Chapter 2

The lawyer said, "Ms. Weaver, please don't mention the divorce to anyone before the ceremony. Mr. Collier doesn't want Iris to be seen as a homewrecker."

I couldn't help but laugh.

He thought I'd cry, but I just capped the pen and asked, "What time's the ceremony?"

The lawyer replied, "Three o'clock the day after tomorrow. It'll be streamed live for everyone to see."

Once the door closed, all that remained in the hospital room was the sharp scent of disinfectant.

I reached out and touched the helmet by my bed.

It was the one the rescue team had pulled from the wreckage that day. The outer shell was cracked, but the inner lining was still intact.

No one knew there was a memory card hidden inside the helmet's padding.

Even fewer knew it had captured every single second from the pit lane all the way onto the track.

I set the helmet back down, and then the hospital room door swung open again.

Iris walked in, dressed in her white racing suit, holding a bouquet of black and white flowers.

She tossed the flowers to the floor, grinning as if she'd just won a trophy.

"Lydia, looks like you finally retired. Congrats," Iris said.

I looked at her and said, "Get out."

She came right up to my bed and stared down at my legs.

She said, "What a waste. Those gorgeous legs of yours. Now they're just for walking. Guess you'll never hit the gas again."

I said, "Iris, you tampered with my brakes."

Iris shot back, "Do you have any proof?"

She leaned in close, whispering, "You wanna know the best part? Patrick already promised me you'd be the one to hand me the championship trophy. He said you'd be smart enough not to make a scene."

I snatched up the water cup from my nightstand and hurled it at her.

The cup grazed her shoulder and shattered against the wall.

Iris instantly jumped back, tears springing to her eyes like she could cry on command.

I heard hurried footsteps outside the door.

Patrick burst in, and his eyes went straight to the wet patch on Iris's shoulder, not me.

"Lydia, what the hell are you doing now?" Patrick barked.

I jabbed a finger at Iris. "She confessed. She tampered with my brakes."

Iris shook her head, crying. "Patrick, I came to check on her. She said I stole her championship and threw a cup at me."

Patrick shot me a look, impatience written all over his face.

"Lydia, I know you're upset. But Iris has been under a lot of stress, too. She hasn't been sleeping well these days," he said.

I laughed so hard my throat burned with bitterness.

"She can't sleep, but my legs are busted. Patrick, who do you think is worse off?" I shot back.

Patrick paused, then came over to my bed and handed me a fresh document. "Sign the forgiveness waiver."

I stared at those words and asked, "What did you just say?"

Patrick said, "They've already ruled it an accident. If you keep making a scene, the whole team will get dragged down with you. Lydia, do as I say."

Iris stood behind him, her sobs fading, but her eyes never left me.

She looked at me like I was a dog that had already been run over.

I ripped the document in half.

"I'm not signing," I said.

Patrick's expression turned stormy. "Lydia, don't push me."

The hospital room was quiet, and only the beeping of the machines filled the air.

Patrick looked down at the shredded paper on the floor, then bent over and picked up one half.

"You weren't like this before," he said.

I leaned back against the headboard, the casts on my legs feeling as heavy as scrap metal.

"I never thought you'd force me to forgive the person who left me crippled," I said.

Iris wiped her tears and whispered, "Patrick, let it go. She has every right to hate me. She can have the championship. I don't want it anymore."

Patrick turned to her, his tone softening. "Come on, that's the championship you've waited seven years for."

I laughed, couldn't help myself. "So just because she waited seven years, she gets to cut my brake line?"

Iris's face went pale, and she immediately grabbed Patrick's sleeve.

She said, "I didn't do it. Lydia, why do you keep blaming me? You were way too reckless on that turn. Everyone on the team saw it."

Patrick turned back to me.

"The maintenance records are clean, and the track cameras never caught her anywhere near your car. If you keep saying stuff like this, people are gonna think you're a sore loser," he said.

I asked, "Did you ever check the helmet?"

He paused.

Iris jumped in before he could answer. "The helmet's totally wrecked. What could you possibly find in there? Lydia, you're talking nonsense now."

Patrick rubbed his temples.

He said, "Enough drama. The day after tomorrow, I'll get someone to push you onto the stage. You give Iris the trophy, say your retirement speech, and it's over."

"Just like that?" I echoed.

I looked up at him and said, "My legs can't just get over it."

He stood there, his hand halfway outstretched, then pulled it back.