Page 34 of Tipping Point

Jay gives me a wink but doesn’t ask about last night with Finn.

I’m grateful.

At the hotel I try to phone Finn to arrange to fetch my backpack, but I can’t get a hold of him.

I end the day on a high note.

Felix Weber, the team principal of Velocity Racing, has confirmed our interview. We get to film him in Montreal next week. He’s the best in the industry and with Ollie Blythe and Jasper de Vries as his drivers, they have been racking up the points.

It’s a far cry from the sombre atmosphere we experienced at Skorost today.

My phone vibrates.

IRISH (20:22) I see you tried to get a hold of me?

CAMILLE (20:23) I wanted to find out if now was a good time for me to get my backpack?

IRISH (20:23) No.

I blanch. He sends another message.

IRISH (20:24) But you can come fetch it all the same.

I head out towards the elevator and make my way up to his suite. When I knock, he opens the door immediately. He’s freshly showered, bare chested. Other than that, he’s nothing like he was this morning. This morning he was easy, teasing.

Now he’s closed up, face a mask, that sneer right back in place.

He’s angry.

“What happened?” I ask.

He raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

He jerks his chin towards the couch, and I head over, grab my backpack and sling the strap over my shoulder.

He’s watching me but saying nothing.

It feels all wrong.

It’s like he’s wearing a mask, and it’s slipping. His whole body is sluggish, going through the motions, but again it lacks character. He’s on autopilot. Nothing like last night. This morning even.

He got a personal best today. He should be happy. Proud. I look at the harsh line of his shoulders. He’s tense, and all bunched up muscle.

I step forward tentatively. The corner of his lip twitches into a grimace that he smooths away with the tip of his tongue.

Unbidden, a thought arises. Tomorrow is race day.

This thing he does, he hates it.

He hates being a Grande Prima driver. He hates the races.

“Why do you keep racing?” I blurt out. Again. Stupid, stupid. Just like on the plane.

I can tell he knows exactly what I’m talking about. His eyes are black with fury.

“Get out.” His voice is low and quiet.

I make my way silently towards the door and leave, closing it behind me.