Chapter 21 #3
Days have gone by without a response. At this point, I probably won’t get one.
I could bug Axel about it, since he’s finally started texting me – mostly checking in to make sure Zaid is treating me well in case he has to take matters into his own hands – but I don’t want to risk the tentative relationship we’re rebuilding.
No matter how I look at it, the family I once had with them is fractured, and I don’t know how to fix it.
But I have another now in the Yousefs, plus a daughter I would never walk away from. It’s more than enough.
We’re a few feet away from each other when my father finally spots me. He does a double take that I might have laughed at if the circumstances were different, but I do my best to smile when his attention settles on me.
My bump is much bigger now than the last time we encountered each other, and his eyes linger there, lips dipping into a frown.
I’d take it as a look of disappointment if it weren’t for the way his eyes go soft, a hint of melancholy draping over him, and it doesn’t lift even as he looks back up at me.
We’re close enough that we could speak to each other without needing to shout, and for a brief moment I swear he’s about to say something.
But when the flash of a camera goes off, his mouth clamps shut and his eyes return to the path ahead of him, leaving us to pass each other like ships in the night.
I try to buoy my heart with positive thoughts, but it dips anyway, though not as far as it could have without Mariam squeezing my hand.
‘He’ll get over himself soon enough,’ she reassures me, her chin lifted with a confidence I wish I could feel. ‘Men take more time to understand how stupid they’re being.’
Can’t argue with that.
The crowd parts and people move out of Mariam’s way as we step into the back of the Mascort garage.
Basil nods to her as he hustles by to the engineering room, as if she’s the queen of the castle and he’s just a peasant under her rule instead of team principal.
When we finally make it to where Zaid is, I hang back a few steps as he bends to let his mother kiss his forehead.
They exchange a few more words before he nods and Mariam pats his cheek, then she wanders off to strike up a conversation with a harried mechanic.
And I’m left with Zaid staring right at me.
My body aches to close the distance between us but I approach cautiously for my own sake.
He’s dressed and ready for the race, fireproof shirt clinging to the contours of his muscles as the sleeves of his unzipped race suit flutter down by his thighs, his hair a little messy from repeatedly dragging his fingers through it.
A black-and-silver headset rests around his neck, telling of the conversations he’s been having with the team both here and back at headquarters.
He’s focused in and prepared for the race ahead, and excited as I am to see him out there, I don’t want him to go.
Watching him drive has become a nerve-racking endeavor.
He didn’t start the race in Spain, which saved me some stress, but seeing him bunched up in the midfield in Austria was a new form of torture.
Now, observing him preparing for another race start has every inch of me thrumming with a rush of adrenaline.
I’ve never worried about someone else this way, not even Axel, who I can grudgingly admit I love in my own special manner.
This is . . . different. A different kind of love.
God, I just have to say it. I think I’m falling in love with Zaid.
I rub a hand over my bump in an attempt to self-soothe and distract myself from the thoughts that are too dangerous to have in this moment.
The baby’s doing her usual gymnastics routine in there, twisting and squirming and only adding to the sensation of butterflies in my stomach, like she’s also aware that her father’s about to climb into the car.
I comfort us both with the knowledge that he knows what he’s doing.
Eighteen years in F1, seven world titles, so many race wins and podium finishes that I’ve lost count.
There’s no one out there with more experience than him.
In my heart, he’s the greatest of all time.
A shiver ripples across my skin when he brushes his hand against mine, fingers drifting up my wrist to my elbow as he steps closer, so that I’m the only one who can hear his words.
‘Mum made me promise to be on my best behavior out there,’ he says, and it’s a relief to hear him so relaxed.
‘I like it better when you’re not,’ I volley back. ‘Up to you who you listen to.’
His smile is small but warm. Personable. Another one just for me.
I won’t tell him not to take risks. I won’t tell him that I’ll be watching through my fingers as the lights go out. I won’t be the kind of person who stops him from achieving greatness because I’m scared for him.
I just press up on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck, one hand cradling the back of his head as I pull him down so my lips meet his ear.
‘Drive hard,’ I whisper, a prayer and a wish. ‘And win.’