chapter 11

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Noah didn't think; he lunged forward.

He grabbed for something — anything — and yanked. They stumbled backwards, a whirl of arms and limbs. His fingers sunk into something soft, and then the wind went out of him in an oof. His head cracked against something. The wall? The floor? Amelia made a small noise, and he sat up, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Are you okay?" He searched her face. "You're not hurt?"

She winced, rubbing at her neck. "I'm fine."

"You're sure?"

"I'm just a bit sore. That's all."

Any concern vanished, replaced by a blinding, all-consuming anger. The sort of anger that he hadn't felt in a long time. An anger that frightened him. "Christ, Cartwell, you are an idiot. You could have seriously hurt yourself."

"I had it—"

"If you say under control," Noah said, clenching his teeth, "I will actually beat you to death with a weight."

Noah got to his feet. Every part of him felt shaky with adrenaline. He wanted to hit something; he wanted to hug her. He settled for picking up his water bottle, squeezing the metal so tightly that he thought it might snap.

Amelia's gaze was cool. "Please. As if you care."

Noah laughed, but it sounded all wrong. Hollow and lifeless. "Contrary to popular belief, I'm not a complete jackass. Watching your untimely death in a hotel gym in Australia would, actually, upset me."

Amelia blinked. "Oh."

Noah crossed to a bench, putting his head in his hands. A sick feeling curdled in his chest, sour as spoiled milk. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. He tried to summon Noah Wood — Noah, who always had a smile and a joke; Noah, who was the first person on the dance floor — but all he could see was the fall of that weight.

Would it have crushed her?

He thought of the angle it had fallen at, the speed and weight of it. It was heavier than Amelia was. And it would have struck her spine, Noah realized; maybe her skull, depending on how she fell. The sick feeling intensified, and he pressed a fist to his nose.

"Wood?" A tentative hand touched his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Fine."

It came out as a grunt. The hand hesitated.

"You don't look fine," Amelia said.

He took a deep breath. "I'm not good with... Blood. Hospitals."

"You're in the wrong sport, then."

There was a long pause. Amelia sunk on to the bench, her face unusually soft. She looked at his hand, as if she was thinking about taking it, and then looked away.

"Thank-you," Amelia said. "For helping me."

She was staring at the water cooler in the far corner, and there was a pulse jumping in her throat. He got the sense that she didn't apologize very much. Which was why he lowered his hand and said, "You're welcome."

She met his gaze.

Her eyes really were very green, Noah thought, the colour of fresh buds in spring. Those eyes could ruin lives. He wondered if they had; she'd never mentioned a boyfriend, although she'd mentioned being chummy with Connor Yip.

A strange, tight feeling settled in his chest.

"Well," Amelia said, rising to her feet, "I'm going to get some sleep." She slung a towel over her shoulder, stooping to pick up her water bottle and key card. "I'll see you tomorrow, Wood. Try not to take it personally when I win."

His smile was genuine. "I'll wave to you as I pass by."

Amelia flipped him the bird.

The race went about as well as could be expected.

Matthew Carr took pole. Noah placed second, and Lucas Walsh finished third. Amelia placed fifth; an excellent finish for an Alpine car, Noah thought, although he doubted she'd see it like that. He gave his post-race interview — which was really just ranking the best Tim Tam flavours with Shane, a reporter from Fox Sports — and then mounted the podium, where he and Matthew chased each other around with champagne bottles.

He showered and changed. He had a chicken sandwich. He spoke with Alek, who told him that he'd done "pretty well" (this was Alek-speak for incredible).

By the time Noah was done, the paddock was empty.

Noah glanced at his watch. Almost midnight; people would be moving on to after parties by now. He caught sight of Cedro's dark, curly hair tucked under an Alpine baseball cap, and he jogged toward it.

"Ced!"

Cedro turned. "Oh, good. We can split a car." He glanced at his watch. "Are you coming back to the hotel, or going out?"

"Depends." Noah ran a hand through his hair. "Where's Cartwell?"

"Still in the garage."

"Now?" Noah dropped his hand. "It's ten o'clock."

"I'm aware." Cedro rubbed his face. "Look, just let her be. She's taken the result today really hard. She won't want to see you, fratello."

Noah considered this for a second. Then he shrugged, jogging backward toward the Alpine garage. "I'll see you at brekky."

Cedro sighed. "Noah..."

"Don't eat all the bacon!" he called.

Noah doubled his pace, falling into a light run. Melbourne was crisp this evening; the May weather felt like a cold balm on his face. The paddock smelled of petrol and burned rubber, although Noah knew if he travelled further into the city, it would smell like childhood: sea salt and eucalyptus and — sometimes on the freeway — the smell of vegemite drifting from the factory.

He paused outside the Alpine garage.

Everything was packed up for the night. The cars were covered, the tires put away. Only a single light was switched on; Amelia was hunched over by the desk, her hand bathed in a pool of light. Her hand, Noah realized with mounting anxiety, which she was currently stabbing with a small kitchen knife.

What the actual hell?

"What are you doing?" Noah demanded.

Amelia didn't look up. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"You look like Edward Scissorhands on speed."

He watched as the silver knife danced in-and-out of her fingers, like a fish slipping between fronds. It would have been beautiful, Noah thought, if not for the fact that she could very well dismember herself.

"Reflex training," Amelia said.

Noah blinked. "What?"

"That's what I'm doing." Her voice was very calm. "Reflex training. But with higher stakes."

"Cartwell." He took a cautious step forward. "Put the knife down."

"Go to bed, Tim Tam."

The knife moved faster, flying between her fingers. A knot of dread formed in Noah's throat. Could he make a grab for it? He didn't want to knock her off balance in case she impaled herself. Then again, she might do that anyway.

Noah cleared his throat. "Is this about the result today?" When she didn't answer, he took a step closer. "That wasn't your fault. You're driving a midfield car; they just don't perform as well."

Amelia's pace increased. "Cedro won last year."

"Look," Noah said, "Cedro's a really fucking talented driver, but he got lucky. Red Bull fucked their car, I was off my game, and Matthew and Lucas Walsh were living out some soap opera-level shit in their personal lives. Nobody was performing."

"There's nothing wrong with the car," Amelia said.

His heart was pounding. "Will you put down the knife?"

"I'm the issue," Amelia said. "I can do better. Drive better."

Her knife sailed precariously close to her left thumb, and Noah closed his eyes. "I don't see how you're going to drive better with only nine fingers." He shook his head. "This is stupid. You're torturing yourself over nothing."

"That's easy for you to say."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

To his alarm, Amelia looked up. "I've got everything on the line this season. You think any team will resign me if I fuck this thing up?" Her gaze returned to the table. "And what about other female drivers? Do you think anybody's going to be willing to take a chance on them if I underperform?"

"It's the car," Noah said.

"No, it's not."

Another step closer. "It is."

"It isn't."

Desperation filled him. "God damn it, Cartwell, will you please put down that knife?"

Her head snapped up. "Don't tell me what to do."

It was a second of distraction — a fraction of a moment — but it was all Noah needed. He lunged forward, pinning her right arm to the desk. Amelia made a feral noise, scratching at his shoulder, but Noah wrenched the knife free. He retreated to the car, holding it triumphantly over his head.

"There," Noah said with satisfaction. "That's settled."

He half-expected her to jump for it, but she didn't, of course; instead, Amelia kneed him in the balls. Pain radiated through his stomach, and he doubled over, gasping for breath. Still, Noah managed to keep the knife behind his back; a feat, he thought, that lesser men could not have achieved.

Amelia scowled. "Give it back."

He shook his head. "Did you seriously just knee me in the balls?"

She ignored this. "Then I'll make you give it back."

Slowly, Noah straightened. When he smiled, he put every ounce of smugness into it that he could muster. Just to piss her off. "I'd like to see you try, sweetheart."

Amelia raised her knee. Noah caught it this time, gripping it to his chest. She went for his eyes next, nails extended, and he caught her wrists with his free hand. Amelia made a noise that didn't sound entirely human, her green eyes ablaze.

"I hate you." Her voice was venomous. "I have never hated anyone more than you."

Noah tutted. "See, that just isn't true."

"Don't tell me how I feel."

She squirmed against him. And God help him, Noah thought, that sensation did things to him. Things that he wasn't particularly proud of. He tossed the knife to the garage floor, raising a hand to her cheek. Her heart hammered under his thumb.

"Fine," Noah murmured. "You want to play this game? You want to pretend you despise me?" He leaned in closer, his hand sliding down her neck. "Then why do you shiver when I touch you like this?"

She looked away. "You're disgusting."

His mouth was hot on her ear. "Tell me to stop, then."

"I hate you," Amelia said.

The words lacked force this time. Noah could feel the swell of her body, feel the heat of her through their clothes. He ran a hand down her spine, and she shuddered, arching into him almost involuntarily. Heat stirred in his stomach.

"You're a bad liar, Cartwell," Noah said in a low voice. "And right now, I think you want me to kiss you."

A/N: Hello lovely readers,

I meannnnn, I'd say I'm sorry for the cliffhanger, but we all know that I'm not ;)

I'll see you August 30!

Affectionately,

J.K.


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