Chapter Text
PRE-SEASON TESTING — CIRCUIT DE BARCELONA-CATALUNYA
The garage was a furnace.
Not the dramatic kind the media liked to write about, not flames and sparks and heroic silhouettes, but the quiet, suffocating heat that crawled under Dani’s race suit and refused to leave. The kind that soaked the collar of her balaclava before she’d even touched the steering wheel. Spain in late winter still carried teeth, but inside the garage, with the engines idling and the doors half-open to the sun, it felt like the air itself had stalled.
Dani sat on a folding chair near the back wall, helmet resting at her feet, elbows braced against her knees. She bounced a tennis ball against the concrete floor with methodical precision. Catch. Bounce. Catch. Bounce. The rhythm steadied her breathing, matched the bassline thudding in her ears through her headphones.
Playboy Carti blasting. Thoughts quiet.
Her race suit clung to her spine, damp and heavy. She didn’t bother adjusting it. Discomfort was part of the job. Six years in this sport had taught her that. Six years of feeder series paddocks, late nights, early mornings, and the kind of pressure that never really went away. The kind that just learned how to sit in your chest without crushing your lungs.
Pre-season testing always felt like this. Suspended. Everyone pretending it didn’t matter, while knowing it mattered more than they’d ever admit.
She’d already done her runs for the morning. Long stints. Fuel-heavy. Boring on paper, brutal in practice. The engineers were pleased. Dani had been too excited with the results. There was still another driver slot to fill today, and until that car was on track, nothing felt complete.
She flicked her eyes toward the pit lane entrance, then back down again. Bounce. Catch. Bounce.
The press had been unbearable this break.
She scoffed quietly, the sound lost beneath the music. A sharp breath through her nose. Every headline had the same shape, rearranged just enough to look new.
The future of Formula One.
The prodigy.
The next inevitable champion.
Dani rolled the tennis ball between her palms, feeling the fuzz catch against her skin. She’d heard it all before. Every year there was someone new, someone faster, someone supposedly hungrier. Most of them burned bright and disappeared just as quickly, unless they were Sophia Laforteza.
Unexpectedly, this one had stuck.
Megan Skiendiel.
F3 champion. F2 champion. And now, somehow, the sport had decided she’d walk straight into Formula One and do the same thing all over again. Dani almost laughed at that part. Almost.
She tilted her head back against the wall and stared at the exposed wiring along the garage ceiling, listening to the music swell and collapse in her ears.
As if.
Dani had been driving for six years. Six years of learning how to lose without shattering, how to survive in a grid full of people who would smile at you in the paddock and squeeze you into a wall at Turn 1 without hesitation. She’d tasted victory last season, real victory, her first F1 win, clean and earned. No longer some meme for people to make fun of. Her raw talent and the years of hard work, finally on display for everyone to see. The wins had just kept coming, as if now the goal was visible, inches away from her. She’d chased the championship until the final stretch, clawing closer and closer to ripping it away from Sophia Laforteza’s hands.
It hadn’t happened. She had to settle for a constructor’s, which don't get me wrong, she had partied hard for.
That loss sat somewhere sharp inside her, a splinter she refused to pull out. It was a reminder.
A reminder of her realization — Sophia, the four time champion — wasn’t untouchable. The throne wasn’t permanent. That Daniela Avanzini belonged at the top of this sport, and she just had to prove it.
She hadn’t had time to think about Megan.
Truthfully, she’d barely spoken to her at all. A few nods in passing. Shared rooms at FIA briefings. Nothing more. Megan was quiet, from what Dani had seen. The kind of driver who didn’t waste energy talking when she could be driving. Every mistake corrected, every lap cleaner than the last. Exponential growth, the commentators called it.
Only two years.
That was the part Dani didn’t like to dwell on.
Two years behind the wheel, and already held at a pedestal. A third of Dani’s experience. A fraction of the time. And yet, she was deemed worth the win by everyone else.
The tennis ball hit the floor harder than intended, skidding a few inches before she barely caught it again. Dani exhaled, jaw tightening.
Focus.
She hadn’t heard the garage door open.
Didn’t notice the shift in noise, the subtle change in the air. Missy’s voice cut through first, familiar, speaking to someone just outside her line of sight. Dani didn’t register the words. She was locked in, eyes unfocused, brain switching to somewhere between the last lap she’d driven and the next one she hadn’t yet.
A hand tapped her shoulder.
Dani startled.
Her head snapped up, headphones yanked halfway off her ears as adrenaline spiked, heart jumping against her ribs. “What the hell!-” she started, breath sharp.
Missy stood in front of her, amused and unapologetic. “Relax,” she said, smiling. “You’re gonna wear the floor out with that thing.”
Dani pulled the headphones fully down around her neck, heat flushing her face. “You don’t sneak up on people like that,” she muttered.
Missy laughed, and stepped aside. And that's when Dani saw her.
Megan Skiendiel stood just behind Missy, helmet tucked under one arm, race suit pristine and already fully zipped up. She wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t scowling either. Just… calm. Still. Like she belonged there already.
For a moment, the garage faded.
The noise dulled. The heat disappeared. Dani’s grip on the tennis ball loosened without her noticing. Her eyes met Megan’s, and something unnameable shifted in her chest: not fear, not anger, but a sudden, disorienting awareness. It was like the moment right before a car breaks traction. The kind of sensation you don’t understand until it’s already happening.
This is her.
Megan’s gaze was steady. Curious, maybe measuring. Like she was already learning Dani, filing her away alongside braking points and tire degradation charts.
The world slowed, not dramatically or cinematically, but enough for Dani to feel it.
Enough for her to know, with quiet certainty, that whatever this season was going to be… it would not belong to her alone.
And for the first time since she’d walked into that garage, Dani forgot to breathe
It was instinctive, almost rude in its urgency, like her body had decided something before her brain caught up. She rolled the tennis ball once more in her palm, then set it on the chair and stepped forward.
Up close, Megan was… smaller than she’d expected. All coiled muscle and quiet alertness, like a spring that didn’t creak when you pressed on it.
Dani cleared her throat.
“Nice to finally actually meet you,” she said, extending her hand.
Paddock-appropriate.
Megan’s eyes flicked down to Dani’s hand for half a second, then she smiled.
And before Dani could recalibrate, Megan stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her.
It was quick. Confident. No hesitation, no asking permission. A clean, practiced hug, like she’d done it a thousand times and never once been told no.
Dani froze.
Her arms hovered uselessly at her sides, brain short-circuiting as the scent of Megan’s shampoo, something citrus and sharp, cut through the heat of the garage. This was wrong. This was not how this was supposed to go.
Hugs were for podiums. Or funerals.
Megan pulled back easily, like nothing unusual had happened at all. “Same here,” she said. “We’ve been orbiting each other for a while.”
Dani blinked. “We’re… hugging now?”
Megan laughed, soft and bright, and the sound landed somewhere between Dani’s ribs. “I’m a hugger,” she said, unapologetic. “Get used to it.”
She smiled again.
This time, Dani really looked.
Whisker dimples creased Megan’s cheeks when she smiled, subtle but unmistakable, like a secret the cameras hadn’t caught yet. Her eyes crinkled, warmth bleeding through the calm exterior Dani had filed her under for years.
Huh.
The thought slipped in uninvited.
How could I have been so wrong?
Cold and calculated like a machine. That was what Dani had assumed. That was the shape the press had given Megan, the silhouette that made sense for someone who won the way she did. But standing here, sweat and heat and all, Megan looked… human. Open. Almost disarmingly so.
Missy clapped her hands once, sharp and decisive. “I knew you two would get along,” she said, grinning. “Alright, enough bonding. Hit the road, champ.”
Megan nodded, already turning away, professionalism snapping back into place like a visor clicking shut. “Copy that.”
She grabbed her helmet, slid it on with practiced ease, and within seconds she was gone, swallowed by the car and the choreography of mechanics.
Dani stayed where she was.
Minutes later, she found herself standing at the monitors, paddock headphones snug over her ears, arms folded tight across her chest. The screens glowed with data. Sector times. Throttle traces. Tire temps still climbing.
The Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya stretched out on the feed like a familiar scar.
Sixteen corners. 4.657 kilometers. An all-rounder in every sense of the word. Long straights that punished weak power delivery. Fast, sweeping corners that exposed aero balance. Heavy braking zones that separated the brave from the foolish. Turn 1, iconic and unforgiving. Turn 4, deceptively fast. The final sector, technical and cruel, where confidence either carried you through or betrayed you at the last second.
Everyone knew this track.
Years of testing had burned Catalunya into muscle memory. Drivers could recite braking points in their sleep. Mechanics could predict lap times before the car even rolled out. Critics loved to complain that familiarity killed the spectacle here.
Dani had always thought that was bullshit.
Familiarity didn’t make it easier. It made it honest.
“Okay Megan,” Missy’s voice crackled through the headset. “Outlap. Take it easy. Feel the car.”
The car rolled out, Dani felt the rowr of the engine in her heart.
Megan eased onto the main straight, throttle gentle, tires cold, steering inputs clean but cautious. Dani watched the steering trace dance across the screen, small corrections, learning the weight transfer, the bite of the front end.
After her out lap, her real first lap was rough.
Megan braked early into Turn 1. Missed the apex. Ran a little wide through Turn 3. The car twitched over the kerbs in Sector 2, unsettled and stubborn.
Dani pressed her lips together, biting back the instinctive smirk. It was there, the urge to laugh, to feel justified. Rookie things, huh, predictable.
“Front end’s a bit lazy on entry,” Megan said calmly. No frustration, just a statement.
“Copy,” Missy replied. “Try carrying a bit more speed into Turn 4. Trust the grip. You can lean on it.”
“Yep,” Megan said. “Don’t need to tell me twice.”
Fourth Lap.
Throttle pinned longer. Brake later. Turn 1 attacked, not tiptoed. The car rotated beautifully through Turn 3, aero finally biting, the steering trace smoothing out like it had always belonged there.
Dani leaned closer to the monitor without realizing it.
Sector 2 lit up green.
Turn 4. Megan committed, fast and fearless, the car squatting under load, tires screaming but holding. Dani felt her chest tighten. That corner separated drivers who understood the car from those who were still negotiating with it.
Megan understood it.
She flew through the back straight, confidence snowballing, each corner sharper than the last. Dani forgot to blink.
Then the final sector.
Last corner.
Megan braked a fraction too late.
The front locked up, a brief, ugly chirp of rubber, the car sliding just enough to ruin the exit. Dani exhaled sharply, something like relief and disappointment tangled together.
“Locked up,” Megan said immediately. “My bad.”
“Still a solid lap,” Missy replied. “Bring it back. We’ll tweak.”
The car crossed the line.
The lap time flashed up.
Dani stared at it.
Not perfect. Not dominant. But close. Closer than it had any right to be.
She slowly folded her arms tighter, heat blooming in her chest again, different now. Heavier. More complicated.
This wasn’t just a prodigy story.
This was a problem.
And as Megan rolled back into the garage, helmet still on, engine ticking as it cooled, Dani realized something with a clarity that made her stomach drop.
The season hadn’t started yet.
And already, nothing was safe.
Dani got out on track for the second time that day with something to prove.
The pit release light flicked green, and she didn’t hesitate..
The car surged forward, familiar weight settling under her hands like an extension of her spine. Catalunya unfolded ahead of her, every braking point carved into muscle memory, every camber change whispering exactly how far she could push before the line snapped.
This wasn’t exploration.
This was execution.
“Build into it,” Missy said over the radio, calm but watchful.
“I know,” Dani replied, already braking later than her first stint.
Turn 1. Aggressive. Clean. The car bit exactly where she asked it to. Through the long right of Turn 3, she fed the throttle with surgical patience, letting the aero do its work, trusting the balance she’d spent years learning how to feel rather than see.
Sector 1 lit up purple.
In the garage, Megan watched the screen without moving.
Helmet off now, hair damp with sweat, elbows resting on her knees. She followed Dani’s telemetry like a language she already spoke fluently. The steering angle was smooth, throttle application decisive.
“Damn,” Megan muttered under her breath.
Dani attacked Turn 4 like it owed her something.
The car held. The tires screamed but stayed loyal. Dani smiled inside her helmet, a sharp, feral thing no one else could see. This was where experience mattered. This was where years paid dividends.
Sector 2. Purple again.
She pushed harder in the final sector, flirting with the edge without crossing it, braking impossibly late into the final corner and launching herself onto the main straight like she’d been fired from a cannon.
“Good lap,” Missy said, voice tight now. “Very good lap.”
The time flashed up.
A full second quicker than Megan.
The garage erupted into controlled chaos — engineers murmuring, keyboards clacking, quiet nods exchanged. After a few more controlled laps, Dani rolled back in, engine ticking as it cooled, pulse still hammering.
She pulled her helmet off and met Megan’s eyes almost immediately.
Megan grinned.
“Well done, oldie.”
Dani scoffed, tossing her balaclava aside. “I’m not an oldie. I’m literally still a baby.”
Megan laughed, the sound easy, unguarded. “Sure. A baby with six years of mileage.”
“Experience,” Dani corrected, stepping closer. “You’ll get there.”
“Oh, I will,” Megan said, tilting her head slightly. “Just not today.”
They swapped roles again.
This time, Megan went out angry, not reckless, not sloppy, but sharp. Her hands steadied onto the steering wheel. She tried to control her breathing, as if she was gettign ready for qualifying. She replayed Dani’s lap in her head, not copying it, but challenging it.
Turn 1, later braking.
Turn 3, more commitment.
Turn 4, trust the grip, Missy’s voice echoed in her memory.
The car felt alive now, responding to her inputs with a hunger that hadn’t been there earlier. Megan pushed, lap after lap, shaving tenths, then hundredths.
“Sector 1 green,” Missy said.
Megan exhaled through her nose. Again.
She chased Dani’s ghost through the circuit, imagining her lines, her exits, her confidence. The rivalry wasn’t spoken yet, but it was there, threading through every corner.
Final sector.
She nearly had it.
She had braked a second too late into the last corner, trying to be too aggressive. Another reminder that raw talent didn’t erase years overnight.
After a couple more laps and feedback, Megan pulled back into the garage, she yanked her helmet off and shook her head, laughing quietly at herself.
“Next time,” she said.
Dani crossed her arms, smug but not cruel. “At the actual GP?”
Megan met her gaze, eyes bright. “At the actual GP.”
Missy clapped again, louder this time. “Alright, you two. Enough testosterone for one day.”
They both looked at her.
“The team party is tonight,” Missy continued. “Mandatory. No excuses.”
Dani’s lips curved into a smile she didn’t bother hiding. “What kind of party?”
Megan groaned. “Please say this is optional.”
“It is not,” Missy said cheerfully. “Wear something that isn’t a race suit. Try to look human.”
Dani felt a spark of excitement she hadn’t expected — music, lights, movement. A release. She liked this part of Formula One. The noise. The dancing. The reminder that there was life beyond lap times.
Megan, meanwhile, already looked like she was coming up with an excuse to bail out.
Dani nudged her shoulder with her own, “Come on it will be fun, loosen you up a bit.”
“This is a terrible idea,” Megan muttered, hand covering her face.
Dani fully turned towards her with a smirk, amused. “Dont tell me you’re scared?”
Megan smiled back, meeting Dani’s eyes. “Of you? Never.”
The challenge hung between them, unspoken but electric.
Testing wasn’t over. And the season hadn't even begun.
And yet, something had definitely already started.
-
Everything was cold marble and glass, a lobby that smelled faintly of citrus and money, lighting that made everyone’s skin look expensive. Outside, Barcelona was still Barcelona, loud and alive and impossible to fully tame. Inside, the McLaren family had turned the place into its own ecosystem: engineers in button-downs they’d ironed in a panic, mechanics pretending they didn’t know how to dance, PR people orbiting like satellites, all of it stitched together by the low thump of music and the soft clink of glasses.
Dani arrived like she belonged.
Not in the arrogant way, not in the I’m above this way. More like she was comfortable in the chaos, like the noise didn’t scrape at her nerves the way it did for most people. She walked in with her hair down, makeup flawless, gloves sleek against her arms, and a silver dress that caught every stray beam of light and threw it back into the room like confetti made of metal.
She could feel eyes on her immediately. Not because she was a driver, not really. They’d all gotten used to that. It was because Dani looked… dangerous tonight.
She scanned the room, already listening for familiar voices, already tracking where Missy was, where the engineers had gathered, which corner had become the unofficial “strategy debate” zone even at a party. Searching for a certain someone without even realizing until she saw her.
Megan was in pink, satin hugging her like a dare, the black bustier shape giving the whole look teeth. A fur wrap sat around her shoulders like she’d stolen winter and decided to wear it inside just to prove she could. Her hair fell in soft waves, makeup warm and glowy, and she looked… unreal. Not in the clean-cut paddock way. In the way that made people stare a second too long and then pretend they hadn’t.
Megan also looked like she wasn’t sure she wanted to be here.
Which, honestly, made Dani like her more.
Dani slipped through the crowd with the ease of someone used to moving through tight spaces. She reached Megan before anyone else could claim her, before the party could swallow her whole.
“Hey,” Dani said, bright but not performative. “You made it.”
Megan turned, eyes widening a fraction, and then she smiled. Those whisker dimples showed up again, quick and disarming, like a little glitch in her intimidating aura.
“Mandatory,” Megan said, tilting her glass slightly, like she was toasting the concept of being forced to have fun. “Or so I’ve been threatened.”
Dani laughed. “Missy doesn’t threaten. She… lovingly corners you with consequences.”
Megan’s lips twitched. “That’s still threatening.”
Dani looked her over, the pink satin catching the light when Megan shifted. “You look like you’re going to start a war.”
Megan glanced at Dani’s silver dress, the gloves, the necklace sitting perfect at her collarbone. “Well, looks like you’ve already won it.”
For a second, Dani didn’t know what to do with that. Megan’s voice was easy. Almost… sincere.
Dani lifted her chin, straying away from the topic of how beautiful Megan looked, “Welcome to the McLaren family.”
Megan blinked, the tiniest flicker of surprise crossing her face. “Is that a real thing you say?”
“It is now,” Dani said, and she meant it. “It’s loud, it’s chaotic, half of them communicate exclusively in tire temperatures and caffeine levels, but they’ll take a bullet for you.”
Megan’s smile softened. “That’s… good.”
“Also,” Dani added, leaning closer like she was sharing a secret, “if you don’t learn at least three people’s names tonight, the mechanics will start calling you ‘Rookie’ forever.”
Megan made a face. “They already call me that.”
“See?” Dani said, delighted. “We can fix it.”
Megan’s gaze flicked over Dani again. “You’re… different out of the car.”
Dani paused, the question catchign her off guard. “Different how?”
Megan shrugged, but it was a careful shrug, like she didn’t want to offend her. “In the garage you’re locked in. Like… steel. Here you’re…” She searched for the word. “…alive.”
Dani huffed a laugh. “I am alive in the garage too.”
“Debatable,” Megan said, deadpan.
Dani’s grin widened. “Okay, rookie. Let’s get me a drink before I decide I hate you.”
Megan’s eyes sparkled. “Too late. You already welcomed me into the family.”
They drifted a little away from the main crowd, still within earshot of the music but far enough that conversation didn’t feel like shouting. Dani grabbed them both a drink because she could tell Megan was holding her glass like a shield.
“So,” Dani said, taking a sip, “where did you come from? And don’t say ‘the junior ladder’.”
Megan leaned back against a high table, considering. “Fine. I’ll be annoyingly specific.”
“Please do.”
Megan’s voice turned storytelling-smooth, the way it did when someone had rehearsed this answer for media and then gotten tired of it, so they started saying the truth instead.
“I started with remote-control cars.”
Dani blinked. “No way.”
“Way,” Megan said, pleased at the reaction. “I used to race them obsessively, like it was life or death. Then I moved to karting at like ten.”
“And then?” Dani asked.
Megan shrugged like it was obvious. “Then I made it everyone’s problem.”
Dani laughed. “Okay, that part checks out.”
Megan continued. “I didn’t talk much. I just… drove. If I made a mistake, I fixed it. If I lost, I got hungrier.”
Dani’s eyes narrowed, thoughtful. “Quiet people are the scariest.”
“And you?” Megan asked. “Because don’t pretend you just woke up and decided to be terrifying.”
“My dad took me to watch karting when I was a kid,” Daniela said. “I was around seven. I didn’t even know what I was looking at, but I remember the sound and the way the air tasted like rubber. I distinctly remember thinking: that’s more than a sport, that's a whole language.”
Megan’s face softened into something like admiration. “That’s actually kind of cute.”
Dani gasped, offended. “Don’t call my origin story cute.”
“It’s cute,” Megan repeated, grinning.
Dani leaned in, conspiratorial. “I moved into bigger series and basically never stopped. Six years later, I’m still here. Hauling my ass across a track, trying to steal a championship from Sophia.”
Megan’s eyes glistened with somethign that looked like excitment, “Your best friend,” Megan said.
“My best friend,” Dani confirmed, and there was affection in it, tangled up with hunger. “Which makes it worse. I want to beat her so badly it’s embarrassing.”
Megan nodded slowly. “I get that.”
Dani studied her. “Do you?”
Megan’s smile thinned into something sharper. “Yeah, I like people. A lot. And I still want to win so badly it makes me feel insane.”
That was something Dani could get behind. She loved Sophia, Manon and Yoonchae even but there was nothing she wouldn’t do to beat them.
They were quiet for a moment, the music pulsing through the floor. Around them, the team party churned on, a glittering distraction, but Dani felt like she’d found a pocket of real air.
Megan lifted her glass. “To not being weirdos about it.”
Dani clinked hers against it. “We’re absolutely weirdos about it.”
Megan laughed, and Dani realized she liked that sound more than she should.
Conversation loosened after that. They slid from origin stories into smaller, warmer things. What it was like being away from home. How the hotel pillows always felt wrong. The weird superstition drivers collected like trophies.
Megan confessed she always checked for her lucky chestnut before getting in the car. Dani admitted she only entered the car by the left side and touched the halo once every time, like it could bless her.
“Does it work?” Megan asked.
Dani shrugged. “I’m alive. So… maybe. But they’re silly superstitions.”
Megan sipped her drink, eyes drifting around the room. “I’m not great at these.”
“At parties?”
“At… being perceived,” Megan said, and it was half a joke, half a confession.
Dani’s smile went gentle without becoming soft. “You don’t have to perform. They’ll love you anyway. They already do I’m sure.”
Megan’s brows rose. “How do you know?”
Dani pointed subtly across the room. “Because the mechanics are watching you like you’re their new favorite character in a show they’ve been bingeing for years.”
Megan glanced over, caught one of the mechanics smiling, and immediately looked back, flustered. “That’s terrifying.”
“It’s family,” Dani corrected.
Megan’s gaze returned to Dani, lingering a beat longer than normal. “You’re good at this.”
“At what?”
“At making it feel less… scary.”
Dani’s chest tightened a little, and she covered it with humor because that was safer. “I’m a youngester, remember? Social skills are my brand.”
Megan snorted. “You called yourself a baby earlier because I called you old.”
“And I wasn’t lying,” Dani insisted. “I’m youthful.”
Megan looked Dani up and down again, slow and unapologetic. “You’re shimmering.”
Dani blinked. “That’s the dress.”
Megan leaned closer, voice lower. “Still counts.”
Dani’s brain did that annoying thing where it paused, like a buffering screen.
So she did the only smart thing she could think of.
She changed the subject which honestly only made it worse.
“Dance with me,” Dani said.
Megan’s face did something complicated. “No.”
Dani stared. “No?”
“I don’t dance,” Megan said quickly, like she was trying to swat the suggestion out of the air before it could land.
Dani tipped her head. “You don’t dance or you don’t dance in front of people?”
Megan’s mouth opened, then closed. “Both.”
Dani set her drink down with deliberate care. “Okay. We’ll fix that too.”
Megan’s eyes widened. “Avanzini.”
Dani held her hand out. “Come onnnn.”
Megan stared at the hand like it was a contract she hadn’t read.
“I will fall,” Megan said.
Dani’s smile turned wicked. “Then I’ll catch you. McLaren family, remember? Plus I promise I have quick reflexes.”
Megan hesitated another second, then took Dani’s hand with a soft, reluctant sigh. “If I embarrass myself, I’m suing.”
Dani tugged her into the crowd. “You can’t sue your own teammate.”
Megan muttered, “Watch me.”
The dance floor wasn’t huge, but it was packed enough that they could disappear into it without becoming the center of attention. The music shifted into something with a heavy beat, easy to move to, forgiving of mistakes.
Dani moved like she’d been waiting all day to do this.
It wasn’t even about showing off. It was release. Her shoulders loosened. Her smile widened. She found the rhythm instantly and let it carry her, silver dress catching the light with every turn of her hips.
Megan, at first, looked like she’d rather be back in the cockpit.
Her hands hovered awkwardly. Her posture was too controlled as if she was bracing for impact.
Dani leaned in, laughing into her ear so Megan could hear her over the music. “Stop thinking.”
“I can’t stop thinking,” Megan protested, but her voice sounded more amused than upset.
“You can,” Dani said. “You just don’t want to.”
Megan’s eyes narrowed. “You’re bossy.”
Dani grinned. “You’re welcome.”
Then Dani did something reckless and simple: she matched Megan’s movement, mirrored her like they were on track, like it was just another kind of choreography. She gave Megan space, let her find her own timing, let her stop fighting the music.
And slowly, Megan softened.
A shoulder loosened. A laugh slipped out. Her hips started to move with the beat instead of against it. The fur wrap slid slightly down her arms and she didn’t even fix it, which felt like progress all on its own.
Dani watched Megan’s face change as she stopped guarding herself, dimples flashing when she smiled for real, and Dani’s brain offered up a thought she didn’t ask for:
She’s not cold at all she’s careful. Professional even.
The song shifted. Faster now. Megan surprised Dani by spinning her, confident hands, clean movement.
Dani stumbled one step, then recovered, laughing. “Okay!”
Megan leaned in, triumphant. “I told you I’d get you.”
Dani narrowed her eyes, breathless, delighted. “You think dancing is a competition?”
Megan’s smile sharpened. “Everything is competition.”
Dani’s laughter turned into something warmer. “God, you’re unbearable.”
Megan shrugged, still dancing, still close enough that Dani could smell her perfume under the heat. “You hugged me first.”
“I did not,” Dani protested.
Megan’s eyes glittered. “You offered your hand. Same thing.”
Dani scoffed. “That’s not how hands work.”
“That’s how I work,” Megan said, and her smile made it sound like a promise.
They danced through another song, then another, and somewhere in the middle of it, Megan stopped looking like she wanted to flee. She started looking like she belonged. Like the music had finally convinced her she didn’t have to be sharp all the time.
When they stepped off the floor, Dani was glowing. Megan was flushed, hair slightly messier, expression dazed in the way that only happened when someone had accidentally had fun.
Dani lifted her glass again. “See? You survived.”
Megan took a long sip, then sighed. “I hate that you were right.”
Dani beamed. “You’ll hate that a lot this year.”
Megan’s gaze held Dani’s for a beat, playful but edged. “Not if I can help it.”
Before Dani could respond, Missy appeared like she’d been summoned by the word “year.”
“Look at you two,” Missy said, pleased. “Not killing each other. Miracles happen.”
Dani rolled her eyes. “We’re saving it for track.”
Megan nodded solemnly. “Strategic violence.”
Missy laughed, then pointed between them. “Enjoy tonight. Drink some water at some point, I’m begging you. And remember: this is a long season. You’re going to need each other.”
Dani’s smile didn’t falter. She could do long seasons. She could do pressure. She could do war.
Megan’s expression tightened just slightly, like the word need scraped at something inside her.
Missy clapped once, her signature punctuation. “Alright. I want both of you at the debrief brunch tomorrow. No excuses. And try not to start a fight tonight that I have to apologize for on Monday.”
She walked away before either of them could answer.
Dani turned back to Megan, eyes bright. “Told you. Family.”
Megan exhaled, half amused, half resigned. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “Family.”
Dani didn’t see the way Megan’s fingers tightened around her glass.
Didn’t see the way Megan watched her for a second too long.
Didn’t see how, underneath the new warmth, something else was waking up. Something competitive. Something hungry.
Because tonight was easy.
Tonight was music and lights and friendship forming in the space between two enemies who hadn’t become enemies yet.
And the season hadn’t even started.
Not really.
But somewhere deep in Megan’s chest, the clock had begun to tick.The same clock that had pushed her kid version, who started in RC racing into karting at ten and then into Europe chasing bigger battles. The same clock that had pushed Daniela Avanzini from karting at seven into a straight-line obsession
The same clock that would, eventually, demand a prize.