Page 86 of Tipping Point

Then she puts on the little hood and the falcon settles down comfortably with a ruffle of its feathers.

I guess we’re all like that, I think. Way more comfortable turning a blind eye towards the world and all its problems.

I am doing the same thing, I think uncomfortably.

I agreed to film through to the end of the season. When I spoke to Dixon, I told him I was happy to stay on, give him time to recover from the toll the past few years had taken on him, but in reality I can’t help but wonder if it’s because of Finn. I’m enjoying my time with him, ignoring the flutters I feel low in my belly, trying not to have thoughts of “what if.”

But at the end of this season, he’ll be done.

You can’t be a race car driver and have a life.

He won’t be a driver anymore, and I’m wondering how his life will look from then on.

My belly flutters.

I’m wondering if I’ll be a part of it.

* * *

FINN

“Finn?” She’s shaking me by the shoulders, her voice low and urgent.

I’m still twisted in pain, my shoulder searing with the flames as sweat pours over me, the impossible weight of the car at my back as I strain to dampen the fire. I watch as Grace’s face melts before me.

“Finn! Wake up!”

It drags me from the nightmare I was having, skin covered in sweat, the sheets wrapped around me in a tangled web.

It’s the same nightmare I have had for years. I relive the moment, unable to change even the smallest detail. Just relive the worst moment of my life again and again.

I struggle to pull free, Camille’s voice soft on my shoulder as she murmurs against my skin. I swing my legs off the bed and sit up, lowering my face into my hands.

I shiver.

I’ve been battling this spiral for weeks. Camille’s warmth was a place I could grab hold of, cling onto.

I haven’t seen her since Japan. She’s been away filming Skorost. When she landed here in Austin, Texas, I was already frothing at the mouth. My whole system is poisoned by the memories of the circuit here, Grace, the fucking flames. Every year when we return, it haunts me. I haven’t slept in days.

I knew it was coming but it’s always when I’m back here that I can look at the weeks leading up to it and, in hindsight, see the warning signs.

It feels like drowning. Like I’m fighting not to sink and when I’m hanging, suspended, at the bottom where nothing can reach me, I stop.

Stop feeling completely.

And with Camille gone I needed something to hold on to. Desperate, I reached for her.

When I finally drag her into my suite, her eyes were wide and quiet, taking me in. When I kissed her, she licked at her lip, where my bite had broken the skin. And then she looked me over for a moment more and surrendered to me.

I don’t know how else to think about it.

Usually when we fuck, she meets me halfway. This time she was like a piece of flesh, there for the taking. When I pulled her to me, she bounced up against my chest, and when I nuzzled at her neck, she lay her head back, giving me the full bare length of it to run my nose along. When I tore at her shirt, she didn’t peel it up for me, arms crossed as she tugged it over her head. She just lifted her arms, watching me tear it off, chest rising and falling with her heavy breathing. She didn’t undress me. She let me tip her back on the carpeted floor and drag her jeans from the tangle of her legs. I couldn’t bear how she looked at me. When I flipped her over, she looked back at me over her shoulder. It gave me pause.

She closed her eyes in a slow blink and gave me a nod. I tugged her ass up by the waist and undid my jeans. When she rose on her elbows, I pushed down on her neck, keeping her head low.

She was gloriously wet and tight when I slammed into her, straining against the carpet to offer me resistance.

I finished fast, furious, and when I pulled back, she turned over, tugging me down to her chest, and I collapsed there, breathing slowly.