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Cherry

I had always believed there was a limit to the amount of tears a person could shed over a twenty-four-hour period.

When I was sixteen years old and my beloved grandfather passed away, I’d tested that theory.

And again, at the start of this year, when Troy dumped me without warning, I’d given it a red-hot go.

During both times, I’d cried a lot. Like bucket loads. And yet, that pales in comparison to the oceans of tears I’ve shed since I walked away from Nicky.

I glance at the TV and blow my nose, watching Nicky take his spot on the top step of the podium, having just won the Brazilian Grand Prix by a full twenty seconds.

“He doesn’t even try to smile when he’s up there anymore,” Matt muses from his spot on the other side of our parents’ couch.

It’s been five weeks since I left Nicky in that hotel room in Singapore and fled back to my childhood bedroom in my parents’ house.

And although my heart feels more broken with every day I’m away from him, watching him win the last three races and secure the championship title proves I made the right decision .

For Nicky, at least.

“He’s probably just exhausted,” I say, my throat sore from trying to hide my tears. After weeks of moping and sobbing, I know my family is almost fully out of sympathy to give.

“From what?” he raises his eyebrow at me. “That was a dominant win from pole to finish. Reverting to the old spec was the best decision the team could make.”

This has been the focus of much of the discussion during this triple-header.

After that poor performance in Singapore, both Jack and Paul had given interviews speaking on the failed upgrades and vowing to go back to the car they had before the break.

They had a two-week break between that race and the upcoming triple-header and they spent that time reverting the car back to one that could win races.

In the first race after these changes, Nicky won from P2, with Patrick taking the third spot on the podium.

I watched that race with my mum at 2.00 a.m. Melbourne time, crying into my hands both at the sight of him on my TV screen and the fact that he was winning again.

The next week, the team was in Mexico where the high altitude made it difficult to know how the car was going to respond.

Happily, Vortex Motors clinched a one-two victory, and Nicky took the top honours again that weekend, along with the bag of points.

I’d watched that race on my own; my parents still giving me support but no longer willing to sacrifice their sleep. In hindsight, that was probably for the best. I’d spent much of that ninety-minute race whimpering into a pillow, my heart crumbling into tiny little pieces.

And now we’re here. The end of three weekend races in a row. The Brazilian Grand Prix is one of Nicky’s favourite racetracks and having won today, it is now mathematically possible for him to take the title at the next race. He should be beaming at me through my TV screen.

But Matt is right; he can barely muster up a smile.

“Have you spoken to him?” I ask through trembling lips.

He shakes his head. “Oh, no. Not going to happen. I’m not getting in the middle.”

I nod, blotting my swollen eyes with a tissue. “That’s fair.”

My brother gives me a long look, shuffling closer to me and pulling me into a tight hug. I lean against his shoulder and inhale a shaky breath. My lungs hurt from just the act of breathing these days.

“You’re a real mess, you know that,” he mutters.

“Yes. I am.”

He sighs, running a gentle hand over my hair, pushing back the strands stuck to my damp cheeks. “Then why are you doing this?”

We’ve been over this so many times. At this stage, I’m wondering if he has some cognitive impairment. “I’ve told you why.”

“Explain it to me again.”

I point at the TV, where Nicky is spraying champagne all over his team from up on the podium. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, doing anything else.

“For that. For him.”

Matt presses pause on the coverage, capturing a close-up of Nicky’s face in the ultrahigh definition we pay extra for.

He’s got shadows under his eyes and his cheeks are hollowed, giving him the gaunt appearance of someone who’s not sleeping well.

His cheeks are covered with more stubble than normal and his often-absent smile is now non-existent.

He still looks breathtaking.

“You’re putting yourself through all of this for that.” He gets up and stands next to Nicky’s face .

My gaze flickers from my brother’s frowning face to Nicky’s, and I pinch my thigh to stem the next batch of tears. Turns out there is no limit to the amount one can shed over a twenty-four-hour period.

“He won, didn’t he?” I say, defensively.

He shakes his head, scrunching up his nose. “Is that all you think is important?”

“Of course not!” My cheeks heat and I jump to my feet. “But this is Nicky’s dream. To win five World Championships. He’ll be one of only four people in history to have done it. It will cement his place as one of the greatest ever.”

“And he told you this was his dream?”

I cast my mind back over the many hours of conversations we shared and my mind stumbles at how few were about F1. We’d spoken about it in topline ways, in terms of the team and my role, but he’d never come out and said anything about his goals or what he wants, ultimately, to achieve.

“Not in so many words,” I admit, sliding down in my seat. “But he doesn’t need to. He’s a Formula 1 driver, Matt. He’s the best Formula 1 driver—of course winning the title is his dream.”

Matt grabs my hands, stilling my fingers. “Nicky is my best friend and I’ve known him for over half of my life. He is a competitor foremost, but do you believe that’s what defines him?”

I shake free from him and sink back down onto the couch. Is that how I see Nicky? As a driver first?

“No.” He’s so much more. He’s everything and then a driver.

“Don’t get me wrong.” Matt sinks down on the couch next to me, his eyes flicking to the screen and then back to me.

“Nicky is one intense dude when it comes to racing. Out on the track, ice runs through his veins in place of blood. He demands only the best from himself and the team, and when things started going wrong, it would have really bothered him.”

It did. But not to the extent I thought it would.

“Yes,” I concede. “He’s a pretty stern and grumpy guy to be around during a race weekend.”

Matt’s grin is wide and knowing. “But off the track? He’s so much more. That guy is the best guy I know.”

You’re preaching to the choir there.

“What are you trying to say?” I ask. My head feels heavy and I can’t work through his riddles and metaphors. He needs to just say what’s on his mind.

He’s quiet for a moment, lost in his thoughts as I stare at the beautiful face shown larger than life on my dad’s wide-screen TV, longing coursing right through me.

“Did you ever wonder why I wasn’t worried about you dating my best friend?”

I had but never voiced it, concerned he’d take it back.

“I guess…”

“It never bothered me because I know I could search the world over and never find a better guy for you. That man,” he waves at the screen, “is the best man.”

I blubber, spit and snot flying around like tiny missiles.

“For goodness’ sake.” Matt hands me an unopened box of tissues and inches away from me.

“I know he’s the best man,” I say when I have my voice back under control. “That was never the issue.”

He stands and paces up and down. “I don’t think you know what the issue is or was, Cherry. You claim you left for his sake, so he can win—”

“—I did!”

“And yet, his form had nothing to do with you. I know you look at the last three race wins as proof that you did the right thing.”

My cheeks burn because that is what I’d been thinking.

“But really, sis, you’re not that powerful. The car was the issue. They fixed the car; they started winning again. Nicky knew that. Heck, even Patrick knew that. Or did you think you were distracting him as well?”

My cheeks burn brighter at his subtle dig. It hadn’t escaped my notice that after I left, Nicky’s form improved. But so did his teammate’s. Which had absolutely nothing to do with me.

“Okay, Mr Know-it-all, why do you think I left, breaking my heart in the process?”

His face softens. “I think you got scared.”

More tears spill over. This is the worst.

“You were overwhelmed by it all, and I don’t blame you. Being with Nicky thrust you into the limelight, and that can be an ugly place to be. Even just working with Nicky and being his best friend, I copped my share of public vitriol and hate.”

My stomach tightens as I remember the hateful words written about me and to me. The way I had to change who I was, the way I was, just to be worthy of loving the man they don’t even know.

“It was awful,” I admit in a soft voice.

“That’s what I thought.”

I hum under my breath, very unhappy my big brother—my meathead of a big brother—appears to be more emotionally mature than me.

It’s a bad day to be Cherry.

“Can I ask you something, without you biting my head off?”

No.

“Sure… ”

He hesitates. “What happened last year? With Troy? From a distance, it looked like he was a bit…”

“Toxic?” I offer, my tone bitter. “You could say that. It happened so subtly that I didn’t even see it at first. He would make the random comment, a dig here and there, and I’d always write it off as nothing.

But after months and months of criticism and negativity…

he wore me down. He broke my self-confidence. ”

Matt’s jaw clenches, hard as a rock. “I’m going to kill him.”

I wave this away. “He’s not worth it. And that’s all behind me now.”