Page 33

THIRTY-THREE

Blake

THERE ARE ONLY four races left in the season. I know a lot can happen in four races and so does Ella, but that doesn’t stop her from pacing around the pit garage an hour before the Brazilian Grand Prix. I watch her with devilish delight. She may not put up with my shit, but she’s still my biggest supporter. She’s asking everything and anything. Are the tires they chose right for today’s weather conditions? Is their two-pit strategy smart? How are they going to deal with the fact that Theo landed pole instead of me? There can only be one winning strategy, and I have a much better chance at the Championship, so how does that fare for team camaraderie? Are they going to be using a harder suspension? And what about wing settings?

When she asks an engineer if they’re planning on using a low off-throttle differential setting for the slower turns, I step in. The McAllister team loves Ella, but they also love doing their job, and her questions are making it a little difficult to concentrate. I place my hands on her hips and pick her up, walking over to the other side of the garage with her feet inches off the ground.

“I can’t believe you just physically removed me.” She glares at me in exasperation. “Completely unnecessary.”

“You have no idea how sexy it is to hear you talk about overrun, but you’re making it hard for them to do their jobs.”

“It’s exactly because I want them to do their jobs that I’m asking.”

“I appreciate it, love.” I chuckle. “So does the Tickle Monster.”

Ella has trouble keeping her balance as she laughs. It takes her a minute to catch her breath. “You named your car the Tickle Monster?”

“Finn and Millie named it,” I defend myself. To be honest, if it weren’t for them, I probably wouldn’t have even named the car.

Ella looks at me with undisguised affection. “You continue to surprise me.”

“Blakey Blake.” Theo saunters over to where we’re standing, placing himself firmly in between us. “Your girlfriend doesn’t want me to have a threesome with you guys, but I think we need to talk about it as a group.”

I’m sorry, what? I fold my arms across my chest. Over my dead body am I sharing Ella with anyone else. Especially not Theo. “I don’t want to have a threesome with you either, Walker.”

“C’mon,” he argues with a pout. “You can’t deny that I’m a fantastic-looking bloke. You’d be lucky to see me naked.”

I’ve already seen Theo in the nude plenty of times. If there’s a chance for his dick to be out, it will be. The man acts like he’s bloody Tarzan.

“I’d rather gouge my eyes out with a spoon than see you naked,” Ella says, wrinkling her nose like a rabbit. “I’m not having a threesome with anyone.”

“Unless it’s Pete Davidson and Harry Styles,” I grumble.

I’ve gotten over the fact that if my girlfriend is ever in a threesome, I’m not involved in any capacity. Well, I’m still pissed about it, but I can’t be that mad considering I’ve already had a threesome with two of my celebrity crushes.

“You got cockblocked out of a threesome with your own girlfriend!” Theo slaps his hands against his knees as he doubles over. “How the hell does that happen? You got a thing for blokes with tats, Goldy?”

“It’s hypothetical.” Ella smacks him in the arm before narrowing her eyes at me. “Don’t you guys have a race to win or something?”

“I don’t need to beat Blake.” Theo winks at her. “Looks like Styles and Davidson already have.”

I’m going to smash his face in.

“Good luck out there.” Ella gets on her tiptoes and gives me a kiss. She’s not fully comfortable with major PDA thanks to the cameras on me at all times, but she’s starting to warm up a bit.

“Thank you. See you after dinner?”

The last thing I want to do after the race is to entertain sponsors at a three-hour-long meal, but it’s not up to me. Ella was invited, but she’s skipping out. People won’t leave her alone now that our relationship’s public. The media is trying to learn everything and anything they can about the woman who stole the heart of Britain’s broody bachelor. Ironically enough, it wasn’t a sneaky pap photo that exposed us, but my own sister posting a photo of Ella with Finn and Millie on her Instagram. Go figure.

I steal another kiss before heading out to the pit lane. I ended this race in P3 last year, but a five-second penalty for crashing into Thompson dropped me down to P7. I’m ready for an actual podium win this year.

Ella’s good luck must have been sprinkled with special fairy dust or some shit because my win is very lucky indeed. I place P1 by less than a quarter of a second.

“Blake!” a reporter yells during the post-race interviews. “How are you feeling after today’s first place win?”

“I’m feeling on top of the world,” I reply, meaning it. The most amazing part? I know the best is still yet to come.

IF IT’S possible to die from boredom, I’m about three minutes away from my funeral. Theo, on the other hand, is thriving. He’s a born entertainer who can somehow talk incessantly about himself, but still make you feel like you’re part of the story. I’ve told the big wigs at McAllister that Theo is much better suited for these types of dinners, but they still insist I go. Theo’s amusing everyone with one of his outlandish stories, so I slyly check my phone. I see two missed calls from Ella and immediately excuse myself from the table. My heart starts beating faster, my skin crawling with discomfort. Ella never calls during business dinners. She claims that unless she’s bleeding or something’s broken, nothing is urgent enough that it can’t just wait. I quickly make my way outside to call her back.

“Hi,” she answers.

“Did something happen?” I ask agitatedly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Her voice trails off. “I-I just wanted to hear your voice, I guess.”

“I’ll be back twenty.”

Before she can argue, I end the call and shoot Theo a text, saying I don’t feel well and need to leave. He’ll probably love not having to share the spotlight with me, anyway.

Ella’s curled up on the couch when I finally get back to our hotel room. She looks like a little burrito with how she’s tucked herself under a blanket. I sit next to her, resting my hand on her back as she talks to her mom on the phone.

“My mom wants to know if you’d prefer regular potatoes or sweet potatoes for Thanksgiving,” Ella tells me. “And she says hi.”

“Whatever she wants to make is good with me,” I answer. “Tell her I say hello.”

“He’s fine with either, Mom.” She rolls her eyes at something before saying goodbye. Narrowing her eyes at me, she says, “You shouldn’t have left dinner.”

Ella watches me warily as I lift up her arms and tilt her chin, looking for obvious signs of injury. When I don’t see any, I relax slightly.

“Checking for broken bones or blood,” I explain with a shrug. “What’s wrong, love?”

“None of that,” she says, her lips turning up the smallest amount. “He made Forbes Thirty Under Thirty.”

She hands me her phone; I find the website already pulled up on her screen. I briefly read through his feature, trying not to crack her screen in half when I read the words “titan in the industry.” I don’t bother finishing the profile; I already know more than enough about him.

“I started working on a business plan, but then Poppy texted me that,” Ella shakily admits. “She didn’t want me to hear it from someone else.”

I scoop Ella up, wrapping her in my arms. She sighs, resting her head against my chest.

“It’s not fair,” she murmurs. “He put me through hell, yet he’s being praised and I’m what? Starting from scratch and stressing out that he told people not to work with me? It makes me feel like I’m damaged goods.”

Her chin starts trembling and she hunches her shoulders, shrinking into herself. If I could take every bit of pain from Ella and suffer through it myself, I would without a second thought.

“You’re not damaged goods,” I reassure her. “You don’t want to work with people who would believe his bullshit, anyway. It means they’re bloody idiots.”

“I guess so,” she sniffles, her voice cracking. “I hate that it makes me want to cry. I just want to be okay.”

“But it’s okay to not be okay,” I gently remind her. “I’m nearly thirty and still dealing with shit that happened to me when I was a kid. You went through something bloody terrible. No one expects you to emerge from that unscathed.”

She nods into my chest, and I feel her body shake lightly as silent tears fall down her cheeks. I tighten my hold on her, desperate to let her know I’ve got her. That she’s okay. That she’s the strongest person I know. A few minutes later, Ella tilts her head up, blinking those damn beautiful eyes at me. I hate how red they are because of her tears.

“You know when someone massages a knot out of your back? And it really hurts, but you know it’ll be worth it in the end because you’ll feel better?”

“Yep. Sam once gave me a back massage after a crash and told me he couldn’t tell if I was choking or having an orgasm.”

Her soft, infectious laugh is the best damn thing I’ve heard all day. And I won a Grand Prix earlier.

“That’s what all of this is like,” she admits. “I know it’s all part of the healing process, or whatever, but it just sucks.”

“I know it does but look at how far you’ve come. You’ve traveled the world. You’re almost done writing a goddamn book that I know is going to be a massive hit. Not only because it’s about me and I’m remarkable, but because you wrote it, which makes it doubly amazing. And you’re working on a business plan for a podcast that’s going to wow the world. That’s pretty impressive shit, love.”

She nods to herself, tugging her lower lip between her teeth. “Yeah? You think so?”

“I know so.” Pulling her close, I brush my lips against the top of her head. “You’re proof an angel can walk through hell and make burns look beautiful, baby.”