Page 123 of Full Throttle

A terrible silence filled the room. Dominic let out a breath. His heartbeat was slowing, his grip loosening on the chair. Clarity settled over him, as obvious as an exclamation mark. He needed to see Juliette. He needed to tell her everything, now, before he made the same mistake that he’d made two years ago.

With that in mind, Dominic turned for the door.

He had to see her. He had to explain.

Before it was too late.

Chapter 38

Put on the Brakes

Juliette leaned her head against the cool glass.

The hospital was quiet at this hour; the only sounds were the squeak of shoes and the clattering wheels of a gurney. Her room was empty apart from an overnight bag, which was half-spilled across a gray chair. Juliette tucked her knees into her chest. From her position on the window seat, she could see the Las Vegas skyline unfurling like a glittering sea of stars, nestled in the bosom of shadow-drenched mountains.

Juliette rested her chin on her knees. She’d loved this city, once. The buzz of the gambling halls, the theatrical fountains, the cookies the size of your face…but this year had changed everything. Now it felt like a cheap gold necklace, chipping away under her thumb.

She unlocked her phone.

The social media comments were as horrible as she’d expected, but she forced herself to read a selection anyway. If the Anthony situation had taught her one thing, it was that burying your head in the sand only came back to bite you. Anyway, she couldn’t deny that reading the comments gave her a sick sort of pleasure, like pressing on a bruise. Maybe it was a condition of the human heart to look for things that could hurt you. Or maybe she was just a masochist. Either was possible.

Someone named Paul_The_Tennis_Guy had written, “Knew she had to be putting out to get a seat lol.” Another person had posted, “Plot twist: she’s sleeping with all her sponsors too.” And then there were the gleeful headlines, the British tabloids that had spent all season building her up just to tear her down with feral joy. “Marchmont silently seethed for most of the interview before storming off set, where she was overheard launching into a tearful rant,” a journalist had written. A female journalist, no less. Juliette had put down her phone after that. She could recall reading a study that the more successful a woman became, the less likable she was perceived to be. Perhaps it was true.

There was a knock on the door.

Juliette glanced at the clock. Ten past midnight, so well past visiting hours. Dom, she thought stupidly, although of course it wasn’t him; he’d already been and gone, according to Baz. It was probably just a nurse monitoring her overnight for signs of concussion.

“Come in.”

The door swung open.

Ranya slipped into the room. She wore a silk skirt, her dark hair swept into a neat knot. Her cane made tapping sounds on the floor. “Posh room. It’s nice to see that you’re actually spending your salary. Although I would have gone for a nice pair of earrings myself.”

Juliette frowned. “How did you get past the front desk?”

“Bribed a nurse,” Ranya offered.

“No. Seriously.”

“Have you ever seen me joke?” Ranya leaned against the cane. “What’s the damage?”

Juliette swung her legs from the window seat. “Severe strain to the cervical spine.” Ranya eyed her blankly, so she added, “It’s a fancy way of saying whiplash.”

“Concussion?”

“Not yet. A few things were foggy, so they’re monitoring me.” Apparently she’d asked for Dominic over and over again as they’d loaded her into the ambulance, which was an indignity that she was glad to forget.

Ranya nodded. “Can you drive tomorrow?”

Juliette gave her a small smile. “Does it matter?” The last time she’d seen the car, it resembled a ten-pound note that had gone through the washing machine. Twice.

“We can fix the car,” Ranya said. “Or get it operational, at least.”

Something like hope swelled in her chest. But…“I’m starting in last place.”

“Well.” Ranya paused. “You could still finish the race.”

“Comforting.”