Chapter 28
Kensie
The crowd in the private stand at the start/finish line all around me was yelling for their favorites. However, I mainly heard people chanting Canaan’s name as he disappeared out of sight.
“I don’t know how much more I can take,” I lamented to Ms. Murielle, who sat beside me.
She agreed. “I’ve seen him race numerous times, but this might be the most nerve-wracking event I’ve ever attended. Whenever he hits a curve or a dip, my heart beats out of my chest.”
“Just three more laps, and we can breathe again,” I nudged my shoulder with Ms. Murielle. “Then we can celebrate and finally have fun.”
The last three days were filled with high-society activities and events, including a brunch on a yacht and a formal dinner for the drivers and their guests.
Although it had been a thrilling, unforgettable weekend I’d shared with our fans, I looked forward to being alone with Canaan.
I missed him, though I’d accompanied him to every event where guests were welcomed.
He’d shown up for me at my proudest moment, and that sacrifice would forever tether me to him, regardless of whether we ever married.
He’d become my family. Canaan had taken the backseat that night of the awards, entirely in support of me, cheering louder than anyone else in the room, seemingly uncaring about what awaited him in Miami.
Even Dr. Radi had to grudgingly admit that he understood the appeal of Canaan and wished us well when he congratulated me after I accepted the award.
Ms. Murielle grabbed my hand in excitement, bringing me back to the present. “Canaan is this close to passing Gorman.”
We checked the screen as the cars approached the stand, finishing yet another loop.
The race had been going on for over an hour, and both men had made two incredibly fast pit stops that maintained their leads over the other drivers.
Gorman moved from side to side, trying to prevent Canaan from passing him.
In a stunning move, Canaan slowed down enough to be in Gorman’s blind spot and managed to pass on the right side of Gorman while Gorman shifted left.
Everyone rose to their feet as Canaan suddenly accelerated again and drove past Gorman to take the lead with only one more lap in the course.
The crowd went berserk as we all watched the maneuver that landed him first as the cars drove around the bend out of sight.
All eyes turned to the large screen as the race intensified, with Gorman accelerating and attempting to pass Canaan to retake the lead.
At the same time, other drivers, including Gabriel, closed the gap.
As the crowd jumped up and down in the anticipatory thrill of who would take it all down the stretch, the nose of Gorman’s Mercedes tipped the back driver’s side of Canaan’s car.
At speeds upward of 200 miles per hour, that small bump hit like a Mac truck careening into a Volkswagen Beetle.
Canaan’s front passenger tire hit the wall, and his car spun around four times, flipped over the wall, and then over on the embankment before it landed in the grass right side up outside of the track.
The rest of the cars zoomed past while his crew ran from their pit to where Canaan had yet to move.
I screamed in horror and tried to rush to him, though he was a few minutes away.
Ms. Murielle pulled me back down by my hand and hugged me.
“We can’t be with him, so we need to pray right now.
Remember, the car is designed to protect them during a crash. ”
“And people swore the Titanic wouldn’t sink,” I retorted and immediately regretted my words.
Ms. Murielle loved Canaan like a son. She was just as worried as I was.
I stared at the severely damaged car, silently praying for a miracle that Canaan would survive and remain sane if he didn’t.
He had become a part of my every fiber, and the thought that the future we were beginning to plan wouldn’t happen was unfathomable.
He’d been so unsettled right before the race.
He paced and jumped around, trying to expend his restlessness.
He didn’t even look my way as he eased into his car, though I wasn’t that far from him in the private viewing stands where most of the family members of the drivers watched the race.
How did he lose focus, or did the hit from Gorman cause the crash, no matter his focus?
I was still standing when the ambulance drove near the wall as the race finished with Gorman crossing first and Gabriel in third place.
An accident didn’t automatically stop a race, mainly because his car didn’t impact any of the other drivers.
Everyone gasped as Canaan’s inert body was placed on the stretcher.
My legs gave out, and Ms. Murielle managed to catch me.
A couple of other fans helped Ms. Murielle and me pass through the stands to the ground.
One of his crew led us to a car following the ambulance.
Malcolm trailed behind our car as the vehicles continued to roar past them.
Although Gabriel’s time would help the Ferrari team, Canaan had lost his Formula One debut.
“Doesn’t it seem callous to continue a race with an injured driver? Any other sport, everyone stops until that person has been attended to,” I spoke through my tears and clenched teeth as we rode to the nearby hospital.
“From my understanding, they would only stop the race if it were a fatality.” Ms. Murielle squeezed my hand. “It’s actually a good sign that they didn’t stop the race. Canaan would hate it if they did, which means we can be hopeful.”
We gripped each other’s hands for the fifteen minutes that seemed more like ninety minutes to get to the hospital.
Once there, we waited in a small, private room in the ER, surrounded by the media, which was flashing cameras and demanding answers outside.
For the first time, I understood Canaan’s disdain for the press.
I didn’t want this moment captured so it could be relived repeatedly.
I didn’t want to see my fear that I’d lost him forever captured for eternity.
I didn’t wish for Canaan’s legacy to be the African-Caribbean-American Formula One driver who was killed on the track in his attempt to make history.
Malcolm and some of the team arrived shortly.
After finishing third, Gabriel had to stay back at the Grand Prix to represent his team.
Malcolm didn’t attempt to hide his anguish.
The usually stern-faced man’s eyes were red and swollen.
He wrung his hands as he paced the floor after we’d anxiously waited for three hours.
“That kind of hit wasn’t enough for him to crash.
I knew he wasn’t focused. I should have argued more when he refused to make eye contact and barely said our mantra.
And then he ignored my instruction to make a pit stop to change the tires five minutes before one of those tires hit the wall. ”
“Malcolm, he’s a stubborn man. You would’ve had to fight him to stop him from racing. All eyes were on him. He wasn’t going to let down his team and the world. You can’t blame yourself,” comforted Ms. Murielle.
He glared and stalked over to me. “I can blame myself and you. I told him it was a bad idea to have you here. But he wouldn’t listen. We’ve trained for years to get to this point, and he blew it because he got caught up in you.”
His accusations touched a raw nerve, and I stood up to face him. “He told me I was his good luck charm and that he did better because I believed in him. I didn’t ask him to bring me here and never demanded his time—ever.”
Malcolm scoffed. “No, you were a fucking distraction. You just used him like almost every woman he’s ever met, who only cares about his money or his fame. I started believing you were different. Actually found myself happy for him. Until today. Guess you fooled us both.”
“What are you talking about? I’m not like those other women. I don’t use people for my own gain.” Pressing my hands over my heart, I gritted out, “I love that man fighting for his life with all that I am. And all that matters is his opinion of me, so believe whatever the hell you want, Malcolm.”
Ms. Murielle rubbed my arm as she calmly addressed Malcolm.
“Reporters are still lurking, and Canaan doesn’t need to read about how his family argued while he fought for his life.
We are his family, and we’re all scared and worried.
Sometimes, our tempers get the best of us.
Our focus and prayers are all on Canaan and nothing else.
We don’t need any more drama today. Do you hear me? ”
Malcolm’s jaw tightened before he stormed out the doors past the reporters who had been forced to wait outside. Before I could say another word, a middle-aged doctor with balding hair and kind blue eyes finally walked out of the metal door.
“We had to do an emergency surgery to relieve the pressure on his brain. His helmet protected him from any serious injury. We still need to make sure there isn’t any bleeding in his brain.
He was extremely dehydrated and broke two ribs.
His left arm and shoulder are also broken.
His body is badly bruised, and the bruises are likely to last for several months.
At the speed he was going, it’s a miracle that he doesn’t have brain damage or that he didn’t die on impact.
The car and his protective gear saved him. He shouldn’t be alive.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Ms. Murielle gasped at his bluntness.
His expression softened. “He’s going to make it. He’ll probably be unconscious for a few more hours. A good orthopedic surgery can repair his broken bones, and he will heal.”
“Will he be able to race again?”
The doctor nodded slowly. “With rehab, it’s possible. But I have to say that the trauma he experienced will probably affect him psychologically, and he may not want to race. I hope he does. I was rooting for him.”
I approached the doctor and implored, “Can I see him? Please, I need to see him, even if I can’t stay. I need to see him with my own eyes to see that he’s alive. We’re his family.”
The doctor slowly nodded. “One visitor at a time.”
Ms. Murielle said, “You go be with him. I’ll update Malcolm. Don’t worry about him. He loves Canaan like a brother. He’ll come around.”
“I’m not worried about Malcolm. I meant what I said. Only Canaan’s opinion of me matters.” With straightened shoulders and head held high, I followed the doctor through the doors.
My shoulders wilted when I entered Canaan’s room.
The larger-than-life man, who always seemed so virile, so strong, appeared so fragile in a light blue hospital gown, hooked to oxygen and an IV.
The slow beeping of his heartbeat through the machine both reassured and frightened me.
His arm and shoulder were in a cast, and the back of his head was bandaged.
He didn’t look like my Canaan. He would hate to see himself like this.
Sickly. Weakened. I gingerly touched his outstretched hand and then bent to press my lips to his.
“I’m not going anywhere. Not even for a second.
Whenever you wake up, I’m going to be right here.
” I wiped my stubborn tears. “Legal or not, you’re my family, and I will fight every last one of these people who try to make me leave.
You’re going to pull through and be like brand new, do you hear me?
” Resolved, I pulled up a chair and rested my head on the bed near his injured left side.
A hand caressing my hair awakened me from an exhausted slumber. I don’t know when I dozed off or how long I slept. A loud sob escaped my lips at the weak smile he gave me. “I’m all right.” His voice sounded scratchy and not like my Canaan.
“I know. That’s why I’m crying,” I chuckled and sighed simultaneously.
He nodded, and his eyes suddenly watered.
“I almost died. I saw my life flash before my eyes, as my entire existence from my childhood to now went through my mind before blackness overcame me. I prayed as soon as the tire hit the rail, and I lost control. Everything happened so fast, and I was no longer one with my car.” His breathing hitched.
“I can’t believe I crashed in my first F1.
I’ve never crashed in a race, and now that all eyes are on me, I fuck it up just like my father thought I would. ”
I brushed my lips with his. “Shh . . . Don’t worry about that now.”
He closed his eyes as tears continued to trail down his face. “All that I worked for is gone in an instant.”
I squeezed his hand and blinked back proud tears.
“It was one race, Canaan. One. You accomplished more than most people will in a lifetime. You created a patent, making you and your family billionaires when you were barely out of college. You’ve won races, and you are still in the running to be the first Black man to win NASCAR and Formula One.
I refuse to let you feel sorry for yourself or worry about what anyone fucking thinks.
I almost lost you, and nothing is as important as you being alive. ”
Canaan opened his eyes and stared at me wordlessly for what seemed like an eternity before coldly turning his head away from me. An invisible wall separated us, and I had no idea what precipitated his shift. I consoled myself that at least he still allowed me to hold his hand.