One Last Fling - Chapter 7

Lily

Lily didn’t answer Cam Fowler’s text. Not that night. And not the next morning when she sat down to the hearty English breakfast her nan had prepared for her.

“Come now, Lily. You’re thin as a rail. Please take another sausage,” her nan implored. Lily had lived with her nan since she was twelve years old, the year she’d lost both parents. The Formula One drivers lived in exotic places like Monaco, but Academy drivers often lived closer to family, just so they could have the support. Lily needed the support. She had nowhere else to go.

“I’ve got to stay lean. You know that.”

“I worry you’ll waste away. But I know you know what you’re doing.” Nan glanced at the clock on the wall. “I need to head down to the pub and get cooking. I’ll see you tonight.” She leaned down and kissed Lily on top of her head.

“I’ll do the dishes.”

“That’s my love,” Nan called.

Lily picked at her breakfast, staring at Cam’s message like it might rearrange itself into something easier to ignore.

I want what you want. And I don’t mean that because we’re competing for the same seat… I only need you to know that no matter what, I will always care.

Nope. Still the same hopelessly sweet yet cocky Cam.

She tucked her phone into her pocket and went for a run in Henley-on-Thames, the village west of London where her nan had lived, well, forever. Lily ran and ran and ran until she couldn’t go another step, trying to rid her mind of Cam.

She still didn’t text him. Instead, she did an online debrief with the team and took a nap. Nan brought dinner home from the pub. They ate shepherd’s pie in front of the TV, then Lily excused herself and went up to her room.

Her phone beeped with a text. Amazing race. Finally watched the whole thing.

“Bloody hell.” She shouldn’t have waited so long to text Cam back. She plopped down on her bed and stared at the screen, searching for the right thing to say. Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.

His reply came almost immediately. You’re welcome.

That should’ve been the end of it. Instead, the texts stretched—short at first, then longer. Racing talk turned into complaints about travel and jet lag, which turned into jokes, which turned into things Lily hadn’t planned on telling anyone. He asked about her grandmother. He remembered her name. She told herself it was fine. Texting wasn’t kissing. This was a truce. An acknowledgment that as hard as she’d tried to create distance, they seemed destined to be friends.

It continued for weeks, all while Austin loomed. Some nights, she caught herself smiling at her phone. Other nights, she forced it onto the nightstand and stared at the ceiling, heart
churning with too many feelings.

One night, after a particularly annoying phone interview with a super-sexist motorsports journalist, she typed without thinking, Do you ever wish you could just drive? No politics. No BS. Just the track.

Every day.

She lay back on her bed, phone balanced on her chest, pulse steady, her thoughts anything but. This was how it happened. Not in grand gestures or reckless kisses, but in the quiet accumulation of understanding. In feeling less alone. Cam understood her and her predicament. Maybe not the money part, but that feeling of being so close to what you wanted and still feeling like it was out of reach.

Austin was two weeks away. She couldn’t keep doing this. She needed to focus on her final races.

This is fun, but we can’t do this in Austin.

Three dots appeared almost immediately. I get it.

She closed her eyes, equal parts relieved and disappointed. Because deep down, she knew the truth. Something bigger than before was growing between her and Cam Fowler.