Page 78 of Until The Lights Go Out

Nobody answered, just crackling static on the other end.

“Who crashed?” I snapped louder.

Static.

Then finally after some muffled overlapping voices⁠—

“…Andrews.” Everything inside me stopped. For one horrifying second, I forgot how to breathe.

The rest of the drive back to the pit lane was a blur of flashing lights and sick panic clawing its way up my throat. My foot kept pressing harder on the throttle even under safety delta because my body physically could not accept moving slowly while she was out there.

Please be okay. Please. As I turned into the pit lane, I saw black smoke rising beyond the paddock buildings. My heart nearly stopped. I barely waited for the car to fully stop before ripping the wheel off and climbing out. Mechanics shouted after me as I shoved my helmet into someone’s chest and sprinted down the garage.

“Theo!” my engineer yelled. “Where are you going?”

I ignored him.

People were gathered around the monitors at the back of the garage, faces pale. One of the screens replayed the crash, hands covered open mouths. I only caught half a second of it. Maisey’s car spun sideways, then impact, then fire and smoke covered everything. I physically recoiled.

“No.” The word came out broken.

Someone tried grabbing my arm, but I ripped free and kept moving toward the pit exit.

Toward the ambulances, toward her. I needed to get to her. I needed to know that she was breathing. I’d just reached the edge of the garage, a quiet, deserted space during the race. I was jolted to a stop by a hand slammed into my chest hard enough to shove me backward. A hardened expression stared back at me. My father was seething.

“Where the fuck are you going?” he snapped at me.

I tried moving around him immediately. “Move.”

“Theo—”

“Move!”

He grabbed my arm hard enough to bruise. “Control yourself.”

“Maisey crashed!”

“I know.”

“You know?” I nearly laughed. It came out hysterical. “Her car was on fire!”

“She’s being handled by medics.”

“I need to see her.”

“No.”

The word hit like a slap.

For a second I genuinely thought I’d misheard him.

“What?”

“You have obligations.”

I stared at him. Actually stared. Because surely no father on earth could say that after watching a 17-year-old girl nearly burn alive.

“She could be dying.”