Chapter Two

My parents named me June, for summer, because I was due on the solstice. I was born on the first of July. My late arrival would set the standard for the rest of my life—a bit of a slow pace, late bloomer, always a couple steps behind. It'd always been this way, through everything from first words to womanhood. Including, it seemed, the latest news, which stared accusingly at me on New Year's morning from the beady headline of some sports tabloid.

Charlie Yang signs with Helios Racing for the upcoming 2024 season.

Now it made sense. Last night, and Charlie's hesitation, words seemingly on the tip of his tongue. Once more, I was the last to get it.

It was just like I'd told him the night before—car stuff really did go over my head. Because this I simply could not understand. Charlie had maintained a seat with the number one racing team, Marchetti, since he'd entered Formula 1. It was almost unthinkable for him to look elsewhere. But he had. Looked right at Helios and its team principal. My father.

And maybe it was just because I'd never gotten it. Never understood how cars could be bigger than life. I'd made peace with it as a child, not yet immune to the thrill of it all. Bound by my father's legacy and his passion. But then it transformed into Joshua's life, swelling ever bigger. At the very least, I had hoped the crash would have been the line. A chance for the family to come together and really grieve.

But just five months later, it'd been announced my father would take over the team principal position for Helios. And now this. Even when I'd been certain there was nothing else he could do to betray me—betray Joshua's memory—he somehow found a way to surprise me. There was nothing sacred left between us.

This realization was what allowed me to sit through an unbearably long rideshare back to the very house I wished to never set foot in again.

My dad was in the dining room when I burst inside. "Appa!" The blood was all rushing to my head, muting my hearing, making my vision swim. "You fucking bastard!"

Respect had always been mutually lacking in our relationship, but I had never once talked to him like this. I half-expected him to send me away immediately. He didn't. He met me in the foyer, napkin in hand—he'd been in the middle of breakfast. "Junie," he said calmly. "Let's keep it civil, please."

"Civil? Civil? I've just read the news—the news—about Charlie! You couldn't even tell me! I had to read it! Because you're such a fucking coward!" Tears were hot in my eyes. I could feel a couple leaking out in a scalding stream. Taking a deep breath, I tried to steady myself. "You know, it's crazy, really. Just when I think you couldn't be any bigger of a piece of shit, you somehow manage to blow my fucking mind!"

My father sighed. Gestured toward the dining room. "Come eat, June."

"I'm not hungry."

"Catherine made fresh-pressed orange juice. At least have a glass of that."

I barked out a laugh. "You know what? Fuck you. And your stupid cook."

I heard his hand cracking against the side of my face before I even felt it. The sting of the blow came a few seconds later, sending me reeling, more tears pricking at my eyes, this time from the pain. His ring had caught the corner of my mouth. A gasp escaped me, then a laugh of disbelief. He'd never hit me before. "Nice one," I told him, palm pressed against my jaw. "And you wonder why Mom left you."

"June—"

"You disgust me. You're disgusting."

The regret in his expression withered into that of disappointment at my words. "I would never expect you to understand. And I won't make you. This conversation never happened. Nor will it again."

"That's not fair."

"Life isn't fair. That's one thing I know I don't have to teach you."

He was done talking. I could see it in the angle of his shoulders, the tic in his jaw. Desperately, I told him, "If you do this—if you work with Charlie—I'll never forgive you. For any of it. Never. I swear to you." I let myself cry, if only in hopes that he would waver. "Don't you dare do this. Dad, please."

"It is done, June. Charlie is an irreplaceable talent. I won't lose him."

"He's not your son. You know that right? He will never replace Joshua. He will never be what you lost."

My father turned to me, eyes stormy. "Get out of my house," he said quietly, "and do not come back until you've calmed yourself down."

"What'd you do to Charlie anyway? You threaten him? You blame him? He doesn't owe you anything, despite what you may think. So whatever you're holding over his head, just remember that. He owes you nothing. And you are a monster for making him think otherwise."

My words were meant to strike deep, and I thought they might, but if they bothered him, he didn't let on. His anger, quick as it was to spark, and burned out already. Like a wildfire devouring an already-dead forest—one big flare and then nothing. "I let you do as you pleased when you were younger," was what he said to me finally. "With your partying. With Charlie. But no longer. You're an adult now, June. Behave as such."

I couldn't hide my disbelief. My confusion. I'd never done anything with Charlie. Except maybe some harmless flirting, but that just came with the territory "What—"

"Do not come to the races," he said. "And leave Charlie alone. I don't want you filling his head with all your poisonous nonsense."

"My poisonous nonsense? As if your mind games haven't forced him into a seat on your team."

"He chose to come to Helios. In fact, he sought me specifically. It was his decision. Despite what you may think you know." With his expression shuttering completely, he waved his hand toward the door. "Now leave, please. I want to get back to my breakfast."

As usual, I was slow to process this. In fact, I flat out didn't understand. Charlie had gone to my father? He had left his prized seat at Marchetti for what—redemption? Forgiveness? Whatever the reason, it tasted the same as the blood leaking from the corner of my mouth.

Bitter. And like betrayal.

I stalked to the door, wrenching it open. "If you do this," I said again, "I promise you'll lose me forever."

"You're too old for ultimatums." He followed me out onto the porch. The cold air bit at my skin, stinging where my tears had dried, and especially where my skin had split open by my lip. Like salt in the wound. "I've made peace with this, June. So should you."

"I hate you," I spat.

His smile was sad, but unsurprised. "I know," he said. "But one day I hope you'll come to understand."

"Well, don't hold your breath."

I didn't have a car back into the city yet, so I let my legs carry me as far down the drive as I could, if only to put space between us. I didn't have to look behind me to know that he hadn't followed me. It was just another piece of the truth I had known for years—he would never choose me. He couldn't.

The porch was empty when my ride finally came. If I squinted, I probably could have seen him at the dining table once more, reading the newspaper with his fresh orange juice and whatever bullshit breakfast he'd been eating. I didn't bother. Instead, I sifted through the contacts on my phone, praying I still had the number I needed. Adrenaline rushed through me when I found it.

It rang three times before he picked up, voice thick with sleep. "Hello?"

"Where are you?" I asked by way of greeting, not wanting to lose my nerve or change my mind. I gulped down my heartbeat. "I need to see you. Send me your address."

"It's the same place as always. But June—"

"Door code still the same?"

"Yes, but—"

"Great. I'm on my way over now. Be there in half an hour."

"June—"

I hung up before he could finish. Then, sitting back in my seat, fingers to my aching lip, I watched the property blur together, then shrink, until it faded into a mass of trees and became nothing at all once more.

Charlie Yang answered the front door bleary-eyed, with chapped lips and bedhead. He'd at least had the decency to put on some clothes, but for some reason I found myself blushing all the same. "June," he told me as I barged my way in. "I am extremely hungover, so whatever it is, please make it quick."

"I saw the news." I turned to face him. The lights were off, his apartment dim, and I mercilessly flipped on all three entryway lights, forcing him to see me. "Why didn't you tell me last night?"

"I—" His eyes zeroed in on my mouth, and just like that, he was fully awake. "What the hell happened to your face?"

"Answer my question first." Hand held out between us, as if that could keep him at bay, I said again, "Answer my question."

Now he was just annoyed. Hot-headed as all drivers seemed to be. "I don't know. Maybe because I'd just seen you for the first time in years and didn't know what to say? What should I have done? Hi, June, good to see you it's been so long by the way I've asked to sign with Helios and will be working with your father—yeah I don't think so. God, can you just..." Reaching around me, he flicked the lights off again. "Now what happened?"

I shrugged. "Saw Dad."

Maybe it was because he was looking at me like I was insane, or maybe it was because I knew that he was right—I was insane, just showing up here like this, rushing into his apartment like I owned the place—but whatever the reason, I found I couldn't get much else out. My throat constricted as I looked at him, wanting to hate him but not quite finding it in myself to be able to. "We had an argument."

His gaze softened. He brought his hand up, as if to touch my cheek, then seemed to think better of it, letting it drop. "And your lip?" he asked gently. "What is that?"

"I might've said some things I shouldn't have."

"That doesn't mean—"

"I need you to turn down the contract with Helios," I interrupted. "I need you to tell my father no."

My words made him frown. "I've already signed. And besides, it was my choice."

"Well, tell them you've changed your mind."

Charlie sighed. "June," he said, and took my hand, leading me down the hall to the living room. "Sit down, okay?"

My mind was still racing a mile a minute, sifting through what I should say. What I might be able to tell him in order to sway his decision. At his touch, though, and in our nearness, I found myself faltering a little. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been here, but it was all as familiar as ever: minimally furnished and barely lived in. Cold. Dark. Lonely. I wondered when he'd come here last, the dust on the coffee table indicating that it must've been awhile.

While I sat there, avoiding the ghosts that seemed to linger in every corner, he busied himself in the kitchen, filling two glasses of water and dampening a washrag. The former, he set on the table as he rejoined me. The latter, he held onto, his brown eyes nearly black in the low light. "You've got blood on your face," he told me. "Tilt your head for me?"

My protest died in my throat as I met his gaze, and I did as he asked, closing my eyes as he cleaned me up. I'd come here with a plan. Or at least what I'd thought was a plan. But now, as I sat here, I just felt like a fool.

"He shouldn't have hit you," Charlie said. His breath fanned over my skin, as tender as his touch. "It looks painful. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, I was pretty nasty to him."

"That doesn't matter." I opened my eyes as he sat back. Irritation seemed to roll off him in waves as he studied me. "He should never hit you."

Pulling my legs to my chest, I rested the good side of my face on my knee and stared hard at the wall. "I thought he maybe had forced your hand or something. With this whole thing. That's why I went there this morning. I felt so betrayed—he couldn't even tell me to my face, you know? And I just thought—I thought maybe he had made you...work with him or whatever. And so I went there to change his mind. Because you don't. Owe him anything, I mean."

In my periphery, I could see him nodding, processing every word out of my mouth, and understanding. "But he told you the truth. So now you're here. To change my mind."

"Yes."

"And do you know my answer?"

My lip wobbled, cut smarting, as I fought back my tears. "Yes."

"I should have told you when I saw you last night. You're right about that." He set a hand on my arm. "I'm sorry."

"I just don't understand. That's all. Like, why now? Or at all, really. Maybe in some way you still do feel like you owe my dad something, but I mean it when you say you don't. I know we're not close and maybe it felt like it, but I never blamed you for what happened. So...why?"

Charlie sat forward, rubbing his temples. "It's complicated, okay?"

"Oh, right, because it's about cars and I'm just a stupid woman."

"Exactly," he said flippantly. "I'm so glad you said it so I didn't have to." His brown eyes cut to mine. "Be serious, June. I know you've come to hate the sport, but give me some credit here. I have never looked down on you like that."

I blew out a breath. "Sorry. You're right. I'm just..."

"I get it."

He looked me over, expression serious. Was it hot in here or was that just me? I fanned at myself a little as I tried my best to hold his gaze. To no avail: "I would never overlook you on purpose," he murmured, and I had to look away. "I guess I thought it might help bring closure to everything. Between all of us. I see now that maybe that was selfish."

I shrugged. It wasn't selfish. In some way, I supposed I understood. But I didn't want to. I wouldn't validate him either. So I just kept quiet. He continued after a beat, "It probably doesn't make much sense, but I just feel close to Josh when I'm on the track. He was my best friend, you know? I miss him, too."

I miss him, too.

The way he said it made me want to cry. Grief was hard to explain; I could never quite find the words. But I knew the language of it, of loss. What he really meant to say—which was what I felt every waking moment—was I miss him all the time.

I shot to my feet at this, clearing my throat. "I'm so sorry for barging into your house, Charlie. I don't know what I was thinking. It was just all that"—I gestured wildly, searching for a word—"adrenaline I guess. But I should go. I, uh, I have to go."

"Do you have a ride?" He stood too. "Let me drive you."

"That's okay. I need the fresh air."

"June—"

"Thanks for having me and sorry again. I, uh, or, good luck with everything. This season and all that. With the driving." Hurrying to the door, I managed to get out over my shoulder, "Bye."

After the door shut, I practically sprinted down the hallway. I felt like a child, stupid and rash, for coming all the way here. A complete idiot. And with nothing to show for it. Things would continue just as they were. Just as my father wanted.

"June!" Charlie came jogging toward me and the elevators, wincing a little. Right, he was hungover. My bad. Maybe it would've been considerate to meet him halfway, but I couldn't. I just watched him close the distance, the faint ding of the climbing elevator cutting through the silence as I waited. "I'm here until late next week," he told me breathlessly when he reached me. "I want to see you again."

Fuck. I looked away. "I don't know... I'm pretty busy. And, you know, my dad told me not to go near you. Because I'm poison or something. Best not to upset Mr. Means Business. Otherwise you'll end up like me." I gestured toward my face. "Tabloids would have a field day with that."

I meant it in an offhand way, almost like a joke. When I glanced at him, though, he wasn't smiling. His frown was deep, worry creased between his brows. "You're not poison, June. And he'll never lay a hand on you again."

"Still, I—"

"Just think about it." Finally, his lips slanted in a slight grin. "Come at six on Friday. I'll make you dinner. We can catch up. If you're interested, I'll see you then. If not, at least watch me on the TV this season?"

The answer was no, but I didn't have the heart to muster up an excuse. Instead, I said, "I still root for Auden. Sorry, hot rod."'

The elevator dinged before he could reply, severing whatever semblance of a moment we were having completely in two. Clearing my throat, I stepped onto the lift, smile fading as reality settled back over us. "Thanks for seeing me," I offered up quickly. "Sorry about your hangover."

"Six on Friday," was all he replied with.

"Sure." I met his gaze one last time before the doors shut between us, thudding with finality. I would never go, of course. And he didn't actually believe I would. But sometimes it was easier to pretend.

I'd always hated goodbyes.

If I left this way, I figured, it wasn't really like saying one at all.

a/n: please vote and/or comment if you enjoyed ! did i edit this ? no ! my brain literally feels like falling out of my head but i am doing my best ok. happy weekend and thanks for reading ! em xo