Page 60 of Off the Grid

Christ. I run a hand through my hair and draw in a deep breath. “I’m sure it will work. And he’s still in good spirits?”

“He is.”

“The kids?”

“They’re better now that they got to see him, and he doesn’t look as scary as he did with all of the tubes and bandages.”

“That’s good.” I pause. “He still doesn’t want to talk to anyone?”

“No. I’m sorry. But he knows you’ve been calling and checking in. He just . . . he doesn’t want anyone to see him like this. It’s ridiculous but it’s not a battle I’m willing to fight right now. It’s pride mixed with preserving his image so other teams don’t look at him as weak. Nonsense in my book, but it’s how he feels.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you,” she says, sensing the conversation ending.

“For?”

“For the flowers. For the texts. For not forgetting about him while you’re getting your chance.”

I pause for a beat and look at the sim laid out before me. At my dream all around me. “Yeah, it kind of fucks with your head.” His accident. His injury. The magnitude of all of this. The demons I’ll have to face when I get on the track.

“I’m sure it does,” she says softly. “But get in the car and have one hell of a race. Maxim would want that for you. Only the best for his Riggs.”

“Thanks, Dee.”

And when I end the call, I’m one step closer to being ready.

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Camilla

“Jesus. He really does have a hard-on for Riggs, doesn’t he?” I ask as I hold my badge up to the turnstile screen and am granted access to the paddock.

I scroll through the article written by Harlan Flanders. It’s normal to question a racer’s ability—especially when he’s new—but there’s clear spite in the article. Obvious dislike. And a tinge of bitterness.

“He does,” Elise says as she walks beside me. Normally she doesn’t travel with the team, but I cleared it so she could this time around. It’s important to see what she’s promoting. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s pissed about something Riggs did and is getting back at him through the press.”

“Great. Just what we need.” But this ridiculously one-sided, subjective article is the welcome distraction I need.

It gives me an excuse to have my head down and attention diverted to my phone as I walk into a paddock for the first time in six years.

I don’t look up. I don’t take in the garages to the left of the wide alley or the custom-built hospitality centers each team has shipped here to the right.

Instead, I focus on my phone.

On scrolling with my thumb.

On pretending I’m not taking a huge, monumental step forward that my therapist would give a standing ovation to.

Once I’m inside our “offices” here, I’ll feel better. Safer. In a place Brandon wouldn’t dare step foot inside.

“Camilla?” Elise asks.

“What? I’m sorry. I was . . . reading.” I look up from my phone.

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” I look where Elise is looking and take in the paddock.