Chapter 24
Peter
We’ve finally settled on a plan of action, getting rid of the suits and building a new team of people with integrity.
It’s been a long time coming, and this wouldn’t be possible without the man in front of me.
Arthur let me know he’ll have meetings throughout the day, and each one will include a nice final package.
He’s been building our new team, who will be ready to take over shortly. I’ve met with most of them, ultimately trusting Arthur’s judgment.
“You do realise that these people probably have a lot of dirt on you, Peter? It might get ugly,” he says, warning me of the antics they might try to pull out as a final goodbye.
“They can try, but I know I’ve been on top of my game this season. There aren’t any skeletons in my closet, so I’ll handle it.”
I can’t wait to be rid of the suits once and for all.
We end our meeting, and I check my phone, bummed that Molly hasn’t responded to my latest texts. She’s probably busy at her conference.
She’s supposed to get back tomorrow, and I can’t fucking wait.
Three days apart feels like way too long.
If it were up to me, she would be with me constantly, but I respect her wish to develop her craft. Part of that is going to this conference, leaving me sulking as the boyfriend.
I smile to myself, remembering all those weeks ago when she teased me about becoming a clinger.
I never would have imagined I’d be one, but just like everything else with her, it’s been a road of surprises.
～
Arthur was right.
I didn’t realise just how bad it would become, how vengeful the suits would be after we let them go.
One after another, stories are posted to every gossip site.
In every single one, there are “exclusive” pictures of the bad boy of Formula 1 and all my adventures out on the town.
Fucking assholes.
Selling old pictures to magazines to get back at me.
I didn’t realise just how much ammunition they would have up their sleeves. Many of the pictures have never been seen before as they were probably paid off the photographers to stop them from being posted.
That’s not the worst part, though.
The worst part is the date on the pictures—which is fabricated—making them look recent.
There are the typical party boy pictures of me in clubs, smoking a cigarette, or drinking what looks like alcohol.
Again, the people who know me know those glasses are filled with water.
Those are not the pictures causing a pit in my stomach. That is the ones of me with girls, making it look like I’m a cheater. There are pictures from last year, of a girl I can’t even remember, and me.
Pictures of her kissing up my throat.
Our lips locked together as I had my hand on her breast.
“Fucking hell!” I yell, nearly tossing my phone into the nearest wall.
The nerve of these fuckers.
They just can’t handle me finally having a shot at happiness, trying to jeopardize my relationship with Molly.
Make it seem like I’ve been unfaithful to her.
I try to call Molly, but I’m sent straight to voicemail, sending my anxiety even higher as I pace around the room.
I can’t fucking believe this.
Don’t any news sites bother with background research before they publish their stories?
It would be easy to debunk these pictures, but no one seems interested.
Eager to have the biggest story.
The headlines are flooded with mentions of the party boy and bad boy of F1.
They haven’t had any stories about partying for months, but now they’re back with a vengeance.
I feel physically ill when I see the ones who describe me as a cheater, even including pictures of Molly.
“The bad boy cheats on his millionaire girlfriend.”
“What will the boss’s daughter say about this?”
“Bad boy and a cheater.”
I try calling Arthur, but he doesn’t pick up, and I feel suffocated.
What if they believe this?
What if Molly breaks up with me?
What if they kick me out of their lives?
Then I’ll be back to the overpowering loneliness that swallows me whole as I read the stories on my phone.
I’ve finally got something good. I should have known that it wouldn’t fucking last.
The suits will continue to tear down every single good thing in my life, their own greed having no limits.
When another story pops up, this one featuring a different girl, and the dates making it seem like it was yesterday, I do throw my phone into the nearest wall.
The fuckers even aligned it to match a club I visited last year.
I groan out loud, letting the darkness consume me as I sit there, wondering if I’ll manage to climb my way back this time.
～
After hours spent in my room, feeling like I’m going insane, not hearing back from Molly, and the anxiety tearing in my chest, I have to face the music.
Work is calling, and even though the last thing I want to do is face the media storm that awaits me, I have racing to do.
As I park my Audi, the reporters are already gathering around my car, and I curse.
Fuck.
Maybe doing this before a race weekend wasn’t the best idea.
I didn’t think it would get this bad. I don’t exactly know what I envisioned, but it surely wasn’t this.
I make my way outside, wondering if I should have called security before coming here.
The reporters and photographers are ruthless, pushing at each other, shouting questions at me as I try to manoeuvre my way to our garage.
“Has Molly broken up with you?”
“We thought the party days were over. What made you start again?”
“Is the girl in the photos your new girl?”
“How will this affect your career at Audi?”
I’m tempted to turn around and smash their cameras on the ground, but I know that would only make it worse.
The urge to defend myself is strong, but again, they would spin whatever I say and turn it into something ugly.
I must get a hold of Arthur and his daughter and find a way to deal with this.
The pressure from the reporters only intensifies, none of them sensing their suffocating actions.
I feel like I can’t breathe; their allegations are tearing at me, opening up that dark hole I haven’t been to in a while.
I swallow, trying to calm my thoughts and the noise around me, focusing on dark eyes and a smile I would die to see right now.
Luckily, Ryan comes storming out of the garage.
“Fucking hell, give the man some space!”
I could kiss him right now.
If I wasn’t crazy about Molly, of course.
The rats around me listen to Ryan and give me some space.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this angry. He’s usually all calm and collected, but right now, he’s spitting fire from his eyes at every single reporter who steps too close to our garage as I make my way inside.
“Get lost.”
We go into one of the rooms in the back, the noise fading as Ryan closes the door behind him.
I fall onto the couch, closing my eyes as I rest my head against the wall behind me.
“Decided to take a night out on town without me?” Ryan asks.
I open my eyes, but he continues before I have the chance to answer.
“Oh, wait. I was actually there, according to the photos, but I’m quite certain I was here, working on this car, so what the fuck is happening, Peter?”
I sigh, dragging my hands across my face as I explain the situation the best I can to him. I’ve underestimated the suits and how much they actually hate me.
Would think that they would have some form of gratitude for having some of the most sought-after jobs in sports these last years, but no, they’re a bunch of assholes.
Makes me even more relieved to be rid of them, despite this mess they’ve created.
“So just to be absolutely clear, you haven’t cheated on Molly?”
I look at him, disappointed that he would ask me that, but also understanding why he feels the need to ask.
They’ve done their best to make it look that way, and my reputation doesn’t exactly portray the perfect boyfriend.
“No. I’m fucking crazy about her. But I haven’t gotten a hold of her today, which is stressing me out.”
Ever since she went on her trip, we’ve talked every day, either by text or by phone.
Today, it’s been radio silent, which only adds to my worry.
Will she believe the media instead of me?
God, I hope not.
But her silence is making me restless.
The door opens, and Arthur comes in.
“Have you heard from Molly today?” I ask him straight away.
“No, I haven’t.”
That makes me breathe a little easier, knowing she’s not ignoring me—or in that case—she’s also ignoring her father.
I’m waiting for him to ask me if I’ve cheated on his daughter, but it never comes, so I take it on myself to bring it on, wanting there to be absolutely no doubt.
“Aren’t you going to ask me if I’ve cheated on Molly?”
Arthur merely looks at me, his brows furrowing. “No. Anyone who’s seen you this season should be able to see that these pictures are old. Your hair is shorter now, and you’ve put on muscle. I’m surprised so many media outlets have published these stories.”
Once again, I’m struck with a sense of relief and understanding from this man, who’s never been one to believe the worst of me.
Even when the stories are portrayed to make me out to look like I’ve cheated on his daughter.
Okay.
If Arthur could see that so easily, hopefully Molly will, too.
She’s well acquainted with my body and hair, more so than anyone else.
“We’ll deal with this shit later, Peter. Now, you have to focus on racing and being present behind that wheel.”
～
When the last practice of the day ends, I’m grateful.
No matter how hard I tried to focus, my head kept spinning, worrying about Molly and whether she believed the awful stories printed online.
I just wish she were here.
Then I could at least talk to her.
The silence is the worst, and when I get back to our garage and check my phone—still no calls or texts—I feel the pit deep in my stomach.
She’s never gone this long without answering me.
It can’t be a coincidence.
The day the fucking media circus decides to portray me as a cheater, my girlfriend won’t pick up her phone or answer my texts.
Arthur comes into the driver’s room and takes one look at my state before dropping down to the seat beside me. Then he lays an arm across my shoulders.
“It will be alright, Peter. I’m sure she’s just busy,” he says, trying to reassure me.
“I just wish she weren’t that busy today,” I mutter, which makes Arthur chuckle.
“You’ll be fine. She knows how this world is, and everyone can see how much you love her.”
I swallow.
I haven’t told her I love her.
And now, I’m hit with a sense of regret for that.
What if she doesn’t know how I feel about her?
How can she know when I haven’t told her?
“I haven’t told her that yet,” I say, the vulnerability creeping in.
God.
Right now I’m wising I had already told her.
Arthur may be the father of my girlfriend, but he’s also become a close friend.
“Sometimes we don’t need to say the words out loud. Our actions speak for themselves.”
I really hope so.