Chapter 7 Choice
The machine's humming faded into silence.
I gasped, my hands flying to my chest—my real chest, broader and littered with the familiar scars of racing mishaps. I was back in my own body. Relief flooded through me, followed by a sharp stab of fear.
"Charlotte?"
She sat up slowly on the adjacent medical bed, blinking wide brown eyes. Dark curls tumbled over her shoulders. When she touched her own face in wonder, I saw the faint tremor in her fingers.
"You remember," I breathed.
Her gaze met mine, and her lips curved into the same wry smile I'd grown accustomed to over these impossible weeks. "Every stupid second."
Samantha stood frozen by the console, staring at the readouts in disbelief. "This isn't possible. The memory retention—"
Charlotte was on her feet first, moving toward Samantha with dangerous purpose. For a moment I thought she might strike her. Instead, she simply said, "Get out."
To my surprise, Samantha went without protest, leaving the flash drive containing all her research and confessions on the console.
The hospital corridors blurred as we escaped into the cool Monaco night. The Mediterranean stretched before us, glittering under the moonlight. Charlotte hugged herself, breathing deeply.
"I never thought I'd miss this," she murmured, looking down at her own hands.
I moved to stand beside her, close but not touching. "Regrets?"
She turned, studying my face—really studying it, as if seeing me for the first time. "Only that it took being inside your head to realize how stubborn you are."
I laughed, the sound foreign after weeks of hearing it from Charlotte's lips. "Says the woman who performed an entire concert on pure adrenaline."
We stood there in comfortable silence, the weight of everything we'd shared settling between us. The world seemed sharper now, more vibrant—as if swapping souls had fine-tuned our senses to life itself.
One year later
The roar of the crowd shook the grandstands as I took the checkered flag. My first win since the accident, since everything changed. I lifted myself from the cockpit, pulling off my helmet to face the sea of flashing cameras—and there she was.
Charlotte stood at the pit wall, Violet Hour tour pass dangling around her neck, clapping with the rest of my team. But the look in her eyes wasn't just pride—it was understanding. She knew exactly what this moment cost me.
The press conference passed in a blur. Reporters asked about my comeback, about the investigation into Tyler's sabotage, about the mysterious year that had changed me. I gave them nothing. Some truths weren't theirs to know.
Back in the paddock, Charlotte waited by my motorhome, two glasses of champagne in hand. "For the champion," she said, handing me one.
I clinked my glass against hers. "Couldn't have done it without you."
"That's the first smart thing you've said all day."
We drank in comfortable silence, the sounds of the after-party drifting toward us. Charlotte set down her glass and reached into her jacket, pulling out a single key. "I'm playing Nice tomorrow night. If you're not too busy celebrating..."
I took the backstage pass key from her fingers, our hands brushing just long enough to feel that old, familiar spark. The same synchrony we'd shared since that first rainy night.
"I'll be there."
Charlotte smiled—that real, unguarded smile I'd only ever seen when she thought no one was looking. "I know."
As she walked away, I realized something with perfect clarity: Our souls might have returned to their rightful bodies, but some bonds went deeper than flesh and bone.
And this? This was just the beginning.
