Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
?? MONTE CARLO, MONACO
P ulling the visor of his helmet down, Rowan took a deep breath in as he watched four of his mechanics scurry to the side of the track.
With his gloved hands, he gripped the steering wheel tightly, blocking out his surroundings and only letting the sound of his loud heartbeat take over his senses.
He inhaled. Exhaled. Repeated.
The signal was given, and that was his cue to push on the throttle to begin the formation lap.
Zig-zagging, accelerating, braking, and pushing the gas pedal again, he dragged the tyres on the asphalt to warm up the compounds. The sensation of the engine vibrating was his favourite; he was able to feel the car’s power, its loud roar as it zipped through the streets of Monaco.
Monaco’s Grand Prix was one of Rowan’s favourite races on the calendar because it was a challenging one. The circuit had always been iconic, but the twists and turns were narrow, causing overtaking to be nearly impossible.
He was starting on pole today.
He wasn’t going to let the universe ruin anything for him. This win was his, and no one else’s.
He had worked night and day with his engineers to fix all the issues the car had faced during free practices.
Back on the grid, he watched from the rear-view mirror as his rivals lined up in their respective positions.
He focused back on the route ahead, waiting for the five lights to shift to red.
The green flag was waved in the air.
Inhale. Exhale.
The first light lit up, followed by the four others.
Rowan’s mind flashed with everything he needed to do during the race—all the corners he needed to put his skills to use; all the turns where he’d need to show millimetric accuracy whilst driving at top speed.The iconic hairpin where he’d need to control the vehicle before roaring off into the next few turns and flying through the well-known corner of the Casino.
The lights froze for six seconds, then went away.
Rowan pushed on the throttle, flying down the long, straight line.
Compared to Thiago who was starting P2, he had made a bad start, causing his teammate to slot to the front, but he kept his pace and stayed close.
Just as they were about to take turn one wheel to wheel, Charlie Beaumont, who had started P4, managed to overtake Huxley. Charlie found a gap on Rowan’s left, resulting in Rowan being sandwiched.
“The fuck is Charlie doing?” Rowan bellowed. The track was tight enough as it was.
All three took the turn, but Rowan couldn’t go anywhere. His front wing came in contact with Charlie’s side pod and pushed his rival into the protective barrier.
“Fuck!” Rowan regained control of his car, chasing Thiago down the track. “Sorry. Tight corner.”
“You okay?” Jamie asked.
“I think I got damage on my front wing.”
“Copy. Stay out. We’re checking.”
He rubbed his face, wet and sticky with droplets of champagne and slid down the wall. Taking his hat off, he sighed and watched Thiago accept a hug from their team principal, Simon.
Rowan wondered if one day he would be as loved and appreciated as his teammate. He’d always considered Primavera Racing as family, so it was simply natural to crave equal affection like air.
Rowan wondered if one day he would be as good as Thiago. If one day the world wouldn’t fault him for something he hadn’t been able to control. If one day he’ll stop living in his teammate’s shadow.
A silhouette loomed overhead, obliging him to look away from the cause of his affliction. He met with kind doe eyes that made him breathe in slight relief.
“Here,” Avery said, handing him a bottle of water.
“Nice,” Rowan quipped. “You’re not trying to poison me with some water I don’t like.”
She chuckled, sitting next to him. He wanted to tuck her into his side, let the warmth of her body and comfort cocoon him. But he couldn’t. Their shoulders didn’t touch, and he forced himself not to linger his stare on her face.
“I made that mistake once,” she coyly said.
“More like four times,” he corrected, uncapping the bottle.
“My bad.”
He took a few sips of water, only wanting to hide from the world and release his anger. He didn’t want to speak to anyone, but he knew pushing Avery away would only destroy him further. She was his press officer above all, and she needed to know what he was feeling at this very moment.
He tightened his jaw. “You don’t have to pity me because all those people booed me earlier.”
She stared ahead, but her voice echoed softly. “I’m not here for that, Rowan. You don’t have to block me out because you think I’m going to judge you, or be rude, or leave you, or whatever you’re thinking.”
“Why are you here?”
“Which answer do you want?” she asked softly. “The answer as your PR officer or as your friend?”
Friend.
They had agreed on not letting feelings interfere with the situation, but why did hearing this particular word feel like a wound opening itself?
“Both.”
“Well, as your friend, I think you’re too hard on yourself. You finished P3 with damage to the car. You’re extremely skilled and talented when it comes to tricky races like today’s. You managed to overtake, which doesn’t happen quite often in Monaco. As your PR officer, I need you to get your shit together, go up to Thiago, and hug him so that people don’t think there’s bad blood between you—”
“Why would they think that?”
“Because you didn’t congratulate each other before the podium. You’re going to smile in the media pen and tell every reporter that it wasn’t your fault. There’s nothing you could have done to avoid the contact.”
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he looked at her, head tipped back against the wall behind him.
“You’re really pretty,” he whispered, causing her cheeks to flush.
“Don’t deflect,” she bit out.
“You’re supposed to thank me when I compliment you.”
She rolled her eyes, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “Look.”
She pressed play on a video she had received from Julia. He frowned, making a mental note to ask Avery why she had texted his mother. But the confusion brimming his senses tapered off when Nora’s face appeared on the screen. The happy toddler was wearing Primavera merch—Rowan’s jersey—as she waved at the camera whilst smiling brightly.
His heart swelled. He wouldn’t refuse a hug from his precious niece. Sadly, she was still in Australia.
“Hi, Uncle Wawa,” Nora said. “Congrats to my favourite driver. I miss you.”
After a moment, Avery stood up and grabbed the bottle from his grip, brushing her fingers to his on purpose. “You’re a lot of people’s favourite driver. Don’t beat yourself up, lover boy.”
“What the fuck are you wearing?”
Tate applied more pressure on Rowan’s bare back just as the words fled past his lips. Rowan observed Avery stroll inside his room, closing the door behind her.
“Clothes?” She walked to the small bureau and took a seat, ready to start her routine after each race: write down a report of the interviews he had gone to and send it to Nikki.
“Thank you for pointing out the obvious,” Rowan spat. “Why are you wearing my shirt?”
She glanced down. “It’s merch, lover boy. With your name and number, so what? I spilled tea on my shirt, so I had to change into something. Do you want me to wear Tito’s number instead?”
“Fuck no, sunflower.” The simple thought made his blood boil.
Seeing Avery wear his name and number made him believe she was his .
Tate’s snort was audible as he tapped the back of the athlete’s neck. “Lover boy and sunflower. You two are unbelievable. Still don’t know how you haven’t killed each other yet.”
She hummed, her gaze settled on her iPad. “I think about it every day.”
Rowan scoffed. “I think about it every minute of every day.”
“Damn, okay.” Tate walked away from the massaging table, and that was Rowan’s cue to sit up. “I’m going to grab something to eat and hang out with the crew before we have to leave. You guys coming?”
Avery shook her head. “I want to send the report tonight, so I don’t have to do it tomorrow whilst hungover.”
“That’s fair,” Tate said. “Rowan?”
“I’ll be a minute.”
Tate glanced from Rowan to Avery, lifting an eyebrow up. “Don’t kill each other, please.”
“We’ll try,” they answered grimly in unison.
When Tate was gone, Rowan went to lock the door and slouched on the sofa, exhaling loudly before tipping his head back. Even if he was busy staring at the ceiling, he could feel Avery studying his defeated demeanour.
He heard her close her iPad before she came to sit next to him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Do you think Primavera Racing is keeping me because they pity me? I’ll never be as good as Tito.”
“Rowan,” she said softly. From the corner of his eye, he saw her move until she was in front of him. Gingerly, she grabbed his hands, pulling his attention towards her. “Is this okay?”
She was kneeling between his legs, staring up at him with those big brown eyes whilst coaxing him through that tempest of emotions by caressing the back of his hands.
“Yes,” he whispered, a small smile tugging his lips upwards when she started tracing the tattoo next to his thumb.
“You know, I think you’re the most underrated driver on the grid.”
“Oh?”
She held his gaze, the tenderness and unwavering delicacy glinting along the edges of her pupils causing his heart to swell. “You don’t come from a family of racers. You don’t come from a wealthy background. You had to work hard and sacrifice a lot to get where you are today. You’re here because you’re talented and because you deserve that F1 seat. A lot of people see your brilliance, you know. The raw talent, the precision in your driving style, the ruthless and fierce driver who represents number thirty-three. So no, Rowan. Primavera isn’t keeping you out of pity. I know comparing yourself to your teammate is inevitable, but whatever your father has been telling you all these years isn’t true. Do you know how many rookies arrive in F1 and sign an eight-year deal with a top team? Not many. You’re one of the rare ones. And that says a lot about the man that you are. A number of World Championships will never define you as a driver.”
Through his blurry vision, he could see his whitened knuckles as he had curled his hands into fists. Still, Avery hadn’t loosened her grip around his hands—as though she didn’t want to leave even when he was trying to shield himself.As though she wasn’t afraid of breaking those walls down.
He swallowed the lump that had built inside his throat, unable to voice his thoughts. Unable to do anything.
She lifted herself up, brushing his under-eye with the pad of her thumb.
“You’re a good man, Rowan Emerson. There’s always going to be people who will try to tear you down and sabotage you. But look around; you’re appreciated and admired. Just because you’ve been left multiple times by people you loved, doesn’t mean you should stop yourself from wanting to be loved and to love. Not everyone is going to leave—I promise you this.”
He blinked several times, taking his time to breathe in and out just to hold a semblance of control over his emotions. “How do you always find the right words to say?”
She sighed softly. “I don’t know. I just don’t really like seeing you like this.”
“You’re the only one besides Tate and my mother who’s seen this side of me. ”
“It’s an honour. Thank you. I know how hard it is to show your vulnerability to someone else.”
“Thank you ,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Can I—can I give you a hug?”
He nodded. “Please. I really need it, baby.”
Pulling Avery onto his lap, she looped her arms around his shoulders as he wrapped his around her waist. He embraced her tightly, afraid to break down, but he knew she’d still hold him.
“You’re okay,” she whispered, stroking the hair on his nape gently. “Nothing bad happened to you.”
“No, but Stephen’s words always mess with my head. And today’s booing, the way I’m being neglected by my team… I’m just tired. I want to perform well.”
“I don’t care what it’s going to take for you to understand that you’re more than enough. I don’t care how long it’s going to take for you to believe me. The fact that you feel pressured into performing well is a good sign. It means that you care and that you have a good soul. My words might not be meaningful or important to you, but you deserve to hear them.”
She was wrong. So, so wrong.
All his life, he’d been yearning for someone as good as her. All his life, he’d been craving for someone to see him the way she did.
Avery Sharma-Maddox was slowly, yet surely becoming everything to him.
Burying his face in the crook of her neck, he inhaled her scent, embracing her just a little tighter and a little longer.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“I’ve got you… dude.”
Rowan huffed out a laugh, pinching her side. “Way to ruin the moment, dude. You’re such an idiot.”
“At least I managed to make you smile.”
He planted a kiss on her jaw. She shivered, and he smirked, knowing all too well he had a devastating power over her, just like she did with him. “You always know how to break down my walls. How to make me smile.”
He placed a kiss over her pulse point where he could feel the steady beat, trailing a route towards the sweet spot below her ear. He nipped at the skin, feeling her fingers dig into his shoulders as she held her breath.
“Rowan,” she sighed.
The way his name sounded on the tip of her tongue was akin to spun sugar—warm, addictive. He wanted her to chant his name, just so that he could replay it like his favourite melody.
He pecked her jawline, causing her to tilt her head to the side to grant him more access to her neck. Then, he kissed her cheek until his lips grazed her parted mouth.
He cupped her jaw, his fingers resting on the back of her neck and tangling into her hair. His forehead fell on hers, his brows knitting slightly as he felt his heart go into overdrive. His brain still couldn’t fathom how strong and unyielding that invisible thread tying them together was. How it felt as though she was controlling every drum, every beat.
“Rowan,” she whispered, her breath fanning across his lips, only urging him to close the distance between them. “Don’t do this.”
“Do what?” He kissed her nose, her cheek, the other one, and her forehead.
“Don’t use me after a moment of anguish. Don’t let me take advantage of you when you were being vulnerable just two minutes ago.”
“This is a new moment. This isn’t related to what just happened. I’m trying to heal, and what would help me feel better is kissing you.”
“You speak such nonsense.”
“Seriously.” He groaned, slightly frustrated. “Can I kiss you?”
“Since when do you have to ask?”
“Since you think I want to do this to forget about my demons. I just want to kiss you because seeing you wear my name and number is doing things to me.”
“Oh, really?” she asked, feigning innocence.
“Yeah.”
She held his defiant gaze, equal mischief glinting in her eyes. “Do something about it, then.”
So, Rowan kissed her. But he didn’t want to rush it, didn’t want her to believe he simply wanted this to relieve the tension. No, he kissed her slowly, allowing a certain vehemence to join the dance of their tangled tongues. He kissed her softly, but his desperate heart was crying and aching to feel something else other than pain. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world, like nothing else mattered.
When her tongue stroked his and her lips wrapped around his bottom one, he melted into her touch.
He poured unspoken words, silent promises into the kiss, and it felt like she was returning the same sentiments.
He cradled her face, angling her head to kiss her at a different pace, causing her to moan softly as she pulled herself into him.
And just like that, the atmosphere in the room shifted.
Entwined breaths were heavy, tongues were battling for dominance, and hands started to discover each other’s bodies.
“You’re going to ruin me,” he mumbled against her mouth.
“Good.”
“Good?” He pulled away and pushed her off his lap.
She stood in front of him, slightly dazed and confused. Her chest was rising and falling, her cheeks flushed and her lips blood-rushed.
“Take off your clothes,” he demanded. “But leave my shirt on. I’m about to ruin you and make you understand who you belong to.”