Pit Lane Persephone

Chapter 30: Seb

Dressed in the same gray suit I wore at the gala in Barcelona, I pace at the foot of the bed. Tugging on my cuff, I look at my wristwatch. Five minutes until seven. I should get going. Whatever is going to happen—or not happen—at the final team dinner, there's no need for me to be late. As I leave the room and wait for the lift, I recall the note I'd written hours earlier. Tucked into a bouquet of pink and white flowers, I had it sent to Lauren's room two floors up.

At midnight, we are no longer teammates. If I can come over to say what I can't before, pin one of these on Marcus' jacket. -S

Maybe it was stupid. Hell, I sounded completely desperate. I should have just written congratulations and left it at that. But the thing is, I am desperate. Desperate to let her know how I feel, ready to accept rejection if she doesn't want me back. Closure, I think they call it.

Downstairs, a couple of the guys are already getting the party started. Scotty and Enzo are halfway done with their beers, while Tomas has just downed a shot when I sit down. Two long tables have been pushed together and the rest of our dozen-strong group is slowly trickling into Meat Street, the hotel's signature steakhouse. Of course Lauren and her father have to be last, arriving with Nigel twenty minutes late. I nearly choke on my water when Marcus steps out from behind the team manager, an off-white rose pinned to his lapel. So that's a definite yes.

I wave at Lauren, gorgeous—as always—in a strappy, camisole top and slacks that make her legs seem like they go on forever. She smiles back before sitting on the other end, dashing my hopes of staring at her all evening. That would probably be creepy, anyway.

"Ahem. If I could get everyone's attention, please." Nigel stands at the head of the table, knocking his fork against his glass. A waiter had already passed out champagne to everyone but us riders, the only underage members of the group. I squint at my glass of ice water. Stupid American laws.

"I promise I'll make this quick, but I wanted to say a few words before this season officially ends," Nigel says as all eyes turn to him. "First of all," he continues, taking a plastic shopping bag out from under the table. "Does anyone know where I could sell a thousand of these? One hundred percent cotton and half-off." He pulls out a white T-shirt with the Cadmium Racing logo, a huge number "1" and "Bianchi x2" on it.

The table waits for my reaction, but when I laugh—what else am I going to do—everyone joins in.

"Seriously, though." Nigel turns to me and tips his glass. "We've been lucky to have ya with us for the past three years, mate, and it hurts us just as much that you're not going out on the high note ya deserve."

I have to hold my breath for a second before clearing my throat, the looks of genuine sympathy from my crew around the table almost making me tear up. Maybe I should've just taken a comfortable fourth place finish instead of battling Martin for third. These guys worked so hard all season for me to be world champion again, and now I've let all of them down.

But I just couldn't get that bastard's face out of my mind as he taunted me after the Italian race. I thought I had him, too, but after overtaking on the inside of turn six, I drifted wide and left myself open. By the time we got to the Corkscrew, it was personal. Riding out of passion is one thing, but riding out of anger usually ends badly. Today was no exception.

Imitating Lauren's form on the infamous combination that drops twelve percent in elevation between elements, my confidence outpaced my skill. Only by aggressively decelerating and running into the gravel did I manage to avoid serious injury. But it also meant my race was effectively over, and Diego Martin secured third place while I could only rejoin in fifth.

"With that said, it's off to bigger and better now ain't it?" Nigel waves for me to stand.

I hate speeches, so I had practiced something short and to the point. Pushing my chair back, I steady myself against the table. From this height, I finally get a peek at Lauren again, and the way she's looking at me—with an impossible blend of affection in her smile and sadness in her eyes—makes me blank on what I wanted to say. Lowering my gaze, I shake my head and clear my throat. When I look up, I make sure to avoid the girl's face or I'd never get through this.