Before You Go

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

I felt like a kid again.

The thick smell of fuel swept through my nostrils as I entered the paddock, limbs shaky, my heart beating so violently, I was certain it was visible to the naked eye.

I hadn't set foot onto a track since Joshua had died. Before that, really. The smells, the sounds, the feel of the ground beneath my feet—it took me back two-fold. To the British GP, the last race I'd been to and Joshua's final victory. And to the jet ride on my twentieth birthday, an agonizing flight to Austria, while I was obscenely hungover and filled to the brim with distress.

Of course, the story was always the same. I arrived late. This time too late. Nearly snapping my ankle while I raced down the jet's stairs, my phone pressed flat against my ear. Calling. Calling. Calling. Breath held as the world threatened to come full stop. And finally, when my mom answered, and I could hear everything in the way she paused. The way no words found her, found either of us, because there was nothing that could explain the truth. Nothing that made sense anyway.

My brother had died while I was still in the air. The biggest thing in my universe, gone in the blink of an eye.

I remember throwing up on the tarmac. Hunching over on my hands and knees, no strength to stand. My hair fell in my vomit, but there was no one there to pull it back. Just me, with the rest of the world watching. Foreshadowing what was to come. The truth I'd always been afraid of—that without my brother, I was completely alone.

Now, of course, I was used to it. But it was hardly a comfort to be gawked at, which was what was happening now. I'd aimed to come early enough that I might see Charlie and wish him luck, but now I wondered if that was a mistake. It was still morning, with some staff meandering in, the chaotic rush of the upcoming afternoon only just beginning to seep in. Necks craned. Eyes lingered. I wanted nothing more than to turn tail and run.

"June-ah." I spun sharply, nearly slipping out of the heeled sandals I was wearing. My father stood behind me, in a team shirt, a backpack slung over his shoulder. A deep frown dug into his weary features, indicating an incoming lecture. "You've been ignoring my calls," he began, voice stern. "I've been calling for days."

I tried to appear nonchalant, even though the sounds emanating from the team garage were really starting to get to me, sweat beginning to build clammy in my palms. "My service is kinda wonky," I managed. "Did you need something?"

"Yeah. What are you doing here?"

His face was purpling with annoyance, just about as rapidly as nausea was creeping up on me. I couldn't be here. I'd tried and it wasn't working. Honestly, it was unbelievable how quickly my father had been able to return to a track after Joshua. In that sense, he was stronger than I'd thought, because I felt like I might puke at any given second. I refused to back down though, and so aloud, I said, "Charlie invited me," hooking my thumb into the lanyard around my neck, giving the pass a little wiggle. "He didn't tell you?"

He was staring, silent. Unsurprised. Unhappy, also. Like he'd seen this coming from miles away, and just hoped that he could will it away. His usual tactic. I lifted my chin, defiant, even as another wave of nausea rolled over me. "I'm going to go inside and grab a cup of tea," I told him, gesturing over my shoulder. "I'll see you later."

He didn't say anything to this, although I didn't give him much time. I retreated inside without a backward glance, and once out of sight, gasped in a few shaky breaths. The sounds from the garage were more muted now, but I still felt off-kilter, wrong, like when the tide pulls out from under your feet, taking the sand beneath your toes with it.