Chapter 3

Patrick said, "I'll get you the best rehab out there. If you want to open a shop, travel, or do whatever, I'll provide for you."

I looked at him. Suddenly, the whole thing just felt absurd.

"Patrick, you destroyed my racing career, and now you want to 'take care of me'? Do you even hear yourself?" I shot back.

Iris bit her lip. "Lydia, Patrick's already exhausted. Stop holding your injury over him."

I turned to look at her. "Stop your act. It disgusts me."

Patrick's voice rose. "Lydia."

Iris flinched and shrank back behind him.

"Patrick, don't be so hard on her. She's hurt. If she wants to take it out on me, let her," Iris said.

I grabbed my medical chart off the nightstand and flung it right at Patrick's chest.

"Get out," I snapped.

Patrick didn't even flinch.

The chart hit the floor, falling open to the page. It stated I had comminuted fractures, nerve damage, and permanent loss of function.

Patrick glanced down. Something caught in his throat, but he said nothing.

Iris bent to pick it up, deliberately reading the diagnosis out loud. "Permanent loss of function. Lydia, the doctor never said you'd be stuck in bed forever. Don't be so hopeless."

I stared at her hand and said, "Put it down."

She pretended not to hear me and kept flipping through the pages.

Iris said, "There's even a note about a psych evaluation. Patrick, she's so unstable right now. What if she totally loses it and says something wild at the retirement ceremony?"

Patrick took the medical chart from her.

"I'll keep an eye on her," he said.

He was keeping an eye on me. It was not to dig up the truth, not to stand up for me, but to make sure I didn't say anything that might mess up their plans.

There was a knock at the door.

Noah Reynolds, the team manager, walked in, holding a sealed bag.

"Mr. Collier, the crash car's been taken care of, and the helmet's back, just like the rules say," Noah said.

My eyes locked onto that sealed bag.

Patrick took it and set it down on the cabinet, barely paying it any mind.

Iris's gaze lingered on the bag for a moment.

Noah saw me, his lips moving as if he wanted to say something.

"Ms. Weaver, are you okay?" he asked.

Iris immediately jumped in, "Noah, aren't you rubbing salt in her wounds by asking that?"

Noah didn't even bother responding.

He looked at me. "The day of the crash, the brakes didn't sound right. I caught it from the pit lane."

Iris clenched her sleeve.

Patrick's brow furrowed. "Are you sure?"

Noah said, "I can't be sure. It was just a split second, but it definitely sounded off."

Iris started crying again. "Are you also blaming me, Noah? I was in the lounge the whole time. Everyone can vouch for me."

Noah looked down. "I didn't say it was you."

Patrick's voice was low and serious. "If you don't have any proof, don't rile her up in here."

Noah glanced at me, like he wanted to say something.

I spoke up. "Give me the helmet."

Patrick was quicker, grabbing the sealed bag before I could reach it.

"You need to rest. I'll keep the helmet safe for now," he said.

I pushed myself upright, gripping the edge of the bed.

"That's mine," I said.

He replied, "I'll give it back to you once the ceremony's over."

Iris finally relaxed, like she'd been holding her breath the whole time.

I caught every bit of it.

Noah noticed it too.

He suddenly said, "Mr. Collier, the helmet counts as accident evidence. By the rules, it's supposed to go to a third party for inspection."

Iris shrieked, her voice sharp. "Noah, what are you getting at?"

Noah took a half-step back and said, "I'm just following procedure."

Patrick shot him a cold look. "Are you trying to tell me how to do my job?"

Noah fell silent.

I looked down at the casts on my legs, my fingers slowly reached under the sheets.

Hidden there was something I'd taken out of the helmet's padding ahead of time.

It was a tiny memory card, taped to a piece of gauze, pressed right up against the mattress.

They were all staring at the empty helmet.

But nobody knew the real thing that could blow everything up was already gone.

Before Patrick left with Iris, he turned back to me. "The day after tomorrow, I hope you won't let me down."

I asked him, "What if I go to the cops anyway?"

He stopped in his tracks.

He said, "Then I'll have the hospital issue a statement saying you're emotionally unstable after the operation, and your testimony will be dismissed as unreliable."

Iris whispered, "Patrick, don't say that. You'll make her feel worse."

I laughed. "Patrick, you really have it all mapped out for me, huh?"

He didn't look back.

After the door closed, Noah stood there, looking grim.

"Ms. Weaver, I'll help you get it checked," he said.

I looked at him and asked, "You got the nerve?"

He stood there in silence.

I lifted the corner of the sheet, pulled out the memory card, and pressed it into his palm.

"Then do me a favor. Just something simple," I said.

Noah stared at the card in his hand.