Chapter 14
Canaan
“Canaan, what’s wrong?” Ms. Murielle, holding two wineglasses and a bottle of an expensive Cabernet Sauvignon, called after me when I stalked past her. “What about dinner?”
“I’m going back to practice.” I picked up my keys from the gold stand by the door.
“You told me to make a special dinner for you and Kensie. I went to the trouble of traveling to the city to find this rare wine, as you requested. What happened?”
“It’s off.” Without turning around, I gripped the knob. “I won’t be back until tomorrow.”
“Canaan.” The reprimand in her tone stilled me from walking out the door.
“Don’t leave here angry. Couples argue.” She moved closer to me. “Whatever just happened between you and Kensie, you can work it out.”
I sucked my teeth. “What if she doesn’t want to?”
Ms. Murielle demanded, “Look at me when I’m speaking.”
My irritated sigh tried to escape my clenched jaw as I faced her.
She advised, “Whether she does or not, you can’t stay out overnight when you’re engaged. Relationships take time and patience.”
“Well, I don’t have either right now,” I retorted and quickly refocused on the door at the frustration in her gaze.
“Everyone can’t be like you and your husband or my grandparents.
Love like that doesn’t happen anymore. My generation is too selfish and caught up in the fakery of social media to have anything real. I gotta go.”
“Canaan, don’t mess it up by running the streets . . . and you know what I mean. You can bounce back from an argument, but not whatever you think is out there. She’s a good woman who knows her worth. She won’t stick around if you hurt her,” Ms. Murielle warned.
I shut the door firmly behind me and sank against it. Ms. Murielle knew me too well. I was headed to find a woman who would make me forget the woman I just left behind. The woman who may not return to me. I pushed off the door, jumped into my ride, and headed off of Fisher Island back to the city.
The moment I hit one of the clubs in South Miami, I knew it was a mistake.
The loud music, the strobe lights flashing pinks and purples, the smell of hookah and weed permeated the air.
Two barely dressed women were already draping my arms like accessories.
I smiled for the pictures of anyone who recognized me, doing the very thing I’d just warned Kensie of doing, bringing attention to myself as if I were single.
The irony of it all was that I was a single man and could do whatever I wanted to whoever I wanted.
Yet, the idea of breaking my promise to Kensie, no matter how angry I was with her, didn’t feel right.
She may not see me as hers, but I saw her as mine.
And the sooner I remembered that we weren’t real, the sooner I could get rid of expectations that she was supposed to be there for me.
Then I could let go of the gnawing hurt in my chest, that Kensie wouldn’t be around for my birthday on Monday, and how disheartening it was that she didn’t even know or remember it.
I thought women who were interested in a man found out those little yet essential facts, like his favorite food, color, and birthday.
Maybe she only saw me as a plug and not someone she would ever take seriously.
The pumping beats, the clingy women, and the blinking lights only illuminated my glumness. My melancholy.
Thirty minutes later, I walked into Ferrari’s temporary team headquarters.
If I didn’t believe that Malcolm would tear a hole in me, I would’ve gone to the practice track.
Formula One races often took place through the streets of a city, rather than on a typical race track.
I spent most of the day in a booth that mimicked the feel of the car and the road.
Although it didn’t compare to the intoxicating mix of adrenaline, fear, and excitement of the real track, this booth came pretty damn close.
After I placed my helmet on my head, I inhaled deeply and pushed out any troubling thoughts as the machine lit up, ready for me to drive.
“I was wondering when you would get that you need to be here twenty-four seven to win,” a voice mocked from the shadows of the showroom.
Gabriel Marcel.
Four years younger and more of an arrogant hothead than I.
Born into wealth and of mixed heritage, courtesy of his Nigerian mother and French father, he’d been training for Formula One since his teens and raced in his first one last year.
I sensed he hated that my star shone brighter than his and that, though we were both in a field that didn’t look like us, my win would be more historic than his.
He had never won a race. Period. I’d won three NASCARs and was predicted to place in the top ten for Formula One.
Gabriel probably resented that I’d been asked to join the team midseason after the last driver dropped out due to a recurring wrist injury, and that I was the favorite to win, despite his actual experience in Formula One.
Our collective times determined the best team at the end of each season.
Because I started while the season was underway, we weren’t gunning for the best team until next season, a fact he resented and showed every time he beat me.
He believed that if Ferrari had gone with an experienced F1 driver, he would have had a better chance of finishing in the top two spots and being the best team overall.
“Oh, am I taking your place?” I gestured to the console, though we both knew that I meant more than just the car.
He scowled. “Until you beat my time, you’re not taking shit.”
His French accent made me chuckle. “Dude, leave the cursing to me. If you’re here anyway, might as well set it up for me.”
“I’m not doing shi . . . anything for you,” he corrected, which only made me laugh.
“Come on, we’re a team,” I grinned.
Gabriel walked into the light, and the wild curls on his head shook with his angry movements.
“I think you’re the one who seems to forget that we operate as a team.
This isn’t NASCAR, where it’s about the drivers, not the cars.
You’re so focused on beating my time that won’t ever happen anyway, instead of focusing on your best time. ”
“Beating your time is my best time.” I stepped closer to him.
“You don’t even have on a suit.” His glare traveled over my shirt and jeans with disdain.
I clenched my jaw before releasing it. “I don’t need a suit. I’m just blowing off steam.”
He moved within an inch of me. Our noses were almost touching because we were about the same height.
“That’s your problem. You keep thinking that you can prepare like you prepare for NASCAR.
This machine is not just a big-kid video game.
Every time you step into this room, you need to be dressed like you’re on the track.
You don’t think those execs are watching our every move, wondering if they bet right when they chose us? ”
Malcolm would be yelling the same thing if he were here.
But I’d never been the man to admit when I was wrong or ever to back down.
“And maybe you need to make sure that hair of yours is braided before you step in here to make sure it fits under the helmet if you’re so concerned we’re in uniform when we step in here,” I retorted.
“Either help me or get the fuck out of my way.”
His eyes narrowed, his nostrils briefly flared, and his chest heaved up and down. I glanced down at the fists by his side.
“Hit me if you think it’ll make you feel better. Just know that though you might beat me on the track, you won’t beat my fists,” I threatened calmly. “I came here for peace, and I intend to get it one way or another.”
Gabriel stared a second longer before retreating. The door slammed behind him, and I inserted my earbuds and started my fake car, and forgot about my phony relationship . . . until I found an empty bed and Kensie’s belongings were gone when I returned to the house on Fisher Island later that night.
I collapsed on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Peace and sleep would be a long time coming.
For the next three days, with no communication from Kensie, I poured all of my restless energy into practice.
I remained in the simulation booth around the clock, driving my crew insane.
Even Gabriel seemed overwhelmed by my demanding schedule.
Barely taking time to eat, my purpose and mission were to exorcise Kensie Garrett from my mind.
I refused to acknowledge that she might have encroached on my heart.
I was better off without her. If the press asked, I would say she returned to Houston to finish her degree and to let me focus on the upcoming race.
Ms. Murielle wasn’t speaking to me, convinced that I’d fucked Kensie over somehow.
Malcolm only shook his head when I refused to answer him when he asked about her whereabouts.
As far as I was concerned, she didn’t want to be here with me, and I had to accept it.
On the third day of little sleep, my heavy eyes drifted closed.
My body suddenly shook, and I opened my eyes as I hit the side of the rail.
I tried to rectify my mistake by turning the wheel too sharply, and my car spun around to face oncoming traffic.
I was struck twice by two different vehicles, and the force spun me around again.
“Fuck.” I dropped my head on the steering wheel.
“Fuck is right,” Malcolm growled in my ear from where he sat in the control room. “If this were the track, you would’ve crashed and possibly been killed.”
“Stop with all the drama, Mal. Crashes happen,” I yelled back, glaring up at him in the booth.
“Not to you, they don’t. Six years with no crashes, and those cars were a lot bigger. All the protective gear in the world won’t stop you from death if you don’t fucking watch it. That was a rookie mistake, turning the wheel like that.”
I waved my hand. “Run it again.”
“No. You won’t kill yourself or another driver on my watch because you’re too damn stubborn to listen. We can all see you’re exhausted. Go home,” he ordered.
“Run it.” Foolish pride set in.
“Who’s the chief here? If you don’t want to go home, go somewhere else, but get the hell out of here,” Malcolm thundered, the veins in his neck throbbing.
Gabriel interjected from the booth. “Maybe we all need a break. Gentlemen, we are a team.”
“Shut the fuck up,” both Malcolm and I demanded at the same time, right before grins eased around the firm lines of our mouths.
The rest of the crew laughed at a red-faced Gabriel until Malcolm grabbed his shoulder playfully. A reluctant smile crawled across the Frenchman’s face too.
“Hey, let’s hit the city, drinks on me,” I relented and slid out of the car while the ten members of our team shouted their approval. And before Malcolm could protest, I added, “Gabe and I’ll have one drink before we shut it down for the night. The rest of you enjoy.”
That answer seemed to please my best friend, who had every right to worry.
Any mishap could result in death due to the car’s speed and small size.
Or at the very least, a career-ending injury.
I needed to get my head back in the race.
As much as I hated to admit it, I needed Kensie.
She was more of a distraction in Houston than here with me in Miami.
“Meet you in a few. I need to handle something,” I announced as everyone started heading out of the building. I grabbed my cell out of my bag and texted.
I’m sorry for being a jealous ass and giving you no other choice but to leave. Please come back to me. I’m not a begging man, but you are my exception. I can’t sleep without you snoring next to me.