Chapter 21
Ava
Mum won’t stop fussing over me.
Not my mother, of course – that would be a terrifying feat of the supernatural – but Zaid’s mother.
Mariam. The woman who leveled me with a chilling stare when I called her Mrs. Yousef this morning and grimaced whenever I tried other honorifics.
Auntie and Umm Zaid by far went over the worst, and the idea of calling her anything mother-in-law related in either Farsi or Arabic also felt too weird, so . . . Mum it is.
She’s currently watching me sip from the bottle of mineral water she’s forced upon me, and I’ve just finished the snack she whipped out of her handbag when I dared to mention that the last time I ate something was over an hour ago.
If I wondered where Zaid got his caretaking tendencies from, I’ve found my answer.
We’re waiting for qualifying to start, and she’s convinced me to watch from the garage instead of up in the suite. It’s still strange being in Mascort’s bay instead of Specter Energy’s, but having Mariam with me is a comfort.
‘I used to come to more races when Zaid was younger – when I was younger,’ she corrects herself in that same self-deprecating way I’ve heard from her son.
‘The travel got to be too much. Luckily, he had his father, who was more than happy to run around the world. Couldn’t keep him away from this.
’ She exhales at the mention of her husband, a little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
‘I’ve been trying to come to more since he passed, but Elias needed my help with the baby, so I’ve slowed down again. ’
Like my father, this is someone else who lost the love of their life – but she didn’t abandon her children.
Yes, they were grown men, and yes, she had far more time with her partner, but she didn’t disappear into herself or run off to another part of the world upon losing him.
She stuck around and went out of her way to do what she could for her sons.
‘Do you spend much time with your family?’ she asks before I can get lost in the lingering bitterness that I’ve tried so hard to do away with.
‘A little,’ I say. ‘My dad’s family at least.’
‘And your mum’s?’
I shake my head. ‘They never left Iran. My parents met in grad school in the US and settled down there. My mother’s family never seemed all that interested in getting to know me, so . . .’
I’m detached enough from them that it doesn’t bother me, but Mariam frowns on my behalf and slips her arm around mine, tugging – okay, more like yanking – me against her side.
‘You’re part of this family now,’ she says, so firm that I’d be a fool to doubt her. ‘Even if you and my son claim to not be in a relationship.’
My cheeks flush with heat. ‘We’re not.’
She tuts, not believing me. Because no, we’re not together, even though I was overjoyed to sleep next to him again in his motorhome this weekend.
We’re not together despite him leaning down to kiss my belly every night and then smiling like this baby and I have truly made him happy.
We’re not together, but I can’t stop imagining what it would be like to actually be together.
Thankfully, I’m saved from whatever comments she has when Zaid’s car roars out of the garage. And as Mariam whispers what sounds like a prayer, I say one of my own to the universe, asking for it to bring Zaid safely back to us – and to give me the bravery to go after what I want.
——
Zaid qualifies P2. And in a strange turn of events, Thomas Maxwell-Brown is P1.
‘Still don’t know how he did it,’ Edith says as we sit at a secluded corner table in Mascort’s motorhome, sipping cups of tea to ward off the unseasonably chilly July weather as we watch the chaos of the paddock pick up outside. ‘But I’m certainly not going to question it.’
We’re reunited after a few weeks apart, a grand prix she wouldn’t dare miss since it’s her brother’s home race, but she’s been so busy with work that race day is the first time she’s managed to make it to the track.
Even if she’d been here for the entire weekend, I wouldn’t have had much time to spend with her since Zaid’s mother, brother, sister-in-law, and adorable nephew have kept me plenty busy.
‘Maybe the rumors about McMorris re-signing Arlo lit a fire under his ass,’ I suggest, having heard the recent whispers around the paddock.
Edith sniffs in distaste at the name of Thomas’s traitorous teammate. ‘As it should, because it’s bloody outrageous that they’d even consider it after what that boy did. He can claim he didn’t mean any harm by sharing that video all he wants, but I’ll never believe it.’
Last season, a few months before the crash in Singapore, Thomas was caught on video saying some .
. . less than kind things about Lorenzo Castellucci.
It was a heated moment in the aftermath of Lorenzo pushing Thomas off the track, nearly causing a terrible accident.
Thomas had every right to be upset, though he probably shouldn’t have said that he hoped Lorenzo died one day from driving so recklessly.
It was made even worse when Lorenzo did nearly die in Singapore because of his own on-track choices.
But Thomas said all that in private to McMorris’s team principal, not expecting his words to be broadcast out to the world.
Unfortunately, someone had been recording him – and then uploaded the video anonymously online.
Turned out, that someone was Thomas’s teammate, Arlo Wood, for reasons most of us still don’t understand.
I’m with Edith on not believing Arlo’s public apology in which he said he’d posted it as a joke, thinking everyone would get a good laugh out of it, when it only succeeded in making Thomas the most hated man in motorsport for a while.
Still, the higher-ups at McMorris believed Arlo and only gave him a small slap on the wrist for his actions when he should have been sacked. I’d never want to stay at a team that kept around someone who tried to ruin my reputation.
‘Do you think Thomas might want to go to another team?’ I ask quietly.
‘He’s probably considering it,’ she says breezily, dismissively even.
I’ve known Edith long enough to notice how much closer she and Thomas have grown over the past few months, and I get the feeling there’s something in the works that she’s yet to tell me about.
With her successful coup, the keys to the kingdom – and all the cash A.P.
Maxwell International brings in – are at her disposal.
She’s the one who decides where the sponsorship money currently backing Thomas at McMorris goes.
And if he doesn’t want to stay there, the money will certainly follow him wherever he ends up.
‘How’s my niece doing?’ she asks, reaching over to rub my bump like it’s a genie’s lamp. ‘Cooking away like she should?’
While I know she cares about my and the baby’s well-being, this feels like she’s trying to guide the conversation away from her brother.
I’m torn between asking her if something’s going on and just letting it slide, because I really do want to talk all things baby while she’s here with me instead of over a late-night phone call, which is all we’ve been able to do lately.
‘Yeah, and making me feel like I can’t catch my breath any more,’ I groan. ‘I’m only twenty-two weeks and she’s already shoving all my organs into places where they absolutely do not belong. And don’t get me started on how weirdly congested I am.’
Edith makes a sympathetic sound. ‘I had the worst stuffy nose with every pregnancy, but the second I gave birth, I could suddenly breathe again. Being pregnant is just one strange symptom after another.’
‘And yet I wouldn’t trade it for the world,’ I say, lifting my teacup in toast.
Edith snickers and taps the rim of her cup against mine. She takes a dainty sip before innocently asking, ‘How are things with Zaid?’
A few droplets of tea nearly go down the wrong way, and I cough before I can answer. ‘Things are . . . things are good.’
She shoots me a come on, elaborate look and keeps quiet as she waits for me to do exactly that.
I glance around, making sure there’s no one within earshot listening. ‘I mean, he’s perfect,’ I whisper as my cheeks grow steadily warm. ‘Other than the whole, you know, F1 driver thing, he’s exactly the kind of person I’d want to co-parent with. He’s kind, attentive—’
‘Hot as hell,’ she supplies with a smirk. ‘You can’t possibly tell me all you want to do is co-parent with this man.’
I scrape my teeth over my bottom lip, stomach twisting as the confession threatens to worm its way out. ‘You’re right. That’s not all I want.’
What I want is to lean over and kiss him good night after he’s done talking to my belly.
What I want is to hold his head in my lap and stroke his hair after tough practice sessions and races that don’t go his way.
I want to let him hug me and not feel like I have to pull away in order to keep things platonic.
I want to gush about him to anyone who will listen, because everything he does somehow manages to impress me, no matter how minute.
And okay, yeah, I want to feel his lips over every inch of my skin, but that can’t happen until my body decides to behave, so I’ll leave it off the list for now.
But it all adds up to more. I want more with Zaid.
Edith sighs, seeing the struggle in my expression. ‘What have I already told you, Ava?’
I blow out a matching breath and avoid her gaze. ‘To go after what I want,’ I grumble into my tea.
‘Exactly. And if you want him as more than just your baby daddy, it’s time for you to make that clear.’
She’s right. I need to buck up and have that conversation with him, to take back what I said about being just friends while we figure everything else out.
I’m almost certain he feels the same, or at least wants to explore where things could go between us, but handing my heart over to Zaid Yousef is more complicated than just hoping he treats it kindly.