Chapter 2 #2
He says it teasingly, but that’s been the common thread in all these conversations.
Number eight. They speak like it’s already a done deal, like I don’t have to drive to a level that I don’t know if I’m capable of any more, or like my competition is simply going to roll over and let me have it.
I should appreciate the unwavering belief, but it’s just another kilo of pressure added to my shoulders, and I’m already near to buckling under its weight.
‘I’ll have my people get in touch,’ I say, throat painfully dry, and if I don’t get out now, I’m going to crack. ‘If you’ll excuse me . . .’
I take my chance when there’s a break in the bodies, slipping through and out of the bubble they’ve put me in, and then I’m finally on the outskirts of the crowd at large. Finally in clean air.
Breathing deep, I let my eyes slide shut for a moment, focusing on my lungs expanding and contracting in the way my therapist taught me – a way to ground myself and keep my heart from knocking its way out of my chest. It works for the most part, and my pulse slows as my body reminds me that I’m not actually being hunted by wolves.
I feel a little better when I open my eyes – or at least I do for the split second before I crash into someone.
An apology is on the tip of my tongue as I grab the woman’s elbow, steadying her before she can stumble into the bar and ignoring the slight flare of pain that surges through my wrist as I do so.
But the words die when she lifts her head and I’m left staring down at the daughter of Specter Energy’s team principal.
‘Oh god,’ Ava breathes out, big doe eyes staring up at me in horror. ‘Not you.’
In the fantasies I’ve had of us meeting again, those words weren’t part of any of them. But I can’t blame her. I’m quite possibly the worst person she could have run into for a myriad of reasons – the biggest being that I wrecked her life.
A beat passes before she recovers enough to step out of my grasp, and judging by her flushed cheeks that nearly match the pink of her dress, she’d rather be running away.
Sadly for her, the crowd has pushed in again and there are far too many curious eyes on us.
Unless she wants to shove her way through and cause a scene, there’s nowhere to go.
‘It’s nice to see you, Ava,’ I say, sliding my hands into the pockets of my trousers to keep myself from touching her again, no matter how desperate I am to do so. ‘Been a while.’ A year and a half, to be more precise.
She manages a smile, but her eyes are wary when she says, ‘Nice to see you as well.’
Even if it’s not a lie, it’s hard not to grimace when she takes another step back. I didn’t personally do anything to make her want to steer clear. It was my notoriety that led to the mess we found ourselves in.
The long and short of it is that we were caught together in what looked like a compromising position, when in reality it couldn’t have been more innocent.
I still haven’t figured out how the paparazzi got those shots of us at my father’s memorial service, but the images led to hideous rumors and allegations.
The least ugly was that she was dating me to further her career in Formula 1.
The worst was that she was a honeypot for Specter Energy, sleeping with me to steal Mascort’s secrets.
In all of them, I was made out to be the victim of her machinations, like I hadn’t been the one to take advantage of her kindness in a moment of fragility.
It culminated in Ava leaving her job at Specter Energy, as well as my publicist releasing a statement condemning the stories and declaring I had no connection to her.
Even if there had been something going on between us, she didn’t deserve that kind of treatment.
No one would have. But especially not Ava, the real-life version of a slightly off-kilter Disney princess.
She’s living up to the description in her gown with off-the-shoulder straps and a bodice that hugs her like a corset.
Black hair tumbles over her light brown shoulders in soft waves, held out of her face with a pearl-studded headband that’s practically a diadem.
It’s surprising not to see a parade of adorable forest animals skittering around her feet to top off the vibe.
It suits her, though. Because even through the worst of the storm, she still flung rainbows and sunshine wherever she went.
As much as I want to smile at her, to reassure her that I still appreciate what she did for me and how glad I am to see her, my face doesn’t move.
Our gazes hold and suddenly I’m back at Dad’s memorial, Ava’s hands warm around mine, her lips at my ear as I cry against her neck, whispering to me that it won’t always feel like there’s a gaping hole in my chest – that, no, it will never fully heal, but it will close little by little every day.
Then she blinks those big brown eyes and I’m returned to the party, taking in the curious worry in her gaze that I don’t care for.
I look away.
Of course, it’s just my luck that I make eye contact with someone else, an older man who’s been edging closer while we’ve been standing here. Now that I’ve accidentally given him my attention, he claps a hand on my shoulder, his jowls quivering as he breaks into a wide grin.
‘Well, look who it is,’ he says, chuckling like we’re in on a joke, but it only makes me stiffen. ‘Been waiting to talk to ya this whole time, but the wife told me it’d be impolite to corner you before you went onstage.’
A frail woman with elaborately coiffed white hair leans around him to give me a wave. ‘My husband is such a fan of yours. He’s been following your career since you were just a wee thing.’
The man proudly puffs out his barrel chest, and I soften a bit. I always have time for people who have spent years supporting me.
‘Knew you were a talent ever since your F2 days,’ he boasts. ‘No one thought one of you Arabs could make it as far as you have, but I’ve always believed.’
My guard is immediately back up, and I swear I hear Ava suck in a sharp breath. She could have easily slipped away by now, but no, she’s stayed to witness this mortifying moment.
I keep my face carefully schooled, honed over decades of hearing comments like this. ‘Thank you for your support,’ I say, because there’s nothing else I can say, not unless I want to make waves and headlines, and I’m tired of both.
‘You’re going to win us that eighth title, now, aren’t you, boy?’ he cajoles, giving my shoulder a squeeze. ‘It’s what we deserve.’
Yes, it’s what they deserve, the people who care only that I drive fast and drive well. That I win for them. Not for myself, not for my team, not for my loved ones and genuine supporters, but for this league of people who claim to be my fans but barely see me as human.
‘Besides,’ he goes on, ‘we all know you don’t have many years left. You’re thirty-nine.’ He whistles, like I’m some impressively ancient relic. ‘You better make this season count.’
There’s a ringing in my ears growing louder by the second.
My practiced smile is slipping, my gaze growing unfocused as I search for something to cling to that will keep me from snapping.
My fingers ball into fists at my sides, itching to connect with something, preferably the liver-spotted nose in front of me.
I’m teetering closer and closer to the edge. Is this the moment I fall?
A high-pitched laugh drags me off the cliff’s edge and I blink, fingers unfurling, finally turning to look at Ava. She’s beaming, a grin lighting up her face and forcing her eyes to narrow a little. But, no, it’s not the smile doing that – it’s anger. There’s fury behind the facade.
‘Oh, I doubt he’s going anywhere,’ she teases, all warmth and joy. Except that warmth is a fire that will burn anyone who gets too close. ‘You’ll probably be dead before he retires!’
Ava laughs again and then slips her hand into the crook of my elbow. ‘Come on,’ she says as she nods toward a break in the crowd, our perfect exit strategy. ‘Your team principal is looking for you.’
I freeze for a split second because there’s no way she’d know if Basil wanted to see me, but then it dawns on me what’s happening.
I glance back at the confused older couple and offer one last tight smile. ‘Can’t leave the boss waiting. If you’ll excuse me . . .’
Ava tugs insistently at the sleeve of my tuxedo jacket, and then I’m following behind her without a second thought.
She keeps ahold, dragging me along as she sorry, excuse mes and gonna squeeze past yous her way through the room.
And somehow I just . . . let her. A handful of people don’t move out of her way until they spot me, scurrying back when my narrowed eyes land on them, but Ava’s polite directness works well enough to get us out of there.
It’s not until we’re standing in the dimly lit back hallway leading to the toilets that she finally stops and lets go, her brow scrunched as she assesses me.
‘Are you okay?’ she asks. Whatever she’s seen on my face makes the question come out hesitantly, like she’s waiting for me to implode on the spot.
I take a breath to steady myself and then nod to assuage her worry. ‘Thank you for rescuing me before I did something shitty.’
Her expression eases, that familiar soft smile making its grand reappearance. The sight has something twisting in my chest, but I do my best to ignore it, just like I have for years.
Because, look – Ava’s an attractive woman.
I know it. Fuck, anyone who’s ever seen her knows it.
She has wide dark brown eyes that flick up at the corners, made even more dramatic tonight with a smudge of kohl.
Full pink lips, stained darker by whatever she’s wearing on them.
Skin that’s just this side of golden after these bleak winter months but will glow in the height of summer.
I know that because I’ve watched it happen every year for over a decade.