Page 31

Cherry

The grey clouds hovering over Silverstone match my mood perfectly.

It’s another race weekend, the British Grand Prix this time, and one of the most anticipated races of the year. Team Vortex Motors think they have their car set up to win this weekend, and the whole place is alive and buzzing with excitement.

All but one, it would seem. That one being me.

It’s been four weeks since the ‘Canadian Incident,’ as it’s been labelled, and Nicky and I have stuck to the plan. We’ve not spent any alone time since he left me in my hotel room in Montreal, and as predicted, the media soon lost interest in me.

Probably because an even bigger, juicier story broke in the interim.

“I feel so bad for Nate,” Serena says, handing me a coffee like the angel she is.

“I know,” I sigh. “It’s bad enough that he has to go through all of this, but to do it so publicly is just brutal.”

The ‘ it’ we’re referring to is the sensational headline news reporting that not only did Nathan’s girlfriend and prominent WAG on the F1 circuit dump the onetime World Champion, but she then hooked up with his brother.

The whole mess has been splashed over every gossip magazine and tabloid newspaper and the British press have had a field day reporting all the salacious details of their national hero and his cheating ex-girlfriend—making the ‘maybe’ relationship between me and Nicky seem dull in comparison.

It's the only good thing to come out of Nate’s drama, and the guy is so heartbroken I can’t take any comfort from being left in the paparazzi dust.

“Have you spoken to him?” Serena asks. We’re getting ready for the race and are setting ourselves up in our usual spot to capture every moment and post about it on all the team socials.

“Not yet.” Since joining the team, I’ve gotten to know Nathan pretty well and, contrary to my first impression of him, he’s not the arrogant douche I’d built up in my head.

He’s a sweet guy; I can see why Nicky likes him so much.

And why their so-called bitter rivalry is a construct of the media desperate to make something out of nothing.

Gosh, it feels like the media are in the business of ruining lives around here.

“Hmm, and how about Nicky? Have you spoken to him?”

Serena knows about our plan to stay away from each other and does not agree with it. She believes it’s just giving in, letting the paparazzi dictate our lives, and while I secretly agree, I’m following Nicky’s lead on this one.

“Just some text messages.”

Her nose scrunches up. “There’s always this weekend. ”

“What little there is left of it,” I point out. Today is the last race before the mid-season break, meaning that after we leave the track later this afternoon, there will be three long weeks without F1 and without a reason to catch a glimpse of Nicky. Even if it’s just from a distance.

Maybe that’s why I’ve got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach? Because I’m dreading the time apart from him?

“I still can’t believe he’s keeping to his word. Especially in Monaco. I was sure he’d cave and give in there.”

I say nothing, thinking of Nicky’s text messages and how disappointed he seemed to not have me stay at his place. We both knew it was the sensible thing to do, but sometimes doing the right thing just sucks.

“It was for the best,” I parrot the company line, swallowing it down along with a bitter pill of disappointment.

“Hey, is that Nate?”

She points to a forlorn figure sitting off to the side, away from the hustle and bustle of his team’s garage. His arms resting on his knees and his shoulders are bowed. Even from here, I can feel the heartbreak rolling off him.

“I’m going to go see if he’s alright.”

Serena nods, gnawing at her lower lip and looking concerned. It’s probably not my place to sit with the number one rival of our team, but it’s just not in me to leave someone alone when they’re clearly not doing okay.

“Hey, Nate?”

His head snaps back as his eyes lock with mine. From my spot this close to him, I can see the shadows under his eyes, how they’re rimmed in red.

“Do you want some company? ”

He pats the ground next to him and I sink, resting my back against the wall and wriggling my butt to get comfortable.

“What are you doing here?” he asks in a rough voice.

I shrug. “You look like you could use a friend.”

His laugh is sharp and pained. “Huh. Friends. I seem to lack a few of those these days.”

Wincing at the edge in his voice, I inch closer to him. “Do you want to talk? Or do you want to just sit?”

He smiles at me, but it’s barely a spark compared to his usual megawatt grin. “I guess you know the story.”

“I know what’s being reported,” I offer.

“It’s pretty much all true.” He huffs out a big breath. Feeling for him, I pat his arm, knowing that I’m risking a photographer getting a shot of us together and making it the new headline story. “Victoria broke up with me and got together with him the next day.”

Victoria is his longtime girlfriend, and the ‘him’ is his older brother, George. From where I’m sitting, they’re both despicable people.

“I’m sorry.”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “I mean, who does that?”

“No one good.”

“They must have been carrying on behind my back. Right?”

My lips twitch at the use of the phrase ‘carrying on,’ but I move in closer to him, resting my head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I say again because I believe they were probably ‘carrying on’ behind his back. “You don’t deserve this.”

We sink into silence and I scramble to think of something to say to help. When I come up empty, because there’s no getting over this sort of betrayal in a hurry, I stay quiet. What Nate needs now is support from the people around him and I vow to do whatever I can to be there for him.

“So, I guess you and Nicky are off the hook for now,” Nate says finally, breaking the silence and offering me a whisper of his signature cheeky grin.

“I would say thank you, but in the circumstances…”

He grins properly now, nudging me with his elbow. “How have you been dealing with it all?”

My shrug is nonchalant. I know this because I’ve been practising it in the mirror for whenever this question gets asked. Which is a lot.

“I’m good.”

He raises one dark blond brow.

“I am! It’s been weeks since the incident. My face is finally back to normal, and thanks to you, the media has stopped fixating on me.”

“That’s not what I was referring to.”

I look away from his probing gaze. “It’s been fine.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, he’s not been fine.”

We look towards the Vortex Motors garage where Nicky is most likely working on his race strategy with Paul.

“He won last week,” I argue. After the disaster in Canada, Nicky bounced back with an emphatic win that silenced all his armchair critics.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

I shake my head. “Nate, he asked for space.”

“He did that for you.”

Grrr. I know this; it’s what makes it all so much harder. Nicky is doing this for me, and it’s making me miserable.

“Yeah.”

I look towards the team garage again, sucking in a breath when my eyes lock with Nicky’s. He’s in a deep discussion with Jack, but his gaze is on me. On Nate and me.

“The poor guy,” Nate sighs next to me, looking at Nicky with a grimace. “Just go easy on him.”

My mouth drops open. What’s he talking about? Me go easy on Nicky? Nicky, who is making all the decisions? I have to go easy on him?

I spew this sentiment at him between bursts of angry snorts and he chuckles in response.

“You can’t see it now, Cherry. But with that man, you have all the power.”

He jumps up and offers me his hand. I grumble as he pulls me up and into a brief hug, hating that he got the last word in this silly exchange and that his last word was all kinds of stupid.

“Thanks, Cherie,” he whispers into my ear, halting my internal, angry monologue.

“Anytime,” I tell him. “And be careful out there today. Get your head on right.”

Nate nods and walks back towards his garage with his shoulders slumped, his usual swagger missing.

“I have a bad feeling about today,” I mutter under my breath as I make my way back to Serena.

“Is he okay?” she asks when I get to her.

I look at the seat beside her, my usual seat, and frown. It’s no longer empty and what’s worse is it’s now occupied by Frieda. The woman who seems permanently displeased around and by me, and who brings all of my self-doubts and insecurities to the surface.

“Yes,” I reply, taking the only vacant seat left, on the other side of Frieda.

“Sorry,” Serena mouths behind Frieda’s back.

I shrug. It’s not her fault .

My knee bounces as I unpack my camera bag, focussing on the job I’m here to do and not whatever it is Nicky’s publicist is here to say to me.

I’m fairly sure she’s been on board with the plan for me to stay away from Nicky—it was probably her idea in the first place—so whatever she has to discuss isn’t something I likely want to hear.

“How are you getting along, Cherry?” Frieda asks after five painfully long minutes.

“I’m fine. My face is better now.”

Her icy blue eyes trace over my face and I fight not to squirm under her scrutiny.

“Hmm, and what a face it is.”

Is that a compliment? It was delivered almost as an insult.

I flick my gaze to Serena, who shrugs.

“Thanks?”

Frieda flashes her pearly white teeth at me. “I can see why you’ve got everyone distracted.”

I’ve got everyone what now?

I titter, a nervous sound, and tuck my hands under my thighs to stop from wringing my fingers. “I’m not sure that’s true.”

This time, her smile is softer and not unkind. “You don’t see it, do you?”

Again, I glance at my friend for guidance. See what?

“Not really,” I shake my head. “To be frank, Frieda, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

She tilts her head, never taking her eyes off me. “Nicky. He’s been different this year. Since you joined the team.”

“He’s been happier,” Serena interjects, seeming unable to stay out of the conversation.

I throw her a grateful smile.

Frieda agrees. “Yes, he was happier. Until recently… ”

Now I’m getting annoyed. Nothing that has happened ‘recently’ has been my fault. In fact, if you think about it, the general discontent lingering between me and Nicky is most likely because of her.

“And I’m not saying it’s your fault,” she continues, pulling the wind from my angry sails. “I’m just letting you know that whether or not you like it, whether or not you recognise it, your presence on the team is a distraction.”

My mouth flops open and then closed, mimicking a dying fish, and I sit in stunned silence as she stands up, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles of her crisp navy-blue pantsuit and offering me what looks like a sincere smile. This woman knows how to deliver a blow while making it nice.

“What was that?” Serena asks, scooting over to take the seat Frieda had just left. “She sounded like she was being nice, but I think she was insulting you. Or…warning you.”

I nod, the ominous feeling in my stomach that had been there since this morning intensifying. Between my chat with Nate and this interlude with Frieda, my spidey senses are telling me that something about today is very off.

“Do you think I’m a distraction?”

My friend bites her lip and looks off to the side.

“Serena?”

She huffs out a breath. “I mean, kinda? But not in a bad way. Nicky’s always been so focussed on racing that it doesn’t feel like he’s enjoying any of it.

Since you joined the team, he’s come out with us to celebrate.

He’s been showing more of his personality to the fans and all the people who work hard for him.

He seems like a better version of himself.

So, if that’s you distracting him, then I’d say, let it continue. ”

Before I can digest all the words that she’d just thrown at me, the flurry of activity on the starting grid demands our attention.

“Here we go,” she says, facing forward with her focus now on the cars in front of us.

I glance up at the clouds above us. They’re dark and menacing, threatening a storm that has held off so far. I know if the conditions were worse, if the track were wet, I could explain away the bad feeling I’ve had all day. But so far, from what I can see, there’s nothing to scream ‘abort mission.’

Nicky qualified well yesterday, starting in P2 today, and has a good chance of being in the lead by the first corner. This circuit has a long straight, roughly 290 metres from the start to turn one, and so there’s ample opportunity for Nicky to be in front when they get there.

That is, if he’s not too distracted .

“It’s almost lights out,” Serena says, grabbing and squeezing my hand as we’ve been doing at the start of every race since the first one.

Lights out. I picture Nicky where he is now, sitting in the cockpit of his car, remembering what he said about this being his favourite part of the race. It’s just him and the car, and a bucket load of adrenaline running through his body, waiting to be unleashed.

“…and away we go!”

The five red lights go out and I hold my breath as all twenty cars lurch forward. My eyes stay locked on number eighteen as it edges in front of the car ahead as they careen at top speeds into the corner.

“He’s in the lead!” Serena squeals next to me.

My gaze switches from the track to the giant screen in front of us as the cars disappear around the bend and out of sight .

“Serena…” I crush her hand in mine and use the other to point at the leaderboard. Nicky’s name, which had been at the top, is tumbling down the order.

Her eyes grow wide. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“But—” When this happens, it usually means something has happened. Something bad.

“Just listen.”

The commentators are in a frenzy, stumbling over their words as they narrate what they can see and we can’t.

“Nicky Dimitrios has hit the wall into turn two…we’ve got a red flag.”

“Serena?”

I turn to her in a daze, not knowing what to do next. Nicky crashed his car? Nicky is injured? Nicky is hurt…or worse?

“We don’t know anything…” she repeats in a voice filled with dread.

I look back at the leaderboard now showing Nicky’s name in dead last and swallow a sob.

It looks like my premonition of something bad about today had been right. And watching all nineteen cars minus Nicky’s return to the pit lane, I wonder just how bad it will be.