Chapter 24 #2
Stavros pushes himself up, wincing a little as he does. “Hip gives me hell,” he explains. “But it’s getting better. I just think an old man needs to accept when his time is up.”
I stand too, unsure what’s happening.
“Come on. Let’s go open a bottle of something,” he says. “You got nowhere to be today, right? How many days until Vegas?”
“Twelve.”
“Great. Tell your car to go.”
“Is that it?” I say, unable to move. “You have nothing else to say about what happened?”
“What happened? That’s racing. That’s the gig,” he says, a hint of sadness in his eyes.
“But it was my fault,” I say. “I did this to you.”
“It’s always someone’s fault. In a different circumstance, maybe it’s my fault.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Stavros,” I say weakly.
“Is it easier for you if I don’t forgive you?” he asks. “Were you getting used to feeling terrible? Does it make you feel like there’s been some kind of justice in the world, if you live in agony? Sorry, old friend, I’m not going to hold your hand in purgatory.”
I laugh bitterly. “I guess maybe I thought I deserved it,” I say.
“Well, if you hadn’t got off your ass and come to me, I’d still hate you,” he says, turning to me. “Do you still play very bad chess?”
“I do,” I say. “Terrible.”
“Great, because I’d like very much to beat you,” he says, pushing the door to the villa open onto a large lounge room, plushly decorated in whites and cool blues. He drops himself down on a rattan chair, wincing again and touching his hip. And then he begins to rearrange the chessboard. “Sit, sit.”
I join him, still a little stunned by everything, still watching him intently, hardly daring to believe I’m really here. And hoping—just pure hope—that I can have him back in my life for good.
“I want to hear about Arden. I read the little hit piece in F1 Daily from that prick you hate. Jack Sheppard, right?” Stavros grins. “I suppose you had to come after that was published.”
“Reading in the paper that I had abandoned my friend certainly gave me the shove I needed,” I say, feeling the heat in my cheeks. “But yeah. It was quite the character assassination.”
“Did you really say I was burned-out? That was so cold I nearly laughed.”
“Of course not.”
“And your new codriver. Is he really shit?” Stavros puts his king down on the square and glances up at me. “You should be mentoring him, you know that?”
“Noah’s brilliant. And I didn’t say those things.”
“Then your team principal made all of it up?”
When Stavros puts it that bluntly, I know it isn’t true. “I don’t think so. Some of it was definitely made-up.”
“Then it was Jack?”
“Chloe is friends with Jack,” I say, trying to unscramble my own thoughts on it all. “That’s where it’s confusing. I know she said at least some of it. I know she probably called me arrogant.”
“Even I call you that,” Stavros says, pointing a rook in my direction, before placing it on the square. The board is set, so Stavros reaches across to the sideboard and pulls the cork out of a bottle of red wine with his teeth and fills two tumblers.
“I think she off-loaded some stuff onto him that first night in Singapore,” I concede. “But she’s a hell of a team principal and a hell of a person, and I think she’ll be eating herself up over it. She’s too good. Too fair . . .” My voice trails off as I think about her.
Stavros holds his glass in midair, his mouth open. “You like her.”
I shake my head, knowing it’s useless to fight him. “I do. More than like, even.”
“Have you spoken to her?”
“She’s messaged me, and I just can’t face replying yet. She says sorry. She says it was a mistake.”
Stavros laughs. “Well. Now it’s you who has to decide whether to forgive a mistake.”
I move the white pawn forward on the board and grin at Stavros. “Yes, I’m kind of seeing the irony here, thanks.” I roll my eyes, but my mind is whirring.
“What about Arden?” he asks, ruthlessly taking my bishop on the third move.
“Arden?” I shrug. “It’s been really great building something. Next year feels exciting.”
Stavros nods, considering this. “Better than the reds?”
“Rossini?” I breathe out heavily. “It’s got a kind of wholesome family vibe.”
“I can see that,” he says, sipping on his wine, moving his rook forward.
“Why?” I ask.
“I’ve been watching Arden slowly rise to the top.
You all started as a shit show, but now you look like a real team with a lot of potential.
Might be worth my while to invest,” he says, winking at me.
“One thing’s clear, though—you have some things to figure out with Chloe Coleman. Both on and off the track.”
“I do,” I say, nodding.
I gaze out the little window toward an olive tree, perfectly framed by the white stone wall with the bright blue sky behind it.
I think about her, and everything I feel about her, and how awful it was to read those words.
I also think about how I wouldn’t be here, talking with Stavros and figuring out my shit, if it weren’t for her encouragement.
Can I forgive her, though? Trust her again?
“Another drink?” Stavros says, lifting the bottle. “You don’t have to be anywhere tonight, do you?”