The television cameras left Carson and cut back to the three race leaders who were going around a particularly sharp-looking bend the commentators called The Loop. As I watched them, hating myself because Carson was obviously upset, shocked voices burst through my headphones.

“He’s off! Carson Matthews has just crashed out of the race!”

The words made my heart stop as my mouth popped open in shock. Time seemed to stand still as their words washed over me like a bucket of cold water. I jumped to my feet, staring at the screen in disbelief.

“I can’t see what’s happened. Medics are on their way,” the commentator said.

The cameras cut to pieces of Carson’s bike strewn everywhere. Tyre tracks stained the road and trailed across the grass. People in white jumpsuits were running toward a sign, which had been smashed and lay in a pile along with Carson’s bike. When I saw legs in that tangled mess, a loud whimper left my lips.

No. No. No. This can’t be happening. Please, no.

“Let’s get a replay of what happened.” The camera changed, showing Carson’s bike bypassing the pit lane, still cutting off every attempt the guy behind him made to overtake. When he approached the bend, the guy behind him slowed marginally and backed off, but Carson again left it later to brake. As he approached the corner, it looked like he was going too fast and as he leant into the turn, he lost control and the bike wobbled before clipping the ground. Carson was flicked over the top of it, smashing into the ground and bouncing like a rag doll, rolling a couple of times with his arms flailing everywhere before skidding along the road and hitting the barriers on the left-hand side of the track. Horrifyingly, his bike was skidding along behind him so as he hit the barrier, his bike smashed into him, too.

“No! Oh, God, No!” I shouted, covering my mouth with my hands.

“NO, HE CAN’T HAVE. THAT’S NOT…” I shook my head, my eyes glued to the screen. My legs swayed, and I bumped into the stool behind me, sending it clattering to the ground. The whole room had gone quiet, and everyone was staring at me. The TV replayed it over and over, slowing it down; showing Carson flick over the handlebars of his bike, showing his body hit the ground. In slow motion, I saw his helmet hit the road before it bounced back up again. His shoulder smashed into the tarmac, and his arm twisted behind him before he started skidding along the track with pieces of his bike whizzing past him.

My lungs constricted as my heart squeezed in my chest. I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen, watching it over and over. The voices in my headphones were talking, but I couldn’t understand a single word they were saying. My head was muffled; my vision swam before me as my eyes filled my tears.

Carson’s legs weren’t moving. He wasn’t moving at all. People were trying to dig him out, pulling pieces of the wooden sign off him, throwing them to the side carelessly. It took two of them to drag his bike off his body. I watched it all, knowing I’d caused this accident because of the argument we’d had and by me not admitting my feelings for him. And now it was too late. He had crashed and died, and he would never, ever know I loved him more than life itself, that I had always loved him and would give my life for his in a heartbeat. He would never know he was my whole world.

Suddenly, the cameras flicked back to the race. That was when I finally snapped back into reality. I pulled my headphones off, dropping them carelessly on the floor. “What do I do?” I cried, turning to Katrina and grabbing her elbow to steady myself as my legs almost buckled. “I need to go there. How do I get there?”

Her eyes were sympathetic as she looked over my shoulder. I glanced in that direction, seeing two men walking toward me, both wearing staff T-shirts. I gulped, swiping my tears as they started to stream down my face. My whole world was disappearing into nothingness around me as I realised I might never get to see his smile again, never get to look into his eyes or feel his skin under my fingertips.

“Miss Bancroft, there’s been an accident. Carson’s with the medics right now. Would you like us to take you to him?”

I nodded quickly, stumbling forward as my heart began to hammer in my chest. “Yes,” I whimpered. “Is he okay? It looked so bad. He wasn’t moving, please… is he going to be all right?” I gripped the man’s sleeve as my chin wobbled. I needed an answer. I needed him to reassure me I wasn’t going to have to tell my little girl that the daddy she’d only just met and fell in love with had left to go up to Heaven. I didn’t want to have to say those words. I couldn’t.

The guy smiled sadly and motioned toward the door with his spare hand. “I don’t know any details, miss. They just told me to bring you down.” His hand closed over my elbow as he started guiding me through the room. As we walked past people, I saw their sullen, sympathetic faces. The distaste was now gone from them; now I was one of them, and they felt empathy for me. In that moment, my past and my job didn’t matter because they could feel my pain.

“He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay.” Repeating it as we walked out of the building and out to a golf buggy didn’t help at all. “Where is he? How long will it take to get to him?” I mumbled, wringing my hands.

Without answering my question, the guy helped me in and then slid beside me as someone else jumped into the front and pulled out. The little road we were on ran alongside the track, and spectator stands stood to my left. People continued to shout and cheer. The other drivers whizzed past us on the other side of the fence, their engines making such a loud noise it made my ears ring. Everything was carrying on as normal, completely oblivious that my whole life was over and my world had stopped turning.