CHAPTER 15
Willow
‘Looks like I’m not your lucky charm after all.’
In a secluded corner of the Argonaut garage, Dev runs a towel over his sweaty hair. He pushes the loose curls back from his face and ruffles them, letting them fall at random. Even after a gruelling race spent defending hard for his teammate, he looks practically perfect.
But the Dev standing in front of me now is a man I barely recognize. This one has slumped shoulders and a grim set to his mouth. He’s unhappy, that much is clear, and he’s hidden away in this corner so that no one else catches a glimpse of him like this.
He didn’t want me to witness it either, but I knew the half smile he shuffled into the pit lane wearing was fake, so I followed him back here after Chava silently handed him a water bottle and a towel, clearly knowing better than me not to bother Dev in a moment like this.
Dev tried to protest when he noticed me trailing behind him, but he shut his mouth after my lucky charm comment. He still hasn’t spoken, so I’m left watching him and racking my brain for a way to lighten the mood.
I heard the team radio, heard his race engineer tell him he wasn’t allowed to pass his teammate. It resulted in a twelfth-place finish, eleventh for Nathaniel. Neither of them scored points. No wonder he’s defeated and exhausted. All of that for nothing.
I may be new to the scene, but the tension between Dev’s side of the garage and Nathaniel’s is impossible to miss. It’s obvious who the priority is, which no doubt has a little something to do with the team’s owner. I don’t know exactly why Dev hates Nathaniel so much, but eventually, I’ll pry the full story out of him. For now, seeing first hand how the team treats Dev explains a lot.
From the beginning of my venture as his social media manager, my goal has been to get the attention of the higher-ups at Argonaut, to make them see his value to the team. But maybe I’m looking at this all wrong. Maybe I need to organize a new game plan, because, from what I’ve seen so far, this group will never have his best interests at heart as long as Buck Decker is in charge.
‘When you’re finished with interviews and debriefing,’ I say, ‘come find me at the hotel, yeah?’
There’s a long pause before he gruffly answers, ‘Yeah.’
Pushing my luck and the boundaries we’ve established, I press up onto my tiptoes and brush away a curl that’s flopped onto his forehead. I don’t miss the surprise in his eyes as I do so, but I choose not to acknowledge it.
‘There,’ I proclaim, smiling up at him, my heart beating a little faster. ‘Now you’re camera-ready.’
——
It’s after eleven when there’s a knock at my door.
I unfold myself from bed and pad over, placing my fingertips on the smooth surface so I can check the peephole. I can’t see the face of the man standing out in the hotel hallway. His arm is extended to brace against the doorframe and his chin is tucked against his chest, but there’s no mistaking it’s Dev.
He slowly lifts his head when I haul open the door. He’s showered and changed, but his expression is just as bleak as when I left him in the garage after the race. To my surprise, he’s wearing a navy T-shirt with the Argonaut logo and a pair of jeans. After today, you’d think he’d choose something without the team’s branding on it, but I’m guessing – just like the order he was given in the race – he didn’t have a choice.
‘Hey,’ he says, his voice low and rough.
‘Hey.’ I step back from the door and extend an arm to welcome him inside. ‘Come in.’
He watches me for a beat before he drops his hand from the doorframe and shuffles in. He kicks his shoes off just inside the threshold, then continues the trek to the armchair in the corner. With a sigh, he crashes into it and drops his head back against the cushion. His knees are spread wide, elbows hanging over the armrests. The pose is open but exhausted, and I can’t help but imagine myself crawling between his legs, hands on his thighs . . .
Good god, girl. Get it together.
I stand in the small entryway for a second longer to compose myself before I turn and move to the bed. Perched on the corner closest to him, I tuck my hands under my legs and take him in.
‘You okay?’ I finally ask, even though the answer is obvious.
He closes his eyes, his lashes brushing his cheeks for a few seconds. Then he opens them again and fixes his attention on me. ‘I’ll be fine.’
In other words, he’s very much not okay. Not that he’d ever let those words leave his lips. Not the perpetually content Dev.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ I press.
‘Not really.’
I nod, letting the silence hang between us. When I asked him to find me, it’s because I wanted to brainstorm a new strategy for getting teams other than Argonaut to notice him, but this clearly isn’t the time to bring that up. He’s in bad shape, waging an invisible battle that I’m not privy to. I don’t know if I’ll ever be.
Even if I’m not ready to bring up strategy or push him to open up, I don’t want him to go back to his own room and sulk alone. Sure, he could seek out Chava or Mark, but I doubt it; in all my experience with him, I’ve never seen this type of vulnerability. I’m lucky he even showed up here with his guard dropped. I want to make sure he stays.
I heave myself off the bed, startling him, I think. But his eyes lose some of their distance as he tracks me.
‘Let’s watch a movie,’ I declare, holding his gaze for a beat before marching over to grab the TV remote from the bedside table.
I’m already logged into my Netflix account – I watched an episode of a favourite sitcom while on FaceTime with Chantal earlier. So, when I press the power button and the screen comes to life, my profile and an array of rom-coms the algorithm thinks I’d like are revealed. I won’t be going for any of those tonight, though.
‘Are you still into horror?’ I ask, sneaking a glance at him.
His frown isn’t as severe as it was before, but he furrows his brow at my question. ‘You remember that?’
I scoff, paging down to the next row of suggestions. ‘You mean do I remember getting the crap scared out of me every time you and Oakley had one of your horror movie marathons? Uh, yeah, I remember.’
That drags a laugh out of him. It’s scratchy, almost like he’s forgotten how to make the sound. ‘I still like it, but I won’t make you watch my favourite slasher flick.’
I bite back a smile. At least he seems willing to stick around. If the only thing I accomplish is getting his mind off what happened today, helping him remember that there’s more to life than racing and the politics that go along with it, then I’ll consider it a roaring success. He’s usually the one doling out the sunshine, bringing lightness to the lives of the people in his orbit. And he deserves the same. It’s his turn to be taken care of.
‘Fine with me.’ I drop to the bed again, making sure to stick close to one side so there’s ample space in case he wants to join me. ‘What do you want to watch?’
Straightening slowly, he searches me as I wait for his answer. ‘I have something in mind,’ he finally says. ‘But you have to promise never to tell anyone. Especially not Chava. He’ll never let me live it down.’
I rub my hands together like a supervillain and grin. ‘Ooh, something even Chava doesn’t know? Do tell.’
Exhaling another laugh, he shakes his head and glances away, like he can’t look me in the eye as he admits it. ‘When I have a truly bad day . . . I put on a Bollywood movie.’
I blink at him, waiting for the twist. When he doesn’t go on, I scrunch my brow. ‘Okay? You’re acting as if I don’t know that you wanted to be a playback singer when you were eleven.’
His attention snaps back to me. Wide-eyed, he points a threatening finger. ‘You better take that to the grave.’
‘Cross my heart and hope to die,’ I swear, trying not to laugh. ‘But seriously, I’m not shocked that’s your bad day go-to. Who doesn’t want over-the-top drama and dance breaks when they’re not feeling great?’
‘It’s a little more . . . specific than that.’ He takes a deep breath, lets it out in a rush, then confesses, ‘I usually put on Kal Ho Naa Ho.’
I’m no connoisseur of Indian cinema, but I watched a lot of Bollywood when I was a kid, thanks to Neha Aunty. I’m pretty sure she’s loaned every one of the DVDs in her collection to my mom in the decades they’ve been neighbours. And one movie has always stuck out more than others, because it’s the one that had me crying for hours after it ended.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say slowly, trying to battle my disbelief. ‘Kal Ho Naa Ho is your comfort movie? Are you serious?’
Dev weakly throws a hand up, once again avoiding my gaze. ‘I mean . . . yeah. It’s about being proud of who you are – your background, where you come from – and living life to the fullest, even though you could die at any moment. If that doesn’t explain my life . . .’ He trails off and shrugs.
Okay, I see it. Though I never expected an answer like that. ‘I get it. But that movie made me sob the one and only time I watched it, so I’m nixing it for tonight. Give me another option.’
Pressing his lips to one side, he scans the room, then brings his focus back to me, a small spark of hope alight in his eyes. ‘Devdas?’
I nearly choke. ‘You’re out of your damn mind.’
‘Dil Se?’
‘It’s like you want to be sad!’
He laughs again, but this time it’s the warm sound I’m used to.
‘Fine, fine,’ he concedes. ‘How about Om Shanti Om?’
‘Oh, I see.’ I nod sagely, putting together the puzzle pieces of his cinematic choices. ‘The theme here isn’t depression – it’s Shah Rukh Khan.’
And there it is, the grin that makes my heart skip a silly little beat, even though it knows better. ‘You caught me. Can’t go wrong with King Khan.’
‘I can get behind Om Shanti Om.’ I pick up the remote again and type the title into the search box. When I’m hovering over the image depicting a popular scene from the movie, I push my luck and pat the empty side of the king-size bed, a direct invitation. ‘Come over here. I don’t want you craning your neck to see the screen. Mark will kill me if you pull a muscle.’
The comment is casual, but we both know this is pushing the limits of our friendship, even with an ocean of space and a mountain of pillows between us. Sure that he’d say no and drag the chair over instead, I swallow back my surprise when he pushes himself up and walks over to the bed. He climbs carefully onto the mattress, one knee, then the other, and grabs one of the many pillows, setting it between us and dropping an elbow to it like it’s an armrest as he props himself up against the headboard.
Over the past few days, I’ve lost track of how many times we’ve hugged or high-fived or sat shoulder to shoulder in meetings, so I shouldn’t be sweating at the idea of him lounging nearly two feet away from me. But this feels intimate. We’re alone, and we’re literally in bed together, even if we’re nowhere close to touching. The room is dimly lit by the table lamp, and the soft hum of the AC is the only sound, so the ambience isn’t helping the cause either.
Once he’s settled in, I let out a breath and burrow down on my side of the bed. I’m going to pretend like this is nothing but normal, even if it’s far from it.
‘Ready?’ I ask, lifting the remote. But before I can press play, I drop my arm again and sit upright. ‘Wait, hold on.’
I toss the remote at him and hustle over to my snack stash on the dresser.
‘I went on a snack run earlier,’ I explain, holding up two bags of chips. ‘You can’t go to Canada without getting all-dressed and ketchup chips. Pick your poison.’
He taps a finger against his lips, eyeing one bag, then the other. ‘Split ’em half and half?’
‘I like the way you think.’
I hand him the ketchup flavour first and make my way back around the bed to my side. Dev presses play on the movie as I open my bag and sigh contentedly at the first salty bite. I’ve eaten a few by the time the opening credits are over, and it takes me a second to realize that I can’t understand a word of the dialogue.
‘Dev, I need subtitles,’ I remind him, glancing over at where he’s made himself comfortable, chips and the remote resting on his stomach.
‘Oh shit. Yeah, of course.’ He scrambles to turn them on, flashing me a crooked, apologetic smile. ‘Forgot not all of us were forced to go to Hindi school.’
‘You may not have liked it, but I’m jealous you speak three languages,’ I grumble, shoving my hand down in the chip bag again.
‘Five, actually,’ he says offhandedly, focus fixed on the TV as Shah Rukh Khan swans into the frame. ‘I learned French and Italian after moving to Europe. Made it easier to communicate in the paddock. Kind of sucks that everyone is just expected to speak perfect English.’
I peer over at him, missing the translation on the screen. If I thought I couldn’t be more impressed by Dev Anderson, here he is proving me wrong . . . and making more butterflies skitter through my stomach.
‘I kind of hate you,’ I tease. ‘Stop being good at so many things. Save a few impressive feats for the rest of us.’
Dev laughs. The sound is familiar and natural, and it comes so easily now that I have to wonder if the man who walked in here is the same one lying next to me. ‘You’re good at a lot of things, too, you know,’ he says, meeting my eyes across the chasm of bedding that separates us. ‘Don’t ever sell yourself short, Willow.’
——
At intermission – gotta love Bollywood – I get up to stretch while Dev grabs drinks from the vending machine down the hall.
We’ve shaken off the earlier awkwardness and fallen back into our old ways. I pelted him with gummy bears when he belted out ‘Ajab Si’ like I was the one he was confessing his feelings for. We booed the screen together every time Mukesh appeared. Dev even promised to have every costume Deepika Padukone wore recreated for me after I gushed about them at least half a dozen times, probably just to shut me up.
We’re in our own little world, where nothing outside this hotel room or unrelated to this silly movie masterpiece matters. I hope it’s a reprieve for him, a chance to reset and shed all the crap this week brought him, because tomorrow is a new day, and I don’t want those worries following him into it. I can’t get rid of them completely, but I can make things a little lighter, even if it’s just by watching a movie and eating junk food that he probably shouldn’t be consuming.
The lock clicks, and Dev steps back inside. But instead of kicking off his shoes and coming back to the bed, he sets the waters and my key card on the small side table and drags a hand through his hair.
‘I just realized what time it is,’ he says, his chin tucked and his expression a little less relaxed than it was before.
I move to the entryway and stop a couple of feet from where he’s holding the door open with his foot.
‘I should probably get to bed,’ he adds. ‘We have to head out pretty early tomorrow.’
‘Oh.’ I don’t mean to sound disappointed, but the word slips out that way. Shaking my head, I force my tone lighter. ‘Yeah, you’re right. And I still need to pack, so . . .’
‘We’ll finish the movie another time.’ With the reassuring smile he gives me, I know it’s a promise. ‘You sure you want to come to Dallas for the week before we head to Austria? If you want to go back to New York, Chava can change your ticket.’
I shake my head. We need to be in Europe in a week for the next race, and if Dev plans to spend the time in between at headquarters, then so do I. Having time apart won’t be conducive to content creation, and since we’ll be at the factory, I’ll have the opportunity to talk to Argonaut employees there. It’s the perfect chance to work on Dev’s gratitude tour, which will still be good no matter what strategy we shift to.
‘Still okay,’ I reassure him. ‘I guess I’ll see you in the morning?’
He nods, holding the door open with his hand now, slowly backing away. ‘Car to the airport leaves at nine.’
‘Sounds good.’
There’s a beat of silence, like neither of us knows how to end the conversation. I don’t really want him to go. Does he feel the same?
‘Right,’ he finally says, taking a decisive step back.
I move to grab the door so I can see him out and hang on to these last seconds together. We’ll meet up again in the morning, sure, but I want more of this before it fades away.
Dev is half turned from me when his head snaps back around, his eyes suddenly bright. ‘One last thing.’
I grip the door a little tighter. The butterflies are back in full force. ‘Yeah?’
‘Whose abs are better – mine or SRK’s in “Dard-E-Disco”?’
The unexpected question shocks a laugh out of me. I can’t even pretend to not find it funny.
‘Stop fishing for compliments,’ I scold him. Because Dev’s abs are better. And that’s saying something.
His grin practically takes over his whole face. ‘Goodnight, Willow,’ he says.
‘Goodnight, Dev.’
He slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans and strolls off, shoulders back and chin lifted.
This is the Dev I know – confident and content. The dejection that followed him earlier has evaporated.
As I’m closing the door, motion further down the hallway catches my attention. It’s Mark, slinking back into his own room, though not before shooting the man coming toward him a sharp look. Dev doesn’t acknowledge him, but it has me frowning.
Because I have a sinking suspicion that’s why Dev had to leave.