Page 93 of Tipping Point

“Brennan win’s the pool!” He cheers, throwing a fist into the air.

Drivers turn curiously to look at me and Finn. I can feel the heat of my blush pouring from my cheeks. Embarrassment washes over me.

“Fuck off, Rheese,” Ollie calls from up ahead. “Brennan didn’t place a bet.”

Relief floods through me, but the damage is done. A driver on his way to his car holds a palm up to Finn when he passes, an invitation for a high five.

Finn’s black eyes give a slow blink, and the driver scurries off. When he turns to get into his car, our eyes meet.

He’s breathing slow and heavy, his angry eyes lost and desperate. He looks at me the way he did yesterday. Desperate and empty, full of pain.

For a moment, the noise drops away. We are in the eye of the storm as the world rages around us. I take an involuntary step towards him.

Then Jack slots his helmet over Finn’s head and he turns, throws a leg over, gets inside his car.

We didn’t get the shot we planned. Both Jay and Evan paused protectively when Rheese baited Finn.

I scold them as we make our way off the track.

“Guys, we planned this shot so well. What happened?”

“That fucker was trying to embarrass you.”

“He was not. He was trying to embarrass Finn. I was just collateral damage.”

“He was being a total dickhead.”

“No argument there.”

We make our way to the stands and prepare to film the start of the race.

I’m still lost, confused. He made it so clear this morning when he pushed me away. Ripped the breath from my lungs.

And then he looks at me like I’m the only thing tethering him to the world.

A lifeline.

Something is so very wrong.

The lights go off and the cars roar into action. We’re fifteen races into the season, with another seven to go. Drivers are getting more audacious, desperate to rack up points with the end of the season approaching. It shows on the track. Sparks fly from cars all down the starting line as they bump into each other, a couple spinning out and those in their wake swerving dangerously to avoid contact with debris strewn on the track.

Finn’s pull away is steady, measured. When they approach the first corner, his car skids out, out of control, but he gets it under control, takes the turn too fast, losing seconds fighting the car.

I gasp.

On the straight he’s firm again, car shooting forward like an arrow, braking hard to avoid colliding with the driver in front of him.

It’s Rheese Knox. Finn darts left to right behind Rheese, furiously trying to overtake, but Rheese keeps his car centred, little jerks of movement cutting Finn off every time he goes on the attack.

It’s a dangerous tactic, and Finn ups the ante.

He pushes his car up, bumping into Rheese, causing the rear end to swerve dangerously just as they go into a corner. Gravel fountains through the air as both cars’ rear ends slip off the track, wheels spinning for traction.

The crowd titters with excitement.

What the fuck is going on?

I jump up, start jogging towards the pits, my eyes swivelling towards the screens that are live streaming the race in real time.