Page 33 of The Finish Line
“Someone sent me hate mail.It happens.”She snatched at the card again, and this time I let her take it, watching her fingers close around it like it meant nothing.Like it hadn’t made my blood run cold.Like it wasn’t making me want to track down whoever wrote it and—
“This isn’t a tweet or an Instagram comment, Lily.”I fought to keep my voice level.“This wasgivento you.When?”
“After Miami.”She tossed the card back onto the coffee table like it was junk mail.“And nothing’s happened since, so clearly it was just some idiot blowing off steam.”
“You don’t know that’s all this is.”
“And you don’t know it isn’t.”She moved past me toward the minibar, and I caught another wave of that floral scent.It didn’t distract me this time; I was too busy trying to reconcile how casually she was treating all this, like we were discussing the weather.“Look, Henri, I appreciate the concern or whatever this is, but I’m fine.It’s one note from one crazy person.I’m not going to run to security over every piece of hate mail I get.”
“This isn’t…” I grabbed the card again, holding it up.“This specifically mentions me.‘Mess up Henri again.’What does that even mean?”
She took a long drink of water, her expression unreadable.“Probably referring to Miami.You know, when I ‘caused’ that whole incident.”Air quotes around the word “caused.”“Even though the stewards cleared me.”
“That’s not what this sounds like.”
“Then what does it sound like to you?”She set the bottle down with more force than necessary.“Because to me, it sounds like some fan got upset their favorite driver didn’t win.It’s creepy, sure, but it’s not exactly a death threat.”
“‘Next time, you won’t walk away’ sounds pretty threatening to me.”
“What do you want me to do, Henri?”She spun to face me fully, exasperation clear in her voice.“Go crying to the FIA?Make headlines about how poor Lily Blackwood can’t handle a little hate mail?Give the media another reason to question whether I’m tough enough for this sport?”
“This isn’t about being tough.”
“Of course it is.”She laughed, but there was no humor in it.“Everything is about being tough enough, strong enough, good enough.You think if I report this, it’ll stay quiet?Someone leaks it, and suddenly I’m the fragile female driver who needs extra security or who can’t handle the pressure.I saw that last year with my friend in Indy Car.”
I stared at her—at the defiant tilt of her chin, the way she stood like she was ready for a fight.But I could see it now: the slight tremor in her hands, the too-quick breathing she was trying to hide.
“You’re scared,” I said quietly.
“I’m annoyed.”She turned away.“Annoyed that you’re making this into something it’s not, and annoyed that you apparently think I can’t handle my own problems.”
“That’s not—”
“Just leave it alone, Henri.”She moved to the door, opening it pointedly.“It’s one note.I’m not going to let some coward with a pen ruin my night.”
I didn’t move.“What if there’s another one?”
“Then I’ll throw that one away too.”She gestured to the open door.
“Well, youhaven’tthrown this one away.”
Without hesitation, Lily grabbed the card from me, dropping the piece of paper into the trash closest to the suite’s entrance, a smug look on her face.
“Happy?”
“You should still report it,” I said, softer this time.
“You know what, Henri?I’m not really taking notes right now.”
I looked down at the note in the bin, almost appreciating the irony of her terrible joke.
I walked to the door, stopping just on the other end of the threshold.“Lily…”
“Good night.”
The door closed with a soft click that felt like a dismissal.I stood in the empty hallway, staring at her room number, pressing my palm flat against the wood for a moment before letting it drop.Then I pulled away and made myself walk.
Her kiss clung to me all the way back to my room.So did the threat.
