“They’re getting along well.” Noah nods in their direction.
“Great.” My throat closes up as I become distracted by everyone surrounding us.
Partygoers look in our direction and whisper to one another. A few of them inch closer, clearly wanting to interrupt. Their attention stifles me. Without Chloe, the weight of the situation hits me. I’m tempted to walk in the opposite direction of Noah because I’m sure he’s the reason behind everyone’s interest in us. Noah is a bright star who everyone wants five minutes with.
Noah laughs. “Why do you look like you’re about to throw up?”
A server walks by and I wave them down, grabbing two glasses of champagne. I chug the first before sipping from the second.
“Aw, you’re nervous. How cute.” Noah lays a hand on my shoulder.
“Call me cute again and I’ll punch you.”
He rolls his eyes. “No one will bother you unless you openly talk to them.”
“How do you know?”
“Because we’re surrounded by people who used to work by your side. These aren’t the same people who wrote those nasty articles about you. And if you want me to be real with you, the Bandini crew misses you. They don’t want to scare you away before they have a chance to win you over again.”
My lungs squeeze as I attempt to take in a few deep breaths. “You can’t know that.”
He shakes his head. “I do. Me retiring has stirred up quite the buzz. An open seat with Bandini again is a big deal.”
“The biggest.” I have a feeling I know where Noah wants to take this conversation.
“I want you to fight for it.”
Yup. Guessed it. I bring the rim of the champagne flute to my lips and down the rest of the contents in two chugs.
Noah continues. “This is your chance to come back. There’s no one else I want to take my spot but you. And there’s no one who deserves it more.”
I clutch onto the empty glass with a tight fist. “I can’t do it.”
“You can. You only need to get back in the car and try. It only takes one time to let the rush take over and erase your fears. People like us crave that kind of adrenaline, and it’ll never go away, no matter how hard you try. And I’ve helped create the technology to—”
“I love you like a brother for wanting to help me, but I can’t do it. You don’t understand.”
“Give me a reason why I should drop it. A good reason. Not the same bullshit you’ve been spewing for years.”
“Is there a bigger reason than the fact that I’m down a leg and shouldn’t be behind a wheel in the first place?”
“Don’t you miss it? Didn’t racing against me yesterday stir up anything in you?”
Of course it did. The race had me feeling buzzed to the point of feeling drunk without touching an ounce of alcohol. I thought I wouldn’t be able to do it, but I accomplished my fear with Chloe by my side. It reminded me how I miss it more than anything in the world. But missing something I can never achieve again doesn’t serve a purpose.
Wishing for the impossible is stupid. Chloe would kill me for saying it, but it doesn’t make my words any less true. Wishes lead to disappointment, and disappointment leads to depression, and I’m done battling that darkness. It’s exhausting fighting an invisible war inside of my head.
“I don’t think I can ever race with F1 again.”
He nods his head, looking away. “I can manage that.”
“What?” I rear back.
“You said ‘you don’t think.’ You’ve spent years saying you won’t, but this is the first time you’re uncertain. That you hesitate when I ask. All I have to do is convince you otherwise.”
I shake my head from side to side. “You can’t.”
“Maybe I can’t, but now you have someone worth pushing yourself for. Maybe you want to show her and yourself that you can be the man she deserves. The guy who would go through hell to walk out on the other end victorious. And that’s enough to get you back behind the wheel. I know it.”
I don’t try to correct him. It’s not like I can reveal that my whole relationship is a farce. And most of all, I don’t know if Noah is entirely wrong. I’ve already accomplished more in the small time I’ve known Chloe than I have in the past few years. But while she makes me feel good, I can’t ignore the feelings growing inside of me.
A hand smacking again my shoulders steals away my attention. I’m spun around, coming face-to-face with James Mitchell. He looks the same since the day I left the racing world. His graying hair is slicked back, and his suit remains as pristine as ever.