Chapter 21
Annalise
“You drive like my grandma,” Tristan tells Travis on our three-way video call.
It’s the day after the Miami Grand Prix. Travis and I got back late last night. Though our parents and Chloe were able to make it to the race, Tristan had to work.
This is the first video call we’ve been able to have together in almost three weeks.
“Fuck you,” Travis counters, but there’s no heat in it. “Your grandmother is my grandmother, and I know for a fact that her driving would put a lot of my competition to shame.”
Tristan snorts, and I laugh.
“She almost killed me when she tried to teach me to drive,” he says.
Out of the three of us, Tristan was the worst when it came to driving.
Mom already doesn’t like driving, so she left the teaching to Dad.
Trist and Dad butted heads to the point that Tristan gave up.
At that point, our grandmother volunteered to teach him.
He reluctantly agreed, unaware that our grandmother was, what our grandfather called, a speed demon.
“You’re so dramatic,” I tell him. “You made it out alive.”
“Barely,” he says, frowning.
“Anyway,” Travis drawls, “you should’ve had your ass there this weekend.”
“I’m preparing for my dissertation defense in a few months. Some of us don’t have time to fly around the world,” he chides.
“Excuses, excuses,” Travis drones.
“Calm down you two,” I interject. “Besides, Tristan will be here for a few of your European races,” I remind him.
“That’s right. I’ve had enough of your whining,” Tristan says. “Where’s my handsome nephew?” His voice noticeably perks up. “He’s not still sleeping, is he?”
“I shouldn’t let you see him after insulting me.” Travis says this even as he moves through his apartment toward Lucky’s nursery.
“There he is,” Tristan exclaims, ignoring Travis.
I watch as my grumpy ass brother turns into the softest, cooing pile of love for Lucky. When he makes silly faces into the screen, Lucky squeals in delight and claps as Tristan starts singing the ‘I love you, you love me’ song we learned as kids.
I recall back to the first phone call we had where Travis told Tristan he was going to be a father. Tristan’s reply was a combination of disbelief and irate confusion.
Now, watching him ham it up for our nephew, I can hardly remember that brother who swore he didn’t like kids. I never believed him when he said it. I know my brother’s soft side. I also know why he wields his grumpiness like a shield.
“When are you going to become a father?” I blurt out.
Both Tristan and Travis look at me.
“What?”
“He is not ready to be a father. Plus, what woman would allow him near her long enough to impregnate them?” Travis teases.
“Fuck you,” Tristan grouses.
“Watch your mouth,” I tell him. “There’s a baby here. You don’t want Lucky using that kind of language, do you?”
“He can’t talk.”
“Yet,” I counter. “But he’s like a little sponge, soaking everything in. Let’s not fill his developing mind with curse words and your cantankerous attitude.”
“I’m not cantankerous.”
“Tristan, you’re the most ‘get off my lawn’ twenty-seven-year-old grandpa to ever live.”
His frown deepens, which makes me laugh.
“I’m not having kids. I don’t even like kids.”
Travis barks out a laugh, which startles Lucky right before he realizes his dad’s laughing and joins in. It’s the cutest thing ever.
“Yeah, that’s what you said before he got here.” He gestures toward Lucky. “But he has you wrapped around his finger.”
Tristan’s eyebrows narrow in anger.
“He’s right,” I add. “Wasn’t it you who flew over just to babysit for a weekend?”
“My brother and sister-in-law were in a pinch,” Tristan defends. “Since our sister decided to be out of town that weekend.”
“Excuse you,” I snark. “Chloe, Mom, and I had plans.”
“That you didn’t invite me to,” he chides.
“Why would we invite you to our girls’ weekend?”
He rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. “I didn’t want to go anyway. I had plans with my favorite nephew.”
“Your only nephew.”
“And mine, too,” I tell him. “Which wouldn’t be the case if you’d find someone to pop out a baby.”
“I’m not having kids,” he says with finality.
It’s bullshit though. Just like he’s putty in Lucky’s hands, I bet my last dollar Tristan will find someone who’ll have him willingly knee-deep in diaper changes and nursery rhymes. Who that person is, I have no idea, and realistically, I don’t expect it to happen anytime soon.
“If you say so,” I sing-song.
“Speaking of kids, where’d you disappear on Thursday night?” Travis asks.
I blink, completely thrown by the question while also fighting off memories of my kisses with Max.
“How is that a segue?” I ask, buying time to come up with a reasonable explanation that doesn’t include me making out with his biggest rival.
“It’s not, but I’m asking anyway,” he says. “I wanted to ask how the meeting with Liam and Randy went Thursday morning but haven’t had time between all of the racing events. I stopped by your room around dinner time but there was no answer.”
My first train of thought is to remind him how rude it is to drop by someone’s place without giving a heads-up. But he and Tristan would definitely figure out I’m stalling if I did that.
That would pique their curiosity in a way I’m just not interested in at the moment.
“What time was this?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral.
“I don’t know. Dinner time I guess.”
“I went out for a walk. It was a busy day, so I went out to have dinner and for a walk to decompress.”
There.
That’s essentially the truth. I had dinner, and after leaving Max’s hotel room, I went out for a walk because my mind was racing way too much to go back to my room.
“A walk,” Tristan repeats in a questioning tone.
I stop myself just short of rolling my eyes. I hate the worry in his tone, but I know it’s because he cares.
“Just a walk,” I tell him. “Had a little extra energy to burn off.”
Tristan knows that for me, a walk wasn’t always just a walk. It was more of me indulging one or more of my compulsions. The amount of time and hours I lost due to my weird brain is incalculable.
“Anyway, the meeting with Liam and Randy went well,” I tell Travis. “Except, um …” I sigh.
“What?”
“They want to alter the contract a little.”
He narrows his brows. “How so?”
“They want to include Max on the sponsorship deal. They want a sort of joint marketing deal.”
“What the f—” Stopping himself, he looks down at Lucky who’s watching him intently. “Why for all of the tread on my tires would they want to include him on this sponsorship deal?”
I clear my throat. “He was there. The morning of the meeting. I don’t know. He happened by, or something. Anyway, Liam is a big fan, and after speaking with Max for a few minutes he thought you and him would have great chemistry in ads together.”
“I don’t even like that motherfu—” Another glance at his son. “Did you tell them I refuse to do it if he’s a part of the deal?”
“No, I didn’t,” I reply. “Because that would’ve been unprofessional. It would’ve made it seem like you can’t work with your own teammate.”
“I can’t,” Travis shoots back.
My shoulders slump.
“You don’t want to garner a reputation of being difficult to work with, do you? We know some of the biggest names in sports have a hard time with representation and sponsors because of their reputations.”
“That’s not me and you know it,” Travis replies.
“It could be.”
“Then you think I should take this deal?” he asks. “Even if they want to have me smiling and posing with that asshole?”
I flinch. “He’s not an asshole.”
By the time I realize what I’ve said, it’s too late to call the words back. Travis’ eyebrows raise slightly.
“He’s not?” His voice has dropped an octave. “You do remember he’s the same son of a bitch that made me crash so hard that I broke my arm, right? The same guy who, only a few weeks ago in Japan, caused another race-ending crash?
“If it weren’t for him, I’d have more points on the board now and would be leading the grid instead of in third place.”
The anger in my brother’s voice is palpable. But it’s not his tone that has me concerned. It’s how quiet Tristan has gotten as he watches this exchange between me and Travis.
Out of all of my siblings, Tristan is probably the most perceptive. He’s definitely the most observant out of him and Travis. I have to choose my words carefully.
“I haven’t forgotten anything,” I respond to Travis.
“What I am trying to remind you is that this is about business and your reputation as a professional. Everyone in this industry is aware of your rivalry with Max. But you’ve also garnered a reputation for being the fair, respectable athlete who doesn’t get involved in petty arguments or tit-for-tats.
“Doing this sponsorship with Max where you two play up your rivalry could help enhance both of your reputations along with Amato’s and bring even more positive attention to the sport.”
“And more money to your bank account,” Tristan adds.
Travis snorts.
“Lucky’s education isn’t going to pay for itself,” I say.
Especially since I fucked up your last deal.
I flinch at the thought that flitters through my mind. I withhold from asking Travis if he’s heard from Luca Taylor yet again. I know he would tell me if he had. A sinking feeling invades my stomach when I come to the conclusion that I lost that deal for my brother.
I can’t let him pass on this one.
“Neither will my wife’s,” Travis finally says.
He’s adamant about funding Alyssia’s doctorate education.
“I’ll reach out to Norm to figure out numbers,” I tell him.
“You should be my agent,” Travis says, offhandedly.
“I’m not cut out to be an agent.” This is my typical response yet there’s a hesitancy in my tone this time around that I don’t quite understand.
“I have to go into the office soon,” Travis says. “Time to watch racing footage.”
Even though the race itself is over, Travis and his team will spend hours going over and evaluating every part of yesterday’s race.
The race itself takes only about two hours to complete, they’ll spend more than double that time analyzing everything from racing strategy to the feel of the car on the final turn of the race in order to try to gain some sort of advantage for the next race.
“Oh, hey, before I go,” Travis says. “Did someone call you a bitch?”
I blink, and out of the corner of my eye I see Tristan sit up from his reclined position.
“Who called you a bitch?” he demands.
“No one. What? Where did you get this from?” As soon as the question is out, I already know the answer.
“Dad said someone called you a bitch, but you wouldn’t tell him who.”
“Who the fuck called you a bitch?” Tristan insists.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, sighing.
Here we go.