Page 29 of Drive Me Crazy
TWENTY-NINE
Ella
WRITING a biography on your boyfriend is a lot harder than writing a biography on some historical figure. I hardly think George Washington’s biographer had mind-blowing shower sex with him and then ate Michelin-star sushi in his bed. Not that I’m complaining about either of those things.
I spend the day before the Belgian Grand Prix camped out in an empty conference room—my new unofficial office—rewriting a chapter about Blake’s first World Championship win. I’ve attempted to write in Blake’s suite before, but I never get much done when he’s around. He’s the most handsy person I’ve ever dated and the minute we’re alone and away from prying eyes, it’s like white on rice. It’s four o’clock when I finally feel satisfied with my work and send George an email, letting him know it’s ready for him to read. Fingers crossed he doesn’t have too many edits.
As I walk through the lobby of the hotel, ready for a mental break, my phone vibrates with a call from Jack. Time zones and work schedules haven’t made finding time to catch up easy and we’ve been playing phone tag all week. I immediately pick up and greet him with a loud, “Jack!”
“Ella!” he says back with equal enthusiasm. His raspy voice brings a smile to my face. “I’m glad I caught you because I have very exciting news.”
“You’re pregnant,” I guess as I wait for the elevator. “You found out Jennifer Aniston is your long-lost mom. Your neighbor is actually a—”
“Before you get all crime and cult-y on me, I’m going to stop you.” He laughs. “You know Peter? That guy I’m dating?”
It’s hard to keep track of who Jack’s dating because he has a never-ending roster of guys, but he’s been with Peter for two months. That’s essentially marriage in Jack’s world.
“The audio engineer at Big Town, right?”
Big Town is one of the podcast networks included in my non-compete agreement. I’m an idiot for signing it, but I didn’t think I’d have any reason to leave PlayMedia at the time. That backfired.
“Mm-hmm.”
Stepping into the elevator, I tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder and hit floor thirty-seven. “What about him?”
“He told me that Big Town is developing a new podcast series. Think ESPN Daily meets Barstool’s Spittin’ Chiclets . They’ve already locked in Alex Sutherland, but they’re still looking to fill the other host position. So … I sort of told Peter to suggest you.”
I really wish he had told me his creepy neighbor was the ringleader of a satanic cult instead.
“Did you start smoking crack?” I whisper-yell, trying to keep my voice down. “Why would you do that?”
The older woman who pressed floor forty-four peers in my direction, but I ignore her glare. Societal niceties—like abstaining from loud personal calls in elevators—don’t apply when someone drops a bombshell like this.
“Because you’d be a great fit,” he says. I can picture him tugging his right ear in anticipation. Never his left ear, only his right. Five years of friendship make you notice these kinds of things.
The elevator stops at my floor and I quickly step off so Jack can understand me loud and clear. “I legally can’t work there, Jack.”
And even if I could, I don’t know if I’d want to.
“Your non-compete ends soon,” he says confidently. “And this is a great opportunity.”
I rub my hands over my face. For someone so smart, Jack can be really dumb sometimes. He means well, but this isn’t a decision he, or anyone, can make for me. If I podcast again, it’ll be on my own terms and because I want to.
I take a deep breath and count to three. “I’ve had a long day and really can’t think about this right now, Jack.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he apologizes as I near my room. “I just … I want you to be happy, El. I’m sorry, okay? Please don’t be mad.”
I reassure him that I’m fine, promise to call him back later this week for a real catch-up, and end the call. Sliding the smooth plastic card into the slot beneath the door handle, I glide into the cocoon of my suite, the hum of the air conditioner greeting me. Home sweet hotel .
“Baby?” Blake’s deep voice calls out. His head pops out of the bedroom a moment later. “Hi, love.”
The tension in my shoulders relaxes at the sight of his smile. It’s different from the one printed in magazines and displayed all over the McAllister motorhome and garage. This smile is relaxed and playful and just for me. I push away all thoughts of my phone call with Jack.
That only lasts about an hour.
For the rest of the week, Jack’s confession plays on a loop in my mind. Do I want to work for a network again? I’d be rich if I knew the answer to that million-dollar question.
ON THE PLANE ride to the Japanese Grand Prix, while Blake sleeps soundly next to me, I make a pro-con list in the note app on my phone. Throughout the race weekend, I randomly add items to it as they come to me. Pro: steady salary. Con: potentially toxic work culture/boys’ club like PlayMedia. I don’t know if this will help me come to a decision, but it feels like a step in the right direction.
I go back to the hotel after watching qualifying rounds at the circuit on Saturday and sink into the overstuffed, patterned couch in the suite Blake and I are sharing. Grabbing my computer off the side table, I start editing a chapter about race strategy. George suggested I add some detail to the section about Blake’s pre-race walks around the circuit. I was supposed to work on this earlier today but got sidetracked when Josie insisted I listen to an episode of her favorite podcast, Dating and Dildos . With a name like that, I was obviously intrigued and ended up neglecting my work to binge three episodes.
Blake gets back to the hotel room a few hours after me, already showered and changed out of his racing gear. He landed himself in pole position, so there’s no doubt he’s in a great mood.
“Hey, babe,” he greets me with a grin.
“Hi, handsome. I’ll be done working in a minute.”
Which means in about ten to fifteen minutes. He relaxes into the couch and brushes his lips against the top of my head. I nuzzle against him and type away at a rapid speed. Blake reads as I write, watching as the words of his life story appear on the page.
“You used the wrong form of the word,” he says a few minutes later. “It should be are , not our .”
His finger gently taps the spot on my screen to indicate the mistake. Holy shit . Is my mind that preoccupied that I can’t use the correct three-letter word?
“What’s going on with you, love?” Blake asks gently. “Your head’s been in the clouds all week.”
My gaze bounces around the room, landing everywhere but on him. He’s like a damn ninja mind reader and I don’t want my jumbled thoughts exposed like that. There’s no denying I’ve been a space cadet lately.
“I’m okay,” I say a moment later. Squeezing his thigh lightly, I give him what I hope is a reassuring look. “Jack said something that’s been on my mind, I guess. But I’m fine. Don’t worry, okay?”
“What was it?” Blake asks, immediately concerned. A dark cloud of a scowl washes over his features. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s really not that big of a deal.”
Blake stares at me with an intensity I’m not used to seeing off the track. “If it’s not a big deal then just tell me.”
Before I can argue that he can’t demand answers like that, his serious expression turns into a wolfish grin. Without another word, he scoops me up and carries me over to the cloud-like bed, then lowers his body onto mine. I try wriggling my way out because my organs are being crushed beneath his weight, but it’s no use. I’m trapped.
“This is the worst hug ever, Blake.”
“I’m quite enjoying it.”
“Because you can breathe,” I cough out. “Do you have an asphyxiation kink or something I should know about? You seem to like suffocating me.”
“No.” He burrows his face into my neck. “I’m only trying to suffocate the secrets out of you.”
After a minute of my squirming, he finally rolls off me, propping himself up on his elbow. He twirls a piece of my hair in between his fingers, watching me with a frown.
“I’m not going to force you to tell me,” he says tenderly. “I just want you to trust me, El.”
I curl up on my side to face him. “You’re the only person who knows about my secret fear of seahorses, Blake. Of course I trust you.”
He lets out a chuckle from deep in his chest. “Seahorses aren’t the reason you’ve been acting off, love. Talk to me.”
If the situation were reversed, I’d be just as persistent to find out what was eating at him. Sighing through closed lips, I bury my apprehension. “The guy Jack’s dating is recommending me as a host for this new podcast his company’s producing.”
“People at Little Big Town?”
“Big Town, but yes.” He can never seem to remember that Jack’s newest boy works for Big Town, not the American country group.
Blake listens intently as I recap the conversation. When I finish speaking, I slowly release a deep breath, the tightness in my chest fading.
“Are you considering it?” His forehead puckers in thought. “I know he only suggested your name, but are you open to the idea?”
“Maybe. I don’t know,” I mumble. “I made a pro-con list, but I’m not sure any of it matters.”
“Why not? What’s holding you back?” Blake asks, his voice low and calming. “Your podcast was amazing, El. You have to know that.”
My body feels like it’s burning from the inside out. It’s an inescapable feeling of dread that washes over me and doesn’t let go until I push all thoughts of what happened out of my mind. I avoid eye contact like it’s my full-time job, so Blake ducks his head to try to catch my line of vision. His eyes lock with mine, and my heart skips a beat. There’s so much going on in my head that the words fight to get out, leaving me tongue-tied. Blake waits patiently, running his thumb against my hip in a soothing motion. Will talking about this ever get easier?
“You know how I told you a girl I know was assaulted?” I finally ask after a few minutes of silence. “At work last year?”
“Mm-hmm.” His voice is soft, almost like he’s scared he’ll spook me if he talks too loudly. I twist the sleeve of his shirt between my fingers. “I remember.”
“I didn’t tell you the full story,” I admit quietly. Salty tears fall down my cheeks, and Blake wipes them away with the pad of his thumb.
Realization slowly creeps over his face. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
All I can do is nod. Blake releases a heavy breath, clenching his jaw so tightly that he’s shaking. I shrink away, wanting to shield myself from his reaction.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“What?” Blake looks genuinely confused. “You’re sorry?”
“You opened up to me about your anxiety and your family, and I didn’t tell you about this until now. I don’t—”
“Ella, baby, no,” he interrupts me. His face crumbles, the hardness in his eyes dissolving. “I’m not angry at you. God, no. I’m angry this happened to you.”
“You’re not upset I didn’t tell you before?” I bite my lip to try to stop more tears from welling. “It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you. I just didn’t know how to.”
“I’m going to punch a hole in the wall later and quite possibly commit murder,” he admits. “But I promise it has nothing to do with you, love. You just shared something intensely personal and private with me. I’m here for you however you need me to be, okay? Thank you for trusting me.”
He pulls me against him, and I bury my face in his chest. I feel his heart pounding as he runs his hand up and down my back in a comforting motion. It’s like a fucking dam’s been broken, everything that’s been bottled up and kept tightly under lock and key finally breaking loose. My body shakes as tears soak through Blake’s shirt. I haven’t cried like this in months and now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. I’m not sure how long the two of us lie there with Blake holding me as I let everything out.
I lean back from him sometime later, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. It’s definitely not the cutest thing I’ve ever done. I take a deep breath. “It happened about a month after I went to HR to report the harassment. I was in the studio room—it’s on another floor than our offices, so it’s a lot quieter—prepping notes for my next interview.”
Blake stays quiet, letting me talk at my own pace. The muscles in his jaw tick despite his soft expression. I know I can stop talking right now and he’d be okay with that, but I want him to know. It’s not even a want, it’s a need .
“I’m assuming Connor found out that I went to HR because he showed up and started yelling at me. Told me I’m a fucking prude and shouldn’t take things so seriously.” I close my eyes in an attempt to hide from the memory. “When I tried to leave the room, he pinned me against the wall. He started groping me and ripped off my underwear and”—I take a deep breath, working up the nerves to finish the sentence—“said no one else was around to hear him fucking the attitude out of me.”
I pause again before continuing. “Marcus, a sound engineer, came in as Connor was unbuttoning his pants … I guess he forgot his notebook. I told him I was on my way out and would go downstairs with him, so he waited while I got my things together.”
The what-ifs still make my stomach churn. What if Marcus hadn’t come at that exact moment? What if he hadn’t forgotten his notes? What if he was in a rush and couldn’t wait for me? What if I had frozen and didn’t say anything?
I’ve never seen Blake look so furious. His eyes are fiery, lips pursed into a tight line. The veins in his neck are popping, muscles pulsing. “Why the fuck did they not arrest him?”
“I’m surprised they even investigated him.” I hunch further into myself, wishing I could magically disappear. “It’s his word against mine and you know who his dad is. The prosecutor didn’t think there was enough evidence to move forward with the case, so they didn’t.”
“I am so sorry, love.” Blake rubs his hands over his face before kissing my forehead lightly. “You are unbelievably strong.”
“Most of the time, I’m fine, you know? I’ve worked through a lot of it in therapy. But with podcasting … it’s just over-whelming.”
I turn my head into the pillow to hide my face as I start crying again. Blake wraps his arms tighter around me. “It’s all right, baby. I’ve got you, okay? I promise I’m not going anywhere.”
Feeling safe in Blake’s arms is a new kind of intimacy. I’d be lying if I said I don’t love him for that.