CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER twenty-five
Road America was one of David’s favorite tracks, but he was so sick for the race that he barely made it to the finish line. It had only been a week since Noah’s doctor’s appointment, and Jenson was not happy with Noah’s plans, even with Evan doing well. Mostly, Jenson didn’t want to lose Noah as a resource, so the lawyers were duking it out. Oxbow didn’t want Noah anywhere close to their confidential information, and Cobalt didn’t want to lose Noah’s feedback.
David felt like he was on a sailboat in the middle of a stormy ocean. Every time he came up for air, he swallowed more saltwater. Keeping food down made him sick almost as soon as he swallowed it, and the nausea stayed all day. And since Noah wouldn’t let him be by himself for more than thirty seconds, David was sick all day, every day.
“P7,” Aiden said over radio. “Best we could do today.”
David felt every morsel of the breakfast burrito in his stomach as he started on his cool-down lap. He needed to be focused, but his mind wandered to food, throwing up, or sleeping instead.
He still managed to empty his stomach once a day when he went into Oxbow, but those days were numbered with Noah on the warpath. David didn’t know how he was going to manage keeping food in his system and losing weight at the same time—Noah insisted that was the point.
David parked the car and yanked his helmet off once he was out. Kyle handed him electrolyte water, and David took a big swig after he handed his gear off to Sunny without a word. He didn’t talk much anymore—opening his mouth made him want to vomit. Really, everything made him want to vomit when he had food in his stomach.
Hugh shook his head in disapproval as David strode into the garage. “Do you realize what just happened?”
David blinked slowly, running through his checklist to turn off the car in case he’d missed something. “What?”
Hugh glowered at him. “You just lost the championship. Unless Cobalt’s engine blows up for the next three races, Finlay is going to win. Again.”
David knew he should feel bad. He knew he should be angry or devastated or sad, but he could only stand there. It took all of his focus to be still and every ounce of mental strength to not rush to the nearest trash can.
“Oh,” he finally said.
“Oh? What the fuck is wrong with you, Jochmann?” Hugh snapped.
The cold electrolyte water suddenly hit his stomach like a kick in the gut. David turned green, and Hugh’s eyes flashed. He stepped aside as David took off running for the singular bathroom attached to the garage and threw open the door, diving to his knees.
His throat screamed in pain as he puked up his breakfast, but it felt so good after. David heaved into the toilet, nearly sighing with the force of his relief once he was done.
He used to hate throwing up. As a kid, his father always told him that vomiting was bad. Once, he’d had the flu for a karting race weekend, and Klaus made him race anyway. He threatened to take him out of karting if he quit a race because of sickness. David had gotten sick in his helmet, but he won the race. Klaus celebrated with him in front of the cameras, then made him clean the helmet with a hotel toothbrush after beating the shit out of him that night.
Now, he relished the feeling of an empty stomach. He mentally erased all of the day’s calories—a fresh start.
“You need a doctor, man?”
David lifted his head from the toilet and looked over his shoulder to see Sunny standing there, his lip curled in disgust.
Fuck. He hadn’t locked the door.
“No, I‘m good,” David croaked out. “Could use some mouthwash, though. There’s some with my stuff.”
“Sure.”
Sunny ran off, and David used toilet paper to wipe his mouth before flushing. He shivered in the aftermath of puking, and his teeth were chattering by the time Sunny returned with his mouthwash—and Noah. Noah’s eyes were dark with fury. David’s sickness returned, but this kind wouldn’t be fixed by vomiting.
“Fuck,” David whispered. He braced for a scolding.
“Thanks, mate,” Noah said to Sunny. “I’ll get him where he needs to go.”
“Feel better, David,” Sunny said with a frown.
“I feel fine,” David replied, but Sunny was already gone. He took a big sip of mouthwash and stepped back into the bathroom to swish. Noah posted up at the door while David spit into the sink and continued his ritual of washing his lips with water, swishing some more, and swallowing some water to rinse his throat.
When he stepped out, Noah looked him up and down, surveying the damage.
“Don’t,” David said weakly. “I don’t feel good. Sometimes throwing up is just throwing up.”
“Let’s get back to the hotel, then,” Noah said gently, picking something off David’s Nomex. David grimaced, praying it wasn’t some evidence of his sickness.
“You should be at the podium ceremony,” David said.
“Uh-huh, and Hugh should be taking care of his champion driver,” Noah said flatly. “Let’s get you in a bath and warmed up. Your lips are blue.”
David chewed his lower lip to get some color back into it, still shivering in his fireproofs.
“I’m having a medic meet us at hospitality,” Noah said, leading the way. People stepped aside like he was royalty, the kind of respect earned over a long career of wins. One Noah was cutting short for no reason.
“Noah—”
“It’s this or we go to the hospital,” Noah interrupted him, his eyes edged with fear. “Which do you want?”
David shut his mouth and followed without another word.
******
To no one’s surprise, David wasn’t sick; he was just dehydrated. The medic gave him a B12 IV drip in his driver room under Noah’s watchful eye. She left them to talk over the race, and David forced his brain into focus mode to listen to everything he’d missed from his spot in the back of the pack.
It didn’t feel like he’d just been in the car—David could barely remember a single moment of driving. Memories came back in bits and pieces as Noah explained Finlay’s near-spin and subsequent comeback to take the win. David had been so far back that he only saw the aftermath: marks in the gravel and floating dust.
“Did I really lose the championship?” David asked from the couch, his hands folded over his stomach. It hurt again, though he had no food in it.
Noah frowned. He reached over and rubbed David’s thigh. “You didn’t know?”
David shook his head. “I guess I haven’t thought about it in awhile. I feel so sick all the time.”
He didn’t even mind talking about his sickness. He knew he looked like a walking corpse—more so than he had when Finlay called it out the first time. If people stopped making him eat, he’d feel and look so much better.
“It’s looking like the championship will be between Finlay and Evan,” Noah murmured. “You okay?”
David nodded once. Once again, he waited for some surge of emotion, but none came. If anything, it was a relief not to have to fight for it anymore.
“David, you need to try psychotherapy,” Noah said, using the same tone he did when he was diplomatically telling the Oxbow lawyers to fuck themselves.
“Yeah, well, I’m not psycho, Noah,” David growled. “So, no, I don’t.”
Noah gritted his teeth. “Baby, this isn’t healthy. You know this isn’t healthy—it’s dangerous. Psychotherapy is the best treatment, and the earlier we start, the better. I’m begging you.”
David flicked his gaze up to meet his boyfriend’s. A sliver of unease threaded through his ribs. Noah hadn’t begged for anything lately—sex was completely off the table right now. David didn’t feel desire anymore, though he still loved Noah more than anything, of course. Noah said David had to show signs of recovery before they could put that kind of strain on his body. David didn’t think pleasure was a strain at all.
“Why isn’t it enough that I’m keeping food down?” David asked. “I’m literally sick all day, trying to make you happy. Why isn’t that enough?”
“Because you’re sick all day, David,” Noah replied, moving to sit on the edge of his couch. His curls fell into his eyes as he looked down and took David’s free hand. “Psychotherapy helps your body remember how to be normal. Right now, your body thinks it’s supposed to throw up everything you eat.”
David leaned his head back to look at the ceiling. “A therapist can’t fix that. It’s not a brain problem; it’s my body trying not to get fat.”
Even as he said it, he realized how it sounded.
“Are you ready for Paris tomorrow?” David asked, trying to change the subject. “Are your parents excited?”
Caroline had been in full planning mode for the past week, trying to make everything perfect for the party. They decided to go with Pierre for their son’s name, and Caroline had commissioned a batch of iced cookies with it written on each one.
He knew he was supposed to be excited about that, too. He felt good about making Caroline happy, but honestly, he wanted to get the party over with so he could sleep without thinking about venue guest limits.
“They’re really excited,” Noah said, massaging his hand. “And my mom apologized again for missing Nashville.”
“Why? They were busy. That’s fine,” David said, closing his eyes.
“It’s fucked up that you haven’t met them,” Noah said. “You should have come to my house in Tennessee.”
“Noah, we would have done everything differently if my dad wasn’t fucking things up,” David murmured.
Klaus hadn’t shown up anywhere recently, but Josie had informed them of a few attempts to go to the apartment complex. David didn’t care what Klaus did, as long as he was targeting him and not Noah, Caroline, or their families.
“Well, he’s not coming anywhere near the party,” Noah said with a kiss to his cheek. He smelled like home. “It’s gonna be our night.”
David smiled. “Pierre’s night, you mean.”
Noah laughed. “Yeah. Still weird to call him a name.”
“Better than calling him Baby. That’s what you call me,” David teased.
“Don’t make it weird,” Noah groaned, kissing his knuckles.
David opened his eyes to find Noah staring at him with worry. “I’m okay, Noah,” David murmured. “I love you, but you need to stop worrying so much. You’re going to stress yourself out.”
“We’re way past that, babe,” Noah said against the backs of his fingers. “But I’m glad we’re making some progress.”
David smiled. He closed his eyes when the medic knocked, and she let herself in to unhook him from his drip. David hated needles, so he kept his eyes shut as she fixed him up to go home.
Once he’d thanked her, he sat up and gave Noah a fond kiss. He pushed the curls from Noah’s eyes and brushed their noses together. “How about smoothies for dinner?”
Noah smiled, and some of the worry vanished from his beautiful face. David was just glad he still knew how to make him happy, even if he recoiled at the thought of putting more food in his stomach.
One step at a time.