Chapter 2
Canaan
“Coming in third isn’t good enough if I’m going to make it in a Formula One race.
I’m lucky that Ferrari is even considering bringing me on the team midseason.
” After a strenuous workout in the complex’s state-of-the-art gym, I stepped off the elevator to my penthouse condo overlooking Memorial Park in downtown Houston.
I opened the door to destruction. My latest fling had ripped my leather sofa with a knife, and feathers covered my hardwood floor and the overturned coffee table.
I shrugged dispassionately, went to my refrigerator, and grabbed a Beck.
My maid service would be coming in later this morning, and Ms. Murielle, my private chef, was used to the antics of my so-called women.
I looked around at the proof of why I ended things yesterday when she started bugging me about spending Valentine’s Day together, since I didn’t spend New Year’s with her.
Dahlia had been too clingy and expected more than I would give after a few months of dating nonexclusively.
My only regret was that she knew my code and fucked up my place while I flew back from training in Phoenix.
I hoped she didn’t take her anger to social media.
The last thing I needed was another mark against me after sleeping with the wife of one of my sponsors, who neglected to tell me that I worked for her husband.
My crew had to break up the fight between her enraged husband and me during practice before my race in Vegas last year.
“Glad I don’t have to remind you,” Pops replied wryly. “There’s not enough of us out there, and you can’t afford to run another race like you did. You don’t need them to have another reason not to give us a chance.”
“Pops, can you give me a break?” I’d just been chewed out by my crew chief and best friend, Malcolm, for having slower times in Phoenix than my last competition.
After losing the Las Vegas Motor Speedway in October, I had remained there to regroup.
I exercised and practiced driving nonstop during the holidays, right through Christmas.
Emotionally and physically drained, I decided to take a short break, bring in the New Year at a spa, and relax in Jamaica.
Maybe with a woman or two. Maybe not. I had become comfortable with being alone.
Relationships were complications I didn’t need in my already-hectic life.
Exhibit A: My destroyed living room and whatever other damage I hadn’t yet seen.
Except I couldn’t stop thinking about Kensie Garrett.
I hadn’t expected ever to see her again.
And I surely didn’t expect to find her incredibly arousing and bring in New Year’s with my former archenemy in my bed.
I never cared for the outspoken Kensie, who had a couple of classes with me before I started dating her roommate, Emme.
Kensie and I argued almost every time I was in the apartment she shared with my ex-girlfriend.
She didn’t trust me and made it clear that she hated men like me who used their looks and money to get whatever they wanted from women.
Although she spoke the truth, I didn’t like that she called me on my shit and dismissed her as an angry woman destined to be alone.
I’m not proud of what I used to think about her or of how I criticized her for speaking the truth. Chalk it up to immaturity.
Several years ago, I read her entire book and thought it was funny, entertaining, and insightful about the complex relationships between Black men and women.
Her degree in sociology and psychology had paid off.
I’d seen some of her interviews and social media posts and found myself entertained by her humor and directness about love.
Admittedly, I thought she’d grown into one sexy woman, much different from the awkward girl with glasses too large for her cute face.
If she weren’t Kensie Garrett, I would’ve messaged her for a date.
So, one glance at her voluptuous body once I realized who’d fallen into my bed, and I was all in, at least for the rest of the day and night.
By morning, she’d slipped out of my private suite while I slept, though we’d made plans to spend the day together.
We never exchanged numbers, and I was surprised that she left without saying goodbye, never to be heard from again.
I thought we had fun in and out of bed, realizing we loved Doechii, Kendrick Lamar, jerk chicken nachos, and Fresh Prince reruns.
I should’ve been happy that she wasn’t the type to think that because we brought in the year together, that meant something.
Yet, I couldn’t deny that I was bothered that, weeks later, she hadn’t tried to connect.
“Canaan, are you listening, boy?”
“Yes, sir.” I quickly downed the rest of my beer and tossed it in the trash as I refocused on my grandfather.
“You asked us to push you no matter what, and that’s what we’re doing until you win a Formula One.” Pops added, “You’re too caught up with loose women and the celebrity world when your attention needs to be on winning.”
Taking in the stunning panoramic view of the Houston skyline from my floor-to-ceiling windows, I argued, “Women come with the territory, Pops. Winning races may make history and bring more sponsors, but the wealth that Dad can respect comes from deals made off the track. Got to use my hotness for more than just the women,” I bragged as I pulled off my T-shirt and checked out myself in the gold mirror across from my king-size bed.
I kept my hair cut close, emphasizing my prominent cheekbones, round nose, full lips, and copper-colored skin.
Add on the imposing height and muscles, and I’d been a winner before I won any actual races.
My natural charm, mischievous eyes, and a broad smile enhanced my appeal to the masses.
I had already received modeling and endorsement contracts outside the racing world.
“Boy, that big head of yours will get you in trouble. Arrogant like your daddy. It’s why he couldn’t hold on to your mama. Too focused on acquiring money and women instead of being a husband.”
My grandparents had been married for over fifty years.
My father couldn’t make it five years with my mother, and she returned to her native island of Barbados with me.
My mother and I lived alone until my disruptive behavior at home and school was so out of control at the age of ten that she dumped me on her parents’ doorstep.
My mother had washed her hands of me, her parents, and the island in search of happiness.
I rarely saw her since she’d remarried, had two more children, and moved to Chicago.
It was like her firstborn had never existed.
What used to burn a raging hole in my stomach now remained a gut clench whenever someone brought up my mother.
I understood why she didn’t want to be with my controlling and philandering father, but not why she gave up on me.
My grandparents, who never left Barbados, barely spoke to my mother, either, disappointed in her treatment of me.
Truly a shame since they longed to know their granddaughters, whom they’d only seen in the occasional school pictures my mother sent.
Family above all else had always been of value to them.
“You worry too much, Pops. Besides, I’m not on that family track.
Got to stay focused on the goal. Remain on the grind.
” I stripped to my boxer briefs and plopped down on the bed, needing to shower.
“I’m almost thirty years old and almost too old for NASCAR.
I’ll have time for wifey and a kid or two whenever I retire or win several cups and Formula One races.
Whatever comes first.” I didn’t have the heart or courage to tell Pops, who believed so firmly in marriage and family, that I didn’t share the belief.
Being the product of an unhappy union, witnessing the destructive power of love, and my own heartbreak, disillusioned my view of marriage—no fairy tales for me.
The stakes were too high to take a risk on love, even for a man who loved to gamble with his life every time I slid into a car and raced at deadly speeds.
“You keep getting caught up with the wrong woman. The right one isn’t a distraction. That’s your daddy speaking,” Pops said firmly. “I don’t know why you don’t hear my voice.”
“Dad is good, and his life is even better. He doesn’t need a wife with how busy he is.
All she would do is nag him.” Although I was closer to Pops than to my father, I couldn’t deny that I was proud of my father, a self-made billionaire through a Houston-based engineering and oil company he had founded.
I also couldn’t deny that my father was often a tyrant, unhappy with my choice to race cars instead of running the company with him.
I can still hear the disappointment in his voice and the yells once I graduated from college with honors in engineering and geology and used my trust fund to finance my dreams of motor racing.
“Then you’re choosing to see him through rose-colored glasses. Because he’s your father, I understand why you can’t see him in any other light.” Weariness and acceptance permeated his tone. “I’ll talk to you later. Make sure you call Mama G and wish her a happy birthday tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir. Her gift should arrive tomorrow too.” My grandmother was a pillar in her community and church in Barbados. She’d been an elementary school teacher for years. She kept up with her students and was always invited to events or functions. “Where is she anyway?”
“One of her former students’ weddings.”
I chuckled. “She stays gone.”
“That’s because she’s missing you.” Pops paused before continuing. “Come home soon. You’re only a plane ride away. Love you.”
“Love you too.” I ended the call without making any promises I couldn’t keep.
I honestly didn’t know when I would get a chance to go back to the island.
As much as I loved my grandparents, going to Barbados brought back unpleasant memories of my mother.
The minute I graduated high school, I moved near my father, started college at Prairie View, a university outside of Houston, and rarely looked back.
I turned onto my side, pushed worrying thoughts about my family and fascination with Kensie aside, and crashed into a much-needed deep sleep.