from me to stand sentry at the window.
A cup of coffee appears under my nose and I glance up to see Luca standing there with the offer.My stomach rebels at the idea, but I take it anyway.“Thank you.”
I watch as Giulia and Alessio enter the waiting room, moving to Francesca’s side at the window.I met her brother for the first time about an hour ago when we all arrived and we’ve barely said two words to each other.As they should, they’re rallying around Francesca, but I can see she’s not responding to them any better than she did to me.
“She’ll be all right,” Luca says softly, and my gaze turns back to him.“She’s strong.”
I know she is, but everyone has their limits.I cannot adequately begin to catalog the storm of emotions within me right now, but the main one is worry for my girl.
A stillness permeates the room, and I turn to see a doctor walking in, pulling a surgical mask off his face.He glances around at the crowd, seeming to be at a loss as to who to talk to.The Union Jack team principal moves to him, dread on his face.I stand up and start making my way back to Francesca.She turns, and it crushes me to see her eyes filled with hope.It hurts because I can tell by the look on the doctor’s face it’s not good.
I reach Francesca’s side just as the doctor addresses everyone in the room.
Calm, clinical, mercilessly final.“I’m sorry.We did everything we could.He never regained consciousness.”
