Chapter 15 #3
‘Eventually, yeah,’ I concede. ‘But there are going to be some years where it’s mostly me and the baby, especially next season.’
Zaid is silent for a few long seconds. ‘There’s not going to be a next season, Ava.’
‘What?’ I freeze, heart stopping in my chest. ‘What do you mean?’ I press, voice wavering, but I already know.
He’s been dropping subtle hints that I’ve either pretended not to pick up or flat-out ignored because it just seemed impossible. I went so far as to convince myself I was imagining things. So I need to hear him say the words before I can make myself believe it.
‘I’m retiring at the end of the season.’
The declaration hangs in the air between us, and Zaid lifts his eyes to mine again, a clarity in them that’s unmistakable. He’s serious.
‘But you—’ I cut short because I don’t actually know what I want to say. I don’t know what there is to say to that.
How can he retire? He has several years left on his contract, doesn’t he?
Sure, drivers can wheedle their way out of them using the tiniest loopholes, but .
. . is that something he wants? Is it something he’s truly serious about or is it just an idea that’s been bouncing around in his head with no merit to it?
Judging by the way he’s looking at me, mouth set in a line and a transparency in his expression, he’s serious. This is something he’s put plenty of time and thought and weight into.
‘Why?’ I blurt, but my heart is already thudding the answer. ‘Is this because of the baby? Because of – of me?’
I don’t want him to say yes. I don’t want him to tell me that I’m responsible for ending his career.
He told me not to worry about how this would affect his driving and I forced myself to believe that.
Now here we are, his gaze softening as he takes in my question, and I nearly close my eyes to avoid seeing it because I’ve ruined everything.
‘I still love racing,’ he explains, skirting what I’ve asked, but it’s still an answer in itself. ‘I always will. But I don’t love it the way I need to in order to stay.’
My head is spinning, trying to wrap my mind around what he’s confessed. Okay, so maybe the baby isn’t the whole reason he wants to leave, though it’s clearly part of it, but I don’t understand how I haven’t noticed his waning love for the sport.
Then again, maybe I have. The way he’s been driving this season is drastically different from the past few years.
There was a controlled power to his style before, but it’s been more chaotic lately.
Has that been him fighting to get that love back?
To feel the way he used to before the Singapore crash? To feel anything?
‘This is really what you want?’ I ask, surprised I even get the words out through my shock.
He nods. ‘I’ve felt like this for a while, before you told me about the baby.’
That changes things, though not by much. ‘Okay, but what if you don’t win your eighth championship this season?’ It’s blasphemous to put those words out into the universe but I couldn’t imagine him walking away from that record.
‘Then I top out at seven and that’s that,’ he says simply.
‘But you want the eighth.’
‘I want to be around for our child more.’
I’m stunned into silence, heart in my throat, hot from head to toe.
Men like him don’t walk away when they’re winning.
And he is. He’s expanded the points gap from Axel to twelve, and other than the disaster in Miami, he’s been on the podium for all seven grands prix so far.
He’s even the favorite to come out on top here in Monaco, a notoriously difficult circuit.
As much as I believe in Axel’s ability to beat him, Zaid is inching toward untouchable status already this season.
So to be on top of the world and want to walk away instead of seeking a ninth, tenth, or eleventh record-breaking title . . . he really wants this. Racing isn’t everything to him any more, and he’s willing to shape his life and the end of his long and storied career around our child.
I dig my nails into my palm to stay grounded, to not get up and take his face in my hands and tell him that no matter what he chooses to do with his career, I’ll support him in it.
‘Have you told anyone else yet?’ I ask, voice trembling with the tears that are threatening to fall.
He shakes his head. ‘You’re the first. I only just decided last night.’
It’s gratifying that he trusts me, but it’s a heavy weight to carry with him. ‘When are you going to announce it?’
‘Not until we get closer to the end of the season. Maybe not until it’s over.’
I nod and relax my fingers, glancing at the half-moon marks left in my palm and steeling myself to keep this secret.
I don’t blame him for wanting to hold off.
Maybe he’ll change his mind, or maybe he just doesn’t want the fuss that will come with it – we’re already dealing with enough as it is.
Either way, it’s his choice, but I’m prepared to do whatever I can to help.
I take a breath. Let it out again. Rub my hand over my stomach for good luck because I know we’re going to need it.
‘Okay. Let’s get you that eighth title.’