Page 119 of Full Throttle

Dominic was already brainstorming a lie involving an adoption and several remarriages when he caught a glimpse of a tabloid peeking out from a stack of files. Ah. No point then. “She’s my teammate. I need to see her.” He didn’t bother to disguise the urgency in his voice. “Please.”

The nurse glanced down the corridor. “I really shouldn’t be doing this, but…” He shoved something across the counter. “Would you sign my lanyard?”

Yes. Fine. Whatever it took. Dominic scribbled his name, and the nurse clutched the lanyard against his chest as if cradling a small child. “Take that corridor, then turn left. Third door down.”

Dominic was already turning. “Thank you.”

He sprinted through the corridor, only slowing as he approached the door. He recognized a low voice—probably Baz—followed by a warmer tenor. Capulet. Something coiled in Dominic’s gut; he hadn’t forgotten what Juliette had overheard her brother say, although he shoved any personal feelings about that aside. Now wasn’t the time.

Dominic stepped into the fluorescent light. Capulet’s face hardened.

“No,” Cap said. “Absolutely not.”

He was pale, his crimson race suit dangling half-open, and his brown hair stuck up in clumps. He must have been pulling at it, just as he used to when he was hunched over a particularly difficult crossword in the team garage. Normally, Dominic might have felt sorry for him, but as things stood…

Something in his chest hardened. “I want to see her.”

“Fuck no.” Cap pointed. “Get out.”

Dominic held his ground. “I just need five minutes.”

“No.”

A flicker of irritation filled him. “Let me be clear. I’m not asking for your permission.” He stepped forward. “Move.”

To his credit, Cap didn’t flinch. Just blocked Juliette’s door. “Let me guess. Ranya put you up to this? A little show for the media? After all, we can’t have the Prince of Racing looking like a heartless arsehole. Especially now that the world suspects he’s fucking my sister.”

His voice was hard and mocking, but there was an undercurrent of something else. Fear. An animal with its foot in a trap, blindly snapping its teeth. He’d never seen Capulet Marchmont so…whatever this was. Dominic raised his hands; it went against every instinct not to shoulder his way into the hospital room, but he forced himself to sound calm.

“If this is about the interview, I’m sorry that’s how you found out. But I’m not sorry that I did it.” He couldn’t bring himself to be sorry about Juliette. Not even now, when his heart felt like it was cleaving apart.

Cap’s face was stone. “How long?”

There seemed no point in lying. “It started two years ago.”

“When you taught at the academy.”

“Yes.”

“Arsehole,” Cap snarled.

He lunged. Baz yanked him roughly backward. There was an irritated tic to his jaw, Dominic observed, as if Baz were forcefully swallowing words. Ah. So Baz hadn’t forgiven Cap for what he’d said, either. He couldn’t deny that the thought brought some vindication.

“We weren’t friends,” Dominic said evenly. “I didn’t owe you anything—”

“You were my teammate.” Cap’s face was white. “You were supposed to protect her. To look out for her. Not to—” He made a noise in his throat. “Do you even like her?”

Dominic could have laughed. Like was such a trivial word. He liked steak. And photography. And the smell of bonfire. But liking Juliette Marchmont? It was like asking if someone liked oxygen; there was no point determining its appeal. You couldn’t live without it. Simple as that.

“Five minutes,” he said. “That’s all I want.”

Cap crossed his arms. “Get out. Before I call security.”

“I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

“Oh, yeah?” Cap demanded. “Is that what you told yourself at the academy? That you were just making sure she was okay?” His laugh was humorless. “I’ve met a million arseholes just like you. None of you see her as a competitor. Just something to toy with.”

A terrible ringing began in Dominic’s ears. “That’s rich coming from you, after what I overheard Juliette say to you at that studio—”