Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Johannes
I can’t believe two broken ribs are stopping me from racing this weekend. I’m furious to the point that I would love to trash my hotel room – but even shuffling along the floor hurts right now.
Not only that, but Nathan’s pissed. I think even he knows that Anton isn’t ready for today, especially without any practice, and even more so on a track like Brazil’s Interlagos when the race tomorrow is destined for rain.
I’m trapped in the hotel room, my phone blowing up with notifications after the team put out the statement that I wouldn’t be competing.
My Instagram has never been so popular, and I’ve put out many a nearly-naked campaign shot in my lifetime.
I can’t bear to look at any of the comments – too much pity, and probably way too many fans of the other teams celebrating my demise because it gives their favourite drivers more of a chance at a podium today.
I have to turn my phone off an hour into being on bedrest. I’ve managed to give myself a stress headache worrying about what this means for my standings.
I need the points. God knows I really need these points but there’s just no way.
It’s difficult enough to get comfy on the plush bed without the pain reducing me to nausea, never mind squashing my body into the tight confines of the cockpit.
It’s just one race. That’s what I have to keep reminding myself.
One race, and then by the time we get to Qatar I’ll be on the mend and it won’t hurt to fucking breathe.
I eye the painkillers the team doctor prescribed.
I don’t want to take them, but there’s also no point punishing myself anymore.
Forcing myself to sit in agony just to suffer is not the kind of guy I want to be.
So I open one of the many bottles of water within reach and pop two pills into my mouth before swallowing them down.
I don’t even know what to do with myself.
I don’t think I could sleep if I tried. It would be far too uncomfortable right now.
I don’t want to watch qualifying. I can’t bear to see everyone on track when I can’t be.
Plus, I’m not sure I even want to know how Anton gets on.
Nice guy, but he’s not ready for this. He looked green when he was told he’d be going into qualifying in just a couple hours’ time.
I’m sure Caleb will look after him just fine, but more than anything and very selfishly, I wish he was here looking after me instead. It’s not that I want him to play nurse, although him in that uniform, I could get on board with that. Mostly I just want him here with me because I love his company.
At some point, the first round of painkillers makes me drowsy and I actually fall asleep. When I wake up the room is much darker and as I try to get back into a comfy position I see the clock on the bedside table reads after 8 p.m.
Okay, so I slept for like five hours. That’s something, at least. Plus, I don’t even feel guilty about not watching qualifying now because the meds knocked me out.
I grab my phone from under my pillow, turning it back on and trying to ignore how the notifications roll in.
Yet another reminder than I’m not racing tomorrow with all of the commiseration messages.
Except, as I start to close them all down there’s one that catches my eye. It’s from a number I don’t have saved.
Just seen that you’re not racing tomorrow. Harper said he’s not been able to get a hold of you. Are you in hospital? Are you okay?
I double-check I haven’t deleted Elijah or Kian’s number by accident, but they’re both still saved and then I make the mistake of saving this random number as a contact to check if they have a picture on WhatsApp.
And there he is, dark-brown wavy hair tucked behind his ears, a Hendersohm logo in the bottom of the picture.
In what fucking world does Jackson Calder get to worry about me right now?
Not this one. He can go fuck himself. I glare at the text, trying to think of a reply.
Who does he think he is to text me out of the blue like he cares?
I hate him. I hate him. I hate him! Like I’m not suffering enough right now.
I contemplate whether to delete the message and the contact when there’s a quiet knock at the door. ‘Come in,’ I call out. I’m shirtless, but it’s not like I can quickly hop out of bed and cover myself up for the hotel staff.
‘Hey.’ Caleb’s head pokes round my door and I almost forgot I’d slipped him a copy of my hotel card earlier in the week.
I’m not angry at him, per se – I’m angry at the fucking idiot who took out half the grid in FP3 and ruined my chances this weekend, sure – but not Caleb.
But today I hate that there’s an overlap between our relationship in real life and our relationship at work.
I hate that today he couldn’t understand why I wanted to compete so much. How I could have managed the pain.
‘Come in.’ I beckon, trying not to move too much. Even with the pain medication, I’m only just tolerating how swollen and tender my abdomen is right now.
‘I wanted to check I was welcome before I barged in.’ He laughs, but I can tell he’s a little nervous. I probably didn’t handle the situation well. I pat the spot next to me on the bed. ‘Did you watch?’ he asks as he slips off his shoes and carefully climbs onto the bed next to me.
I shake my head. ‘Dare I ask how Anton got on?’
‘P16. Nils was P5, though, so he’s over the moon. But I think he’s trying to be considerate of the fact that you can’t race this weekend.’
‘Nils knows how to be considerate?’ I say with a chuckle before it turns to a wheeze.
I must look like a right state. There’s a champagne bucket full of ice and ice packs and my bedside table is covered with painkillers and there’s a smattering of helpful things around my ring of pillows – the remote, my phone, fresh towels to put around the ice packs and some snacks.
‘Yeah, he’s trying, but he looked a bit lost without you today.’
When you spend so much time with someone, especially in such an intense environment, you get used to that routine of the other person always being there. I can’t imagine Nils not being around, either, and the sentimental part of me hopes he’ll stick with RBF for a long while.
‘He’s probably been blowing up my phone, but I turned it off so I could sleep.
I sometimes forget just how much I love this sport until I’m told I can’t do it.
’ I want to be supportive of Nils, but right now I’m feeling a little bitter that he gets to be out on track tomorrow and I don’t.
It’s incredibly childish of me, but my career’s in detention for something it didn’t do.
‘I know I contributed to that today, but I only did it because I didn’t want you to get hurt and, God, I’m sorry if—’
I raise a hand to stop his apologetic rambling. ‘It’s okay. It was –’ I pause before continuing, reluctantly ‘– the right call. I’ve been in so much pain this afternoon that even with the ice and strong painkillers every little movement hurts. I don’t think I could have even got in the car.’
I would have, though. I’d have forced myself into that car and endured the pain if it meant I didn’t have to miss out on vital points. But I also would have hated myself even more if I’d ended up in hospital with a punctured lung or worse.
I try to push myself up a little, which leads to the blanket slipping down to my waist and exposing my bare, battered chest. Even with the rotating ice packs, the swelling has hardly gone down, and my ribs are already covered in midnight-blue bruises that look even angrier than they did earlier.
His eyes are on them straight away, scanning the damage, and for a second I almost want to wrench the blanket up, but I can’t move that fast and I don’t think Caleb’s about to turn his nose up in disgust.
‘Can I do anything for you?’
How did I get so lucky with this man? He’s just done a full, stressful day at work and here he is offering to do things for me.
‘I’d love some dinner, but the phone is too far away on the desk.’ I hate feeling like such an invalid, but the phone is corded so it’s not like they could have brought it any closer.
‘I’ll order us some room service and then we could watch a movie or something?’
‘You free for the rest of the evening?’ I know he probably has work to do or some editing for his PhD thesis, but I’d love him to stay.
‘You have my undivided attention. Anything you fancy?’
‘Anything?’ I waggle my eyebrows hopefully and he shakes his head.
‘I don’t think we should be doing anything too physical right now, but if you’re a good boy and eat all your dinner and promise to rest afterwards, I could be convinced to blow you.’
‘Oh, aren’t I a lucky boy? You going to order me vegetables to help me grow up big and strong?’
‘You’re pushing your luck now, handsome.’ He strokes a hand across my cheek and I lean into his touch. The painkillers are really doing their job and everything’s a nice kind of relaxed haze.
‘You think I’m handsome?’ I ask, his thumb still swiping across my cheekbone as he takes me in. His stare is intense in the best possible way, and I’m convinced he’s going to kiss me, but he just smiles like he knows what I’m thinking but it’s not going to happen right now.
‘You know I do. You know you are. You have the most beautiful smile. And these cheekbones are to die for. But it’s more like … you have a glow. It’s stunning. Like intoxicating levels of beauty.’
‘It’s the sweat. This room’s a little warm.’ Or maybe it’s my face burning. Am I running a fever or is it the way he’s speaking to me? Those words, him saying them, it’s not like anything else I’ve experienced before.