“About?” my voice croaks. Paranoia riddles my brain, playing tricks on me as I worry if Noah’s dad told Santi about my secret relationship. I wouldn’t put anything past that vile man.
“We didn’t have a chance to talk in private about yesterday. I came off like an asshole and I’m sorry. A lot has been on my mind with Bandini, and I worry about you on top of everything else.” His brown eyes pierce mine.
“There isn’t anything else to discuss. I get how you want what’s best for me.” I squirm against the bedspread, unable to find a comfortable position.
“You’ve been kind of distant and I don’t know what’s going on. I thought you might want to go back home, but I overstepped.”
My chest tightens at his sincerity. “No. That’s not it.”
“You’d be honest if something was bothering you, right? This world is hard, but I appreciate having you here. It’s made the season much better.”
Please, stab me one more time in the heart.
“Of course. You’re my best friend.” A lump in my throat makes swallowing difficult.
“Now that our feelings shit is out of the way, Netflix came out with the new Stranger Things season. Let’s see it while I have free time.”
I end up watching the same season twice because guilt has a funny way of making me do just about anything for my brother.
30
Noah
I ended up placing runner-up in yesterday’s race. Jax put up one hell of a fight for the first-place spot, deserving his Prix win. The hard track and my placement keeps me pleased with my performance.
My dad, on the other hand, is not.
Regrettably, he invited me to dinner, a rare occasion since he never stays after a race, choosing to leave as soon as he can. The whole idea of dinner puts me on high alert. I can count on one hand the total amount of outings we’ve had together since I joined F1.
To put it short, my father deserves to be fucked right up the ass with a tub of Icy Hot Extra Strength for lube.
He comes off condescending to me and the waiters. My hands curl every time he speaks to someone with a chip the size of a twenty-pound kettlebell on his shoulder. It takes everything in me to not jump over the table and pull him by the shirt, spit in his face and rip him a new asshole to match his personality.
My chest tightens at the thought of acting similarly to him. I want to forget the countless girls, the cockiness, and my attitude. To protect myself, I gave up bits and pieces until I was void of feeling. Deception plays cruel jokes on people. Turns out while I busied myself with putting on a show, I was the person I lied most to. Eventually I believed all the deceits, the excuses I made for my shitty attitude and moodiness, becoming the asshole I was escaping.
My dad’s piss-poor attitude drives home all the points I’ve learned along the way this year. And the worst part? I actually feel bad for my dad. I pity him.
Nicholas Slade has no one, using money and power to get his way, never loving someone else. How can he when the man he adores happens to be his own reflection? To be honest, he doesn’t love me. Fuck, he doesn’t even like me, let alone share any semblance of the four-letter L word. He’s a selfish bastard who lives vicariously through me.
But to move forward in life, I have to face these issues from my past. My therapist will be pleased with how I sit silently, taking deep breaths, putting up with his shit.
I put out a lifeline for him. A test of sorts.
“Maya mentioned you chatted at the race together.” My voice stays relaxed despite a tingling sensation growing inside of me.
“Mm, yeah. She’s a pretty piece of ass. When are you going to drop the bomb on Santiago? It’s a smart plan, fucking with his head before the final Prix.” His grin leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. How does he sleep at night? Restless, with a soul as black as the darkness that surrounds him.
“She’s my girlfriend.”
Not officially. But he doesn’t need to know.
He tilts his head at me, offering a sinister smile. “If that’s what you call your fuck buddies now, all the power to you.”
My skin wants to crawl off my body and take up shop somewhere else. I attempt to give him a chance, waging an internal war.
“I’m probably going to marry her one day. I think she’s the one.” I say the words with confidence.
The idea is a little premature, sure. But I have a good feeling about her. Maya breathes new life into me, not wanting to piece me together but accepting all my jagged parts. Waking up next to her makes my mornings, not because of her phenomenal blowjobs, but for the special smile she gives me when I hit her snooze button five times. I love the way she lies in bed reading books in the middle of the day, unbothered and shooing me away when she hits a good part. She brushes off my gruff attitude with a smile and a kiss because I can be a moody asshole when I don’t place first—conditioned because of the shitty man sitting in front of me. Most of all, I like how she makes me want to be a better person. For her, for me, for the whole goddamn world.