Chapter 20
CHAPTER 20
Nash
I knock softly on Bex’s hotel door and take a step back so she can see me in the peephole. It takes her a minute but the door swings open and I’m surprised to see her in a pair of yoga pants and a ratty Rolling Stones T-shirt. Her hair is pulled into a ponytail, and her face is clean of makeup.
Last time I saw her was at the podium ceremony a few hours ago. She stood at the back fringes of the entire Titans Racing crew, staring up at me as I stood on the elevated, third place platform. She smiled, cheered, clapped and whistled along with all the others when I was handed the trophy. Her beaming countenance made it all that more special, but I lost sight of her as I got pulled into the champagne portion of the ceremony—me, Lex and Carlos spraying each other with fizzy. I had wiped it from my eyes, looked down into the crowd, and she was gone.
“You’re not going to dinner,” I surmise, following her into the room as she pads barefoot across the thick carpet. The bed I’d been in with her just this morning has been neatly made and I doubt I’ll be in it tonight. I’ll hang with my parents until late and then we’ve got an early flight in the morning.
Bex’s laptop is open on the desk and she sits down, turning her back on me. “I really can’t go. I’m reviewing all the—”
I put my hand over the screen, blocking her vision of the data streams. “You can do that tomorrow, or the next day. We have two weeks until the next race. Plenty of time to deconstruct it all.”
She pushes my hand away and snaps, “No. I have to do it now.”
“Bex,” I start to cajole, but she glares at me, and I shut my mouth.
“You did your job, Nash, and you did it well. I fucked up and I’ve got to—”
My hand reaches out, takes her by the jaw and the move surprises her into silence. “You did not fuck up. You made a risky strategy call that didn’t pay off. There’s a difference.”
She snorts. “Tell that to Hendrik. Or Matthieu. Or literally anyone else on the team who’s probably whispering behind my back right now.”
“They’re wrong,” I insist. “You made the right call. Timing just wasn’t on your side today.”
She waves her hand at the laptop. “And that’s what I’m trying to do… figure out how I fucked up the timing.”
“You didn’t fuck up.”
Her amber eyes narrow and I can see she wants to argue, so I cut off the words by laying a hard kiss on her. “You want to stay here and get lost in your data because it makes you feel better, then by all means, I’ll give my parents your regrets. But please learn to give yourself a break.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, face slackening with apology. “I just… I can’t let this go. Please tell your mum and dad I’m sorry and I’ll see them at another race.”
They’ll be disappointed, but I’m not about to make her feel guilty about it. My parents are retired, my father having made quite a bit of money in the motorsport world, so they’ll come to many of my races.
“Okay,” I say, leaning down to kiss her again, softer this time. “I’ll be out late with them, so I’ll stay in my room tonight.”
Bex’s attention is already back on her laptop screen, and she waves an impatient hand at me. “Yeah, sure… that’s fine.”
Chuckling at her dedication and ferocity to break it all down into something she can make sense of, I turn around and let myself out of her room. I doubt she even heard the door shutting when I left, so immersed in her world of numbers, equations and formulas.
There was a time in our past relationship that would have really pissed me off—choosing her work over free time with me. And though I’m disappointed to not have her company tonight, I’m okay with it. I think watching Bex work her ass off to be the best brings me as much joy as hanging out with her, because I’m watching her dreams come true in real time.
?
Dinner with my parents is at a cozy restaurant tucked in one of Melbourne’s laneways. The kind of place Bex would’ve loved—warm lighting, small tables, the smell of garlic and herbs wafting through the air. Instead, it’s just me, my dad and my mom, seated at a corner table.
“Maybe we should bring her something to eat,” my mom suggests. She’s been fretting about Bex since we sat down.
“She’ll have ordered room service,” I say as I cut into my steak.
“We can bring her dessert,” she suggests.
I put my utensils down, cover my mom’s hand with my own, and give her a look that she would often give me as a parent. “Mom… she’s fine. She wants to be left alone, and she will not be happy if we bother her.”
My mom sighs and I go back to my steak, sliding a look across the table at my dad who’s smirking. “I just want to see her and give that girl a hug.”
“Come to the Suzuka race. You can see her then. Or come to Guildford for another visit.”
“We can’t,” Mom huffs, cutting into her jumbo scallop with her fork. “Your dad has to be back in Indianapolis for a symposium and I’ve got some commitments with my church.”
“We’ll come to Suzuka,” my dad says, and my mom’s face brightens. “I’ll make it work.”
Because my father was a highly skilled mechanic and engineer in American open-wheel racing, he still does consulting and mentoring work to “keep his mind busy.” He’s usually flying here and there, but he has the freedom to take whatever work he wants.
“She’s upset about the failed undercut?” my dad guesses. I hadn’t told them the depth of Bex’s distress following the race, merely telling them she was working on post-race data. But my dad knows racing and strategy, and he can fit the pieces together.
“Yeah… she’s taking Matthieu’s poor finish hard, and he was pretty rough on her. The strategy was solid… just bad timing.”
“Rough on her how?” my mom asks, her voice hard because she always loved Bex and doesn’t want to see her hurt.
“Screaming at her after the race. We kind of got into it.”
Both of my parents freeze. “Got into it how?” my dad asks.
“He said some disrespectful things about me and Bex being together. My fist found its way to his face.”
“Nash!” My mom exclaims in horror, but my dad beams approval.
“Never did like that driver,” my dad mutters. “Total jackwad.”
My mom touches her neck nervously. “Will you get in trouble? For hitting him?”
“Didn’t get called on it by Luca, so I’m guessing not. But I don’t care. I’d punch that fu—” My mom’s eyebrows raise with censure. “I mean, I’d punch that jerk again in the same scenario.”
Dad leans back, swirling his wineglass. “She’s a sharp one. Probably one of the best strategists I’ve seen. You’re right—it wasn’t a bad decision, just bad luck. But the sport’s unforgiving, and she knows that.”
I nod in agreement. “She’s pioneering her way into history as the first female chief strategist. I can’t even imagine the pressure.”
Mom dabs her lips with her napkin, her hazel eyes shining with curiosity. “Maybe it’s not just the race, honey. You two have a lot of history. Maybe she’s feeling the weight of that too.”
And there it is. I’ve been waiting all night for my mom to really poke her nose into my business and I can’t help but smirk. “What do you really want to know, Mom?”
Crossing her arms on the table, she leans toward me with eager excitement. “Okay… lay it all out. How are you two getting along? Are you going to move in together? Get engaged again? Maybe—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I interject, holding up a hand. “Way too fast, Mrs. Sinclair. Way too fast.”
She waves a dismissive hand at me. “Not fast enough,” she says. “You two never should have broken up in the first place but you were both young and dumb. And you’re neither anymore. You’re a man who has wisdom and I sure hope that added bit of knowledge you’ve gained is telling you not to let her get away again.”
“Mom… we’ve been good. Really good. Better than I thought we’d be. But…”
“But what?” she prompts gently. My dad works on his steak, pretending he’s not listening.
I take a sip of my water and set the glass down. “I still love her. I never stopped. But I’m scared, okay? Scared of going all in again and having it fall apart.”
That is not a hard admission for me to make to my parents. There’s nothing I can’t tell them, except maybe about that time in middle school when we broke into the principal’s office and super-glued everything down on his desk.
“Just like you were scared to get back into the car?” Dad asks pointedly, proving he was listening. “But you did it anyway.”
I blink at him. “That’s different.”
“Is it?” Mom asks. “You took a risk to come back to racing because you love it. Why wouldn’t you take a risk on someone you love just as much, if not more?”
The truth in her words settles across me like a weighted blanket. I’ve spent months pushing through my fears to get back on the track, but when it comes to Bex, I’ve been holding myself in reserve.
Playing it safe.
Maybe too safe.
“You’re a fighter, Nash,” Dad says, his tone softer now. “Don’t let fear keep you from something—or someone—who’s worth fighting for.”
I nod slowly, their words sinking in. “I hear you and you’re not wrong. But I think Bex needs to work through her stuff right now, then maybe we can have a deeper discussion about us.”
“Excellent,” my mother says, holding up her wineglass. Dad and I pick ours up, and we all tap them in the middle. “Here’s to our son’s new career and new… well, old… love. May you get all the happiness you deserve, dear boy, and know that we couldn’t be any prouder of you than we are now.”
I take a sip, settle back into my chair and look between my parents. They’ve been married thirty-two years. “How did you two make it work for so long?”
“I learned to say ‘yes, dear’ without really thinking about it. Once that became a natural response to your mom, our relationship never faltered.”
My mom swats at my dad’s shoulder, and he laughs. “Matt Sinclair… you’ve never once said ‘yes, dear’ in your life.”
“Yes, dear,” he intones, and she swats him again. They laugh, and I watch their easy banter and adoring looks while they tease each other.
Fuck… I want that again.
I’m going to have it again.