Page 30

THIRTY

Blake

I REST my hands on the steering wheel, letting the familiar feel of the car’s vibrations calm me. The smell of fuel and burning rubber distract me from the white-hot rage twisting through me. It’s constantly there, pulsing and threatening to break loose at any moment. It feels like I’m choking on my temper, unable to swallow down what Ella went through. I’m going to kill Connor Brixton. I don’t know how or when, but I will kill him. Each Law and Order episode I watch with Ella gives me new twisted ways to murder that son of a bitch.

“Everything look good, Hollis?” an engineer asks through the radio.

“Sweating my balls off,” I reply grumpily. “How fucking humid is it?”

“Eighty-four percent humidity.”

Bloody hell. Even though it’s a night race, the Singapore heat is brutal. Add in twenty-three corners on a bumpy street surface and you’ve got one of the most physically exhausting races.

As I wait for the gantry light to start flicking on, images of Ella’s assault play in my mind. The pain in her eyes as she told me what he said to her, what he tried to do to her. The thought of a man double her size pressing her up against a wall. The way she bit her lip to try to stop the tears from welling in her eyes. The knowledge that Connor had the nerve to threaten her career when she got the police involved. Her ability to be so emotionally vulnerable with me despite everything she’s been through.

My entire body is burning; the anger boiling through me, ready to crack open and destroy everything in its path. I need this win . When the race finally starts, I speed forward with the practiced precision I’m known for. I tail behind Theo, who started in pole position, for the first few laps before finally over-taking him so I’m in the lead. I channel every ounce of rage into the race. It’s the first time I’ve been able to let any aggression out in the past week and a half.

“Stay focused, Hollis,” an engineer tells me through the radio. “You’ve got Thompson coming up behind you.”

I quickly glance in my rearview mirror to see the silver paint of an Everest car menacingly glaring under the street-lights. No way am I letting that fucker get ahead of me. This is not the race to mess with me. Harry’s finding his footing, but years of experience give me an advantage. He attempts to chase me down, but I hold my position, making it impossible to overtake me. Sparks hit the asphalt, lighting up the ground as the two of us battle it out. I hit the apex of the next turn perfectly, boxing him out.

“Don’t open the gap. Keep your pace.”

The crackle of the radio pushes me forward. I’m not letting him use the dirty air to his advantage. The only thing that interrupts my silky-smooth driving is the jolt when I change gears. I’m taking turns at 4.5Gs of force like it’s the easiest drive of my life. I welcome the distraction with open arms.

“Harry spun out on the last turn,” my radio tells me a few laps later. “Took the corner too quickly.”

He’ll be beating himself up over that stupid mistake later. Not my problem .

“What’s my lead?”

“You’re about seven seconds ahead of Adler. Thirteen laps left.”

“I may sweat to death before then.”

Lucas catches up to me during the final laps and it’s touch and go who’s going to cross the checkered line first. During the second to last lap, he brakes a second too late going into a turn, giving me a chance to speed around him.

“Great race, mate. Fantastic pace.” The radio buzzes with excitement. “Hard work pays off.”

“Fuck yes, baby! Woo!”

I bang my hands against the wheel, relaxing at the security that twenty-five points just went toward another future title. Theo’s going to be pissed that he’s ending the race in P5 given he had pole position. I’m sure they’ll have to bleep out a lot of his radio recordings. Not that that’s anything new.

Josie’s snapping photos on her camera the moment I step out of my car. “Congrats on the win … again.”

I snort at her comment. “Thanks, Jos.”

Ella runs toward me, stopping short with wide eyes and parted lips. She slugs me in the arm. “Great race, buddy boy.”

“Buddy boy?” I cringe at the nickname. “What am I? Your dog?”

“I bet I could get you to roll over for a treat,” she jokes.

Cheeky woman.

Lowering her voice, she adds, “I’m trying to act casual.”

Running my hand through my hair, I blow air out of my cheeks. “I don’t want to hide you, El.”

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “The second the media gets involved, our relationship isn’t going to be ours anymore. You know that, Blake.”

I hate that she’s right. Bloody fucking hate it. The Sun ran an article last week called “Blushing Blake” with the tagline, “Fans spot Formula 1 favorite getting cozier with American writer working on his biography.” It went into detail about Ella’s education and job history. All of that was already public information thanks to LinkedIn, but I understand why it makes her uncomfortable. They also included a grainy photo of us eating dinner at some restaurant in London. My arm’s wrapped around the back of her chair and she’s resting her hand on my thigh. It doesn’t look “casual.” Being my girlfriend also means being in the public eye; I don’t think Ella realized the implications of that when we first got together.

“You’re right.” I sigh. “It just means you’ll have to give me double the affection later, though.”

“That can be arranged … dude.” She winks at me before I’m escorted to the designated interview area located under the podium. Lucas is already there, grinning at reporters. The post-race interviews go by quickly, and soon enough we’re standing on the podium as “God Save the Queen” plays through the speakers. Hat in hand, I hum the words under my breath. I can’t wait to take this damn suit off.

It’s going to be a long night. Singapore makes up for the blistering humidity by throwing some of the hottest parties. After a quick shower, I head to a bar with my friends. We’re packed like sardines—rich fans rubbing shoulders with top-tier drivers. I see everyone as a threat to Ella. I can’t focus on any conversation, keeping my eyes glued to my girlfriend as she dances and mingles. I’m ready to pounce on anyone who so much as looks at her the wrong way. It’s not jealousy or possessiveness, it’s a fierce need to protect her. It’s so intense it constricts every breath I try to take.

Around midnight, I get a call from my lawyer and step outside to answer, praying it’s good news. I told him to reach out at any time if he had an update on the deal I’m pursuing. His news is that there’s no news. I walk back inside with a piss-poor attitude.

I make my way to the table my friends are at, but Ella’s no longer there. No one seems to know where she is. The anxiety that’s been coiled up tightly inside me lets loose. I take a seat, trying not to stress out, but when she’s still not back twenty minutes later, my heart starts pounding. The telltale signs of an anxiety attack creep up on me. A million and one scenarios run through my mind and none of them end well. I lean over, resting my head in my hands to get the room to stop spinning. I can’t even get up to find her because I’ll fucking pass out if I try.

“Are you okay, babes?” Josie asks me, placing her hand on my shoulder. “Do you want to go outside for a minute?”

“No,” is all I can manage.

I know if I stand up, there’s no way I’m making it more than a few steps without collapsing. The last thing I need right now is to faint in a goddamn bar. I’m focusing on my breathing. Deep breath in, deep breath out. I repeat the motion, trying to clear my mind. Lucas sits next to me a few moments later and hands me a cup of water. I hold it to my forehead to cool myself down; I feel entirely too hot.

“What’s going on?” I hear Ella’s voice drift into my ear a few minutes later. “Blake?”

Thank God. I slowly lift my head up even though I feel like it’s going to float away at any moment. Sitting down, she places the cup of cold water against my lips. I take a few small sips. My friends give us space, so it’s just the two of us tucked away at the table. I’m not sure how long we sit there with Ella slowly rubbing circles into my back. I feel fucking pathetic.

“I didn’t know where you went and I panicked,” I finally manage to cough out. “Thought something had happened.”

“Ugh. The bathroom line took forever,” she complains. “I’m almost positive people were snorting coke in there. Or they were having a very long quickie. Wait, why would you think something happened?”

When I don’t answer right away, a quiet “oh” escapes Ella’s lips. I don’t even want to fucking say it. The words burn my throat coming out. “I hate him,” I say softly. “I hate what he did to you. I hate knowing that you went through that. I hate that I can’t protect you from all the bad shit in the world.”

“I know.” She rests her head against my shoulder. “But it’s in the past, okay?”

She opens her purse and rummages around to find something. Pulling out a lipstick, she hands it to me.

“Are you going to kiss an attacker to death?” I twist the bottom to see what color her deadly makeup is. A tiny knife pops up instead. What the fuck?

“It’s a lipstick knife,” Ella explains as if I can’t blatantly see the sharp blade in my hand. “Poppy and Jack got it for me before I left. I’ve never used it, but I keep it on me just in case.”

How has airport security not taken that from her? Where did her friends even buy that?

“See? I can protect myself.” She takes it out of my hand and tucks it back into its rightful place next to her real lipstick. God forbid she ever gets the two confused. “I’ve also taken a few self-defense classes.”

I’m glad she’s taken self-defense, but Ella’s petite. Unless she turns into the Hulk when provoked, it doesn’t help ease my mind much. I mumble some approving noise, anyway. There’s no need for her to worry about me worrying.

“Do your friends know, um, why you freaked out? Because of me?”

“God, no,” I reassure her. Taking her hand in mine, my heart rate continues to slow down. “I wouldn’t tell them that.”

She nods. “I just don’t want people thinking about that whenever they think of me or my career, you know?”

“Listen to me.” I hold her chin in my hand. “What happened has no reflection on you as a person or as a professional, okay? It isn’t your fault, and no one would ever blame you for it.”

Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, she gives me a small smile. “Do you feel any better? You’re not shaking anymore.”

I hadn’t realized I was shaking. “I’m doing okay.”

She nods and bites the end of the straw in her drink before taking a sip. It comes sputtering out of her mouth, spraying me like I’m sitting in the front row at SeaWorld.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” Ella slaps her hand over her mouth. “I wasn’t expecting it to taste so bad.”

“Ah, well, thanks for sharing.” I wipe remnants of her drink from my cheek. “It’s a vodka soda, babe. Did you think it’d be good?”

“I thought I was tipsy enough not to hate it so much.” She places the shitty drink on the table in front of us. “Let’s go back to the hotel.”

All I want to do is take a cold shower and go to bed, but I feel bad making Ella leave. She was having a great time before I freaked out. “No, let’s stay.”

“I don’t really want to,” she lies. When is she going to learn that I know her facial expressions like the back of my hand? “I’m pretty tired.”

She stands up and tells everyone that we’re heading back before I can object. I know the only reason she’s doing this is because my anxiety is bad. I’d be lying if I said I don’t love her for that.