Page 94 of Full Throttle

“Then no.”

Well. Fair enough. She scanned the crowd, realizing belatedly that a half-dozen banners sported her face, and her pulse kicked up. Logically, it made sense; before the summer break, she’d placed second in Belgium. Third in the Netherlands. Second again at Silverstone and Hungary. Anthony Sinclair—who’d suffered engine problems—fell back to second place, and Liêm had taken the lead in the championship. Dominic was in third place, and Juliette was now fourth. High enough on the grid that she’d started to develop a small following.

Still.

Would she ever be used to seeing her own face staring out from the crowd?

Probably not.

Anyway, she thought, yanking on her balaclava, this was the first race after the summer break. Anything could happen. And if she didn’t outdrive Dominic, she might as well pack her bags now.

Cap appeared beside them. He was surveying the crowd, a pen gripped in his hand. “How many people do you think are watching?”

“In person,” Juliette said, “or on telly?”

“Here.”

She considered. “A hundred thousand?” Probably more, actually, but Cap was already looking pale. “Why?”

Cap smiled, waving at a pair of screaming girls. “Always good to know how many fans I’m about to disappoint.”

“You’ll do fine.”

Cap’s face tightened. “Easy for you to say. Everyone loves you.”

Baz and Juliette exchanged a look. Cap had been increasingly quiet since dropping back to fifth place, although the verbal nihilism was new. Juliette took a long sip of water. Baz, ever the peacemaker, slapped Cap on the back.

“You’ll both do well. And if you don’t, we’ll get incredibly drunk at dinner.”

Cap shrugged him off. “I need the loo. How long do I have?”

Juliette glanced at her watch. “Five minutes.”

And speaking of which…She slid the watch off, scanning the paddock for Hamish. No jewelry allowed on track, and she wasn’t about to be disqualified for something that stupid. When Cap spoke, his voice had changed.

“Where did you get that from?”

Her brother was staring at her forearm. Juliette followed his gaze to a bruise, and her heart sped up. Shit. She couldn’t even remember Dominic doing that. “Running. I fell down a hill after I picked up too much speed—”

“No,” Cap said. “The watch.”

Relief filled her. “Oh. Montessori reached out. They offered to sponsor me.” The company had gotten in touch two weeks ago and offered such an obscene amount of money that she’d rung up her publicist Zoe to check it was correct. Cap was still staring, and she frowned. “What?”

Cap looked away. “They dropped me. Three weeks ago.”

“Oh.” Her stomach dropped. “Shit. Cap, I’m sorry. If I’d known—”

“It’s fine,” Cap said. “I should go. It’ll be lights out soon.”

Her brother jogged toward the garage. Juliette touched her neck; her pulse was a live wire under her fingers. Most children, she knew, fought with their siblings: squabbles over who got the pink bowl, or the front seat, or the biggest bedroom…But Cap had never been like that. He’d once ignored a boy named Derek for a whole year because Derek had refused to let a girl play on their football team during break.

She never fought with Cap.

Never.

Baz touched her shoulder. “He’ll be fine. You know what Cap gets like when he feels like he’s letting the team down. And after Vance sacked his own son last season…”

“Yeah,” Juliette said. “I get it.”