41. Reed
Wilder doesn’t talk to me for two days, not properly anyway.
We still work together, because we have to of course, and that’s the worst part.
There are sponsor obligations, brand photoshoots, team meetings, and through them all, he only speaks to me if he has to.
The first day I told myself I was imagining it, that he was just busy and focused on the final race.
Then he walked straight past me at dinner without even looking in my direction, and that’s when I knew for sure.
Before, his eyes would follow me like a magnet, and I wish I didn’t miss the feeling of him watching me.
It didn’t matter where we were or what we were doing, I would look at him and find him already staring at me.
I didn’t realize what a constant he had become these last nearly three months, not until he put this distance between us.
Distance that isn’t even real considering he’s been right in front of me all day, but it’s not the same. He’s not the Wilder I have come to know, the one who pushes my limits every chance he gets, and I never realized how much I would miss it until he stopped.
Most people haven’t even noticed our rift, it’s subtle enough to pass as just Wilder being his typical asshole self.
Everyone is just chalking his bad mood down to him being nervous over the race, which is stupid, because Wilder doesn’t get nervous about anything.
In fact, I’m pretty sure the only person who has sensed anything is wrong with him is Caden.
He hasn’t stopped watching me since the second I came back from the hospital the other day, tracking me like a predator would his prey.
Not that I can blame him, because despite the coldness between them, I know how close they are to one another. Plus, I know I deserve his wrath, because every time I think about the look on Wilder’s face in that hospital corridor, it makes me feel sick.
Closing my eyes, I let the memory wash over me, and it wasn’t the way he reached for me that hurt.
No, it was the look on his face after I pulled away.
It was a look that told me he was sick of pretending, sick of hiding, sick of placating me, and even when I shouted after him, I knew there was nothing I could say.
Because I could relive that moment a thousand times over, and every single time I would flinch.
It wasn’t him, it was nothing but pure instinct, years of my father’s voice rattling around inside my head, years of being taught exactly what happens when I show that side of myself in public.
The physical bruises may have faded, but the mental scars will last forever, and all I was trying to do was to protect myself and my brother.
I spoke to Freddie again last night, and I had to force myself to smile as he showed me how many of his friends have signed his cast. I’ve tried to ask him gently multiple times what happened, and every single time he changed the subject.
Not that I should be surprised, he’s growing up in the same house I did, so can I really blame him for using the same survival tactics?
Except every time I look at him, I am reminded just how young he is, and just how much he needs my protection.
And as much as I like Wilder, nothing is more important to me than that.
The thought of my brother grounds me, because everything comes back to him. To the deal, to the future that has already been decided for me, and that’s why I can’t give Wilder what he wants.
Focusing back on work, I upload my latest post and then stand, zoning back in on all the chaos around me.
The championship has already narrowed the field down to the best drivers in the world, and somehow, impossibly, Wilder is one of them.
He made the top twelve against all odds, and it doesn’t matter where he places today, he’s already achieved something impossible for his rookie season, and I know he will go on to do even greater things.
There is no finish line for people like him, he’s already talking about the last set of PRI races and what he will do differently next season, and it feels bittersweet.
We don’t have much time left together, and then I’ll go back to my life and he will continue on with his.
Something which is the best for both of us, so why does the thought of leaving him make my chest ache?
The formation lap begins, and my eyes immediately find his car as the radio chatter crackles around me.
Not that any of it registers, because all I can think about is him.
I follow him between the screens, not losing him for a second, and still it’s not enough.
The truth is I have missed him these last couple of days, his silence deafening, but it’s the nights that have been the worst. Which is ridiculous, because I should definitely not have let myself get used to sleeping beside him.
But I guess there are a lot of things I shouldn’t have let myself get used to.
All his family are here watching him, bursting with pride, his team excited he made it here, and I wish I could share their infectious joy.
Matteo, Knox, and Beckett are all tracking him the same way I am, noting his every move and no doubt committing it to memory.
Casper is standing between his dad and uncle, all of them wearing headsets, listening quietly as Sid and Wilder talk.
Then there is Bobby, who is drinking coffee and tapping away on his phone, looking only vaguely interested.
Caden is at his side, a blank expression on his face, but his attention is torn between Wilder and me.
Every few seconds I feel his stare on me, and I try not to fidget under his intense glare, but it’s no use. After the fifth stare, I slowly make my way over to them. “He looks good out there, doesn’t he?” I muse, not taking my eyes off Wilder.
I feel Bobby look between the two of us, before he heads over to join the others, leaving Caden and I alone.
At first I think he’s going to ignore me, he’s not exactly known for talking much, so when he doesn’t, it surprises me.
“I told you to be careful with him,” he grunts, both our stares now focused on the track.
“I don’t know what you…” I start, but he cuts me off.
“Don’t play dumb, you and I both know it’s beneath you.” His words are sharper now and panic uncurls in my chest, because despite his connection to Wilder, I know a dangerous man when I see one.
Taking a deep breath, I try a different route instead. “Wilder knows the situation.”
Caden turns to me now, his tone only a fraction softer, as he replies, “Doesn’t mean he has to like it.”
That pisses me off more than it should. “And you think I do?” My words come out harsher than intended, but I don’t care.
No one knows what’s at stake more than I do.
“Sometimes you have to do something you don’t want to do to protect the people you love, and yeah it fucking sucks, but it is what it is. ”
My little outburst has him cocking his head to the side, studying me closer than he ever has before. “And how far are you willing to go to protect them?” he asks, his question taking me by surprise. “The people you love, I mean.”
“As far as it takes.” As far as denying myself happiness, as far as forgetting Wilder even exists the second I go back home, as far as marrying my best friend and pretending I’m something I’m not.
Caden only nods, as if he understands me now more than he ever has, but I can’t stay here any longer.
“Have someone call me when it’s over,” I grunt, before turning on my heel and walking away.
Wilder came in 11th place. Laura texted me and told me the news, not that it mattered.
When I left earlier, all I did was find somewhere else I could watch the race alone.
I didn’t want to miss it, which means I saw Wilder secure an 11th place finish, and Zara Michaels of all people came in 1st. Hence why I haven’t seen Eloise in hours now, she’s off celebrating with the winner, and not wanting to face Wilder, I’m sitting alone in my room.
I know I should be downstairs celebrating with the guys, but I can’t bear Wilder pretending I’m not there.
So instead, I throw myself into work, posting across all Wilder’s accounts before focusing on my own.
Then I pack and repack my suitcase, considering we are leaving tomorrow, and when that still doesn’t pass enough time, I order some room service.
Once I’ve eaten, I take a long shower and throw on something comfy, before turning on the TV.
I’m pretending I’m mildly interested in whatever I’m watching, when there is a hurried knock on my door.
Muting the TV, I cross the room to open it, half hoping it’s Wilder coming to talk, but instead I find a different Miles.
Casper is standing there with a half drunk bottle of champagne in his hands.
“Reed!” He cries out joyfully, pushing past me without waiting for an invitation, and it’s only then I notice Bobby is with him.
He follows him inside, and I have no option but to close the door again and follow them back into my room.
“Where’s my flesh and blood?” Casper pairs his question with a search of my room, stumbling around it in a way that tells me that is definitely not his first bottle of champagne.
“Wilder?” I ask for confirmation, and he snorts as if my question is ridiculous, looking at Bobby, as if to say, can you believe this guy.
The man in question raises his hands in defense. “I’m just here to look after his drunk ass.”