Revved (33 page)

In the first week while we were in Canada, Carrick was barely around, but when he was…it was horrific.

The first time I saw him after that night in Monaco, he looked at me like he hated me. It was painful. Actually, that’s putting it mildly. It was excruciating.

I have no one to blame but myself, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

I miss him with a physical ache. He was the best friend I ever had. That’s gone now, and I don’t know how to deal.

But I do know, feeling as badly as I do at the moment, how much worse it would have been if I had taken that step forward with Carrick and then lost him in the future.

I know I made the right decision—for him and me.

So, for now, I’m just living in a perpetual state of agony, waiting for things to get better.

Only…they don’t seem to be getting better.

If anything, it’s gotten worse—well, for me anyway. This past week in Austria, Carrick’s gone from being angry with me to nothing.

It was like the flip of a switch.

So, instead of being mad with me all the time, he just seems indifferent, like he no longer cares enough to be angry.

Now, when he’s forced to acknowledge me, I don’t get hate stares. I get apathetic looks.

And they’re heartbreaking.

At least when he was angry with me, I knew it was because a part of him still cared, and I had that to hold on to. Even though I don’t deserve anything, I had that, and I clung to it to get me by.

But now, that’s gone, and I’m just left empty, waiting for the hurt to subside.

I can’t tell you how many times the words have been on the tip of my tongue, standing there before Uncle John, wanting to hand in my notice. But the cruel, sadistic side of me won’t let me because I can’t bear to leave Carrick.

Yes, I know how screwed up that is, but it is what it is, and I’m stuck with it until either Carrick fires me or I have a nervous breakdown, the latter looking quite likely at the moment.

If neither of those things happen, then, I’m doomed to ride the misery train I’ve created until the season is over in five months, and I’m forced to leave him behind, unless I decided to torture myself further and come back for the next season.

I’m sad, pathetic, and weak. I do know that. I just can’t seem to change who I am or the way I feel at the moment.

I know Petra is getting frustrated with me over the Carrick-and-me thing—or the lack thereof, as the case may be. She doesn’t understand why I won’t be with him. She’s still being the same awesome friend, supporting me, but I can see it in her eyes that she doesn’t get it. For her, it’s simple—you care about someone, then you’re with that person.

I know she tried to understand me and my situation, but she can’t fully grasp the reality of what I feel unless she’s lived through what I have. So, with her, I now put on the full act that I’m okay with everything, that I’m past everything. And I leave my tears for those moments alone when I’m in the shower, and it’s all just gotten a little too much for me to contend with.

When I got back to my room that night after Carrick and I had sex, Petra was awake, waiting on me. I took one look at her and burst into tears. After she let me cry on her shoulder, she said she thought that I should tell him, about everything—my dad, how I feel, and why I won’t be with him.

But I can’t. Because if I do, I know he’ll talk me around. And it’d be great for a while…but it’d only be a matter of time before something happened out on the track while I watched him race. That would set me off. I’d freak out and only end up hurting him worse than I have now. I know, in the long run, I’m not strong enough to stay.

I am a coward. Just like he said.

That is one of the reasons I’m where I am right now. Well, only a small part of the reason, the main being that I can’t miss the chance to be close to him again—and when I say
him
, I mean, my dad.

I heard about a vintage car show here, hosted by some rich guy, and my dad’s car will be at the show with a bunch of other vintage racing cars and cars of dead celebrities.

It worked well as an excuse to get me out of going to a dinner tonight. Uncle John asked me to attend as his plus-one, but I know Carrick is going also. He wouldn’t want me there, and I’m trying to make things as easy as possible on him.

I wonder who Carrick’s plus-one will be.

There’s been no more Sienna. I did see she’d sold her story to one of the dailies about her heartbreak over Carrick dumping her. But since her—or I should say, me—I haven’t heard of him being with anyone else. Doesn’t mean he hasn’t. From past experience, I know that nothing keeps Carrick down for long.

So, here I am, wandering through the big glass doors of the showing. I hand my ticket to the woman at the entryway. She gives me a pamphlet that details the layout of the show, and I make my way inside.

As I walk through the main door, I see the room is already buzzing with people. A waiter in a suit, standing by the door, hands me a complimentary glass of bubbly, which I take gratefully. A bit of liquid courage.

I know it sounds a bit crazy for me to be so nervous about seeing a car, but this car represents and holds most of my best memories with my dad. So the thought of seeing it leaves me feeling a little shaky.

I haven’t seen his car since my mum sold it at the charity auction, right before we left England to move to Brazil. I was so angry with her at the time. The others, I could let go of, but this one, this was
our
car. In this car, he took her out on their first date, he drove them away from the church after they’d gotten married, he took me to my first day of school. He always took me out in that car every chance he could, just for a drive.

He loved that car. He’d bought it as a wreck and restored it. That car was an extension of him, our family, everything that he represented.

It took me a long time to realize why my mum had gotten rid of it. Having it would have been a constant reminder of everything she had lost.

And after meeting Carrick and having him in my life, even for a small portion, I understand it even more.

I look down at the pamphlet, looking for my dad’s car. I want to see the others, but I need to see his first.

It’s in the center showing. Looks to be one of the main attractions here.

I fold the pamphlet and put it in my bag. Then, I down the bubbly. I give my empty glass back to the waiter, thanking him. I take a deep breath and make my way to my dad’s car.

I glance at other cars as I pass, noting which ones I’m going to come back and pay more attention to, but my focus is on the black Jaguar XK120 M Roadster that I can see on the podium up ahead.

My heart starts to beat faster with each step I take.

It hasn’t changed. It looks exactly the same, and it’s as pristine as ever. The wheel trims are still painted bright red to match the red interior lining and red leather seats.

It looks like it hasn’t been touched since the day it left my family.

As I move near it, I press my hand to my beating heart.

There’s a placard in front of the podium, asking people not to touch the car. Then, another one is beside it, detailing the car’s history with my father’s name right at the top. It briefly talks about how he restored the car and how he had it up until his death in 1991. Then, it was bought at an auction and has remained in this collection ever since.

I take a step closer to the car. I can smell the fresh wax coming from the paintwork. I quickly glance around to see if anyone is watching, and then I gently touch my fingers to the car. The memory of the last time I was in it with him comes back to me like it was only yesterday.

“Come on, Dad. Drive faster!” I said over the sound of the breeze whipping through my hair. “You’re driving like an old-aged pensioner!”

“I’m doing seventy.” He laughed.

“Like I said, driving like a pensioner. How can the world’s number one racing driver go this slow? Seriously, how do you win your races again?” I was winding him up to get my own way. I knew just how to play him to get what I wanted. He was so easy, my dad.

He slid me a glance and grinned.

I loved his smile. There was just something about it that always told me just how much he loved me.

“Fine.” He gave a little huff. “Just don’t tell your mother I was speeding again with you in the car because she’ll have my arse—head,” he quickly corrected. “She’ll have my head if she finds out.”

I giggled at his slip up. “My lips are sealed.”

I did the lock-and-key action and pretended to toss the key out of the car, making him chuckle.

“Seriously, I just don’t get why Mum hates you driving fast, why she worries so much. It’s your job, for God’s sake.”

“And that’s why she doesn’t like it.”

I gave him a funny look.

He cast me a look and smiled. “She worries because she loves me.”

“I don’t worry.”

He gave a soft laugh before looking back to the road. “It’s different for your mother. One day, when you’re a grown woman and you have a man of your own—preferably when I’m senile, blind, and deaf—then you’ll understand.”

“Ugh! God, Dad!” I squealed, shoving him in the arm, causing him to laugh loudly. “I’m never going to have a boyfriend,” I told him huffily, folding my arms over my chest. “Boys are idiots.”

He looked at me again, tension in his brow. “That kid Patrick still giving you a hard time?”

Ugh, Patrick Webber, the bane of my existence. Seriously, the guy wound me up all the time. Constantly going on about how tall I was, calling me lanky and saying I was like a boy just because I was into cars. Honestly, one of these days, I was going to punch him right in his perfect nose.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” I shrugged.

“Well, if it gets to be too much to handle, you tell me, and I’ll sort him, okay?” My dad chucked my chin with his finger.

I smiled back at him. “Okay, Daddy.”

He looked back to the road.

“Dad?”

“Hmm?”

“I just…I want you to know that I don’t worry like Mum does when you drive ’cause I know you’re the best driver in the whole world. Not because I don’t love you.”

He stared at me for a long moment. Then, he reached over and put his arm around my shoulder, pulling me to him. He kissed the top of my head. “I know, kiddo. I love you, too. And you’re right. I am the best driver in the world.” I could hear the grin in his voice. “So, are we taking this baby up to maximum speed or what?” he said, releasing me as he turned onto a stretch of clear country lane.

“Maximum speed!” I yelled, laughing, putting my arms up in the air like I was on a roller coaster.

He let out a rumble of laughter, his foot pressing down on the accelerator. “Scream if you wanna go faster, Andi.”

“You know you’re not supposed to actually touch the cars.”

I’m jolted out of my memory at the sound of Carrick’s voice. My hand recoiling from the car, I swing around to him.

As I stare into his face, my heart thumping wildly. I see concern cross Carrick’s brow, and I realize that my cheeks are wet with tears.

Turning my face away, I quickly brush them gone with my hands.

“Hey, are you okay?” His voice is soft, caring. He takes a step toward me, his hand reaching out, but then he stops before he touches me, as if catching himself.

“I’m fine.” I force a bright smile onto my face.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Well am I. I’m great.” I lift my voice. I know it sounds unnatural, but I don’t know what else to do.

Because I won’t explain to him why I was just crying while standing before William Wolfe’s car.

I see his eyes flicker to my dad’s car, and then they come back to me. I can see his mind working.

Don’t connect the dots. Don’t connect the dots.

“I thought you were at that dinner tonight?” I quickly go for a change of subject.

He stares at me for a long moment. Thankfully, he decides to let it go. “I was supposed to go, but then I heard about this showing today, so I ducked out. Sent my dad on his own.”

He was going with his dad.
The relief I feel at that is immensely scary.

“Was he angry?”

He shrugs, a smile teasing his lips. “A bit, but I’ve ditched him to come to a car show, not to go out partying, so he can’t be too mad.”

He gives a cheeky grin that makes my erratic heart swell in my chest.

And that makes me take a step back.

“Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were coming. If I had, I wouldn’t have come.” I don’t know how true that is. I would have come because I had to see my father’s car. I would have just come when I knew he wouldn’t be here.

“Wow,” he says with an incredulous tone in his voice and a hurt look on his face. “I know we’re in a weird place right now, but you hate me that much?”

My eyes widen with shock. “No. I don’t hate you. Of course not. And ‘weird place’ is putting it mildly, Carrick. You can hardly bear to be in the same room as me. When I said I wouldn’t have come, I meant, for your sake. I know it’s bad enough that you have to see me at work.”

“Jesus…Andressa.” He rubs his forehead with his fingers and then takes a step toward me. “That’s not…I just…fuck.” His eyes blink in earnest at me. “I’m really fucking sorry for the way I’ve behaved lately. The way I’ve treated you…I’ve been a complete bastard.”

I wrap my arms around myself in protection. “You have nothing to be sorry about. It’s me who should be sorry.”

He shakes his head. “I think we’ve both been at fault in one way or another lately. I just…I don’t deal well with rejection.” He shoves a hand through his hair, looking awkward. “When I’m rejected, I act like a total prick.”

“I know. You’ve told me that before. In China, remember?”

“Yeah, and I acted like a prick then, too. No wonder you don’t want me.”

My face drops. “Carrick…I…”

“Sorry. Just pretend I didn’t say that and sound like the biggest fucking loser on the planet. Actually, can we just forget everything and start from the beginning?”