Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
It’s nothing special—just an aluminum bottle with a Titans logo on the side—but I like it. I turned around to retrieve it, and as I was pulling back into the grocery store lot, I saw him.
Ronan. Walking across the road, shoulders hunched slightly, hands buried in his jacket pockets. He moved like someone who wasn’t in a hurry and slipped inside a pub without looking up.
I slowed to a stop, heart ticking. He said he was going back to Woking. But the way he moved—tight, coiled, not like the cocky, controlled version of himself I’m used to seeing—makes me think that was a lie.
I didn’t overthink it. I parked my car and followed him.
The door creaks when I push it open, and I’m hit with a wave of warm air. It’s dim inside, only a few scattered locals nursing pints and pretending not to notice the Formula International driver who just walked in off the street.
My eyes scan the room and find Ronan sitting at the end of the bar, half-shadowed, a pint in front of him and his phone face down beside it.
We lock eyes and there’s no smirk or frown, which I’ve seen plenty of today. Just the barest hint of surprise, which then turns to wariness.
I walk over and slide onto the stool next to him without asking. “Forgot my water bottle,” I say, like it explains everything.
Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn’t.
He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t tell me to leave either.
The bartender approaches and I order a pint of a local brew to justify being here. When it arrives, I sip and let the silence hang for a moment. “You’re not going to say anything?”
Ronan exhales slowly. “What would you like me to say?”
“That depends. Are we pretending this is a coincidence, or are we both admitting we’re bad at exits?”
He huffs and it’s not quite a laugh. “You followed me.”
“You lied. You ditched us for dinner because you said you had to get back to Woking.” That earns me a glance. His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t argue.
We sip in silence for a stretch, and I note he’s staring at his pint glass, fingers absently tracing the condensation. The usual coldness in his posture is dulled—his edges less defined.
I watch him for a moment longer, then ask, “What’s the deal with you and Lex, anyway?”
His hand pauses. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, there’s obvious tension between you and it’s not the competitive type. I recall you two used to be good mates, but now you’re not.”
The corner of his mouth curls into a sardonic smile as he stares harder at his beer. “Surprised you haven’t heard the story.”
“I spent most of last year buried in FI2,” I say. “Didn’t exactly have time to keep up with grid gossip.”
He lifts his pint, takes a slow sip, then sets it down. He turns toward me on the stool, resting a forearm on the bar, and it’s a move of openness and invitation. “You know the general story of how Posey and Lex got together?”
I nod. “She said she was a journalist, but she’s really a romance author. I remember it blew up for, like, a day? Hot news item, then disappeared.”
He huffs a humorless sound. “Yeah. I’m the one who outed her to the press.”
I blink. “Wait—seriously?”
He nods once and doesn’t look away. Just clear eyes.
“Why?”
“Why indeed?” he murmurs and barks a sarcastic laugh to a very private joke he must have been thinking about. Then he turns to me and drops a truth bomb. “I was jealous of Posey. She was taking my friend away and I didn’t like it. Joke’s on me because it was such a shitty thing to do, outing her the way I did, it cost me my friendship with Lex.”
That’s real pain I hear. And self-loathing.
“The fact you acknowledge it was a shitty thing to do speaks volumes about your character.” I let that sit between us for a moment. “Maybe it’s not permanent.”
He shakes his head. “It is. We don’t talk. We don’t train together. We barely make eye contact unless there’s a camera in the room.”
“You could spend time together again,” I say gently. “Start there.”
“Yeah, that won’t be happening.” Ronan doesn’t look at me. “I wasn’t nice to Posey either, so I doubt Lex would throw water on me if I were burning.”
Being caught in a car fire after a crash is something we all fear, so that speaks to the depths of the divide between them.
“What’d you do to Posey other than outing her?” I prod.
He pauses, and for the first time tonight, his eyes reflect what looks a lot like regret.
“Let’s just say I wasn’t very nice to her,” he replies firmly, clearly unwilling to share details. “And leave it at that. There’s no coming back from it.”