Page 21

CHAPTER 21

Posey

I t’s nearing five p.m. when I pull up to the Bahrain Global Circuit in a Careem, a car service similar to Uber. The race starts at seven, so I stayed at the hotel today working. Lex left just after breakfast.

I could see he’d withdrawn into himself, his focus on the day ahead of him. I’d even say he was a little testy when I asked, “Will I get to see you before the race?”

“I don’t know, Posey. Not really something I can worry about right now.”

I was taken aback and wanted to snap at him, but I held my tongue.

He did plant a small peck on my cheek, so that was something, and then he uttered a terse farewell. My feelings were hurt for all of about ten seconds, but then I convinced myself that this had to be race jitters. Not everything was going to be easy in this life with him and I made a note to be extra gracious with him on race days.

The sun is already beginning its slow descent, casting a warm orange glow over the desert landscape. The sky is a gradient of deep blue fading to amber, and in a short while, darkness will fall completely. By then, the floodlights around the circuit will kick on, bathing the entire track in a dazzling white glow. It’ll be a sight to behold—the cars glinting under the lights as they fly by, the desert heat still lingering in the air but cooling slightly as evening takes hold.

My driver, dressed in a crisp white thobe, glances in the rearview mirror as we approach the security gates. We haven’t spoken a word since I gave my destination to him and I was lost in my own thoughts on the short drive from Manama.

I fidget with the silk scarf around my neck. I’d done my research before coming here and while non-Muslim women are not required to wear head coverings in Bahrain as it’s a relatively liberal country compared to other Gulf nations, modest clothing is encouraged, and I complied. Not necessarily out of respect but mostly because my clothing is modest by nature.

As soon as the driver halts in front of the entrance reserved for people with race credentials, I thank him in Arabic, one of the few phrases I’ve memorized. He smiles and repeats in accented English, “My pleasure. Have fun tonight.”

When I step out, I can actually feel the pulse in the air. My own heartbeat gallops as my nerves battle between the excitement of watching Lex and my fear that he might get hurt.

I make my way through the special entrance reserved for race team members and VIPs, flashing the credentials Harley gave me earlier. The security guard, a stern-faced man in a traditional ghutra, nods as I pass but as soon as I’m through the gates, it’s like stepping into another world. The paddock is just ahead, but getting there means weaving through a sea of fans.

The circuit holds upward of seventy thousand people across a handful of grandstands and I stare in wonder at the mix—families with young kids wearing oversized racing hats, groups of men in traditional Bahraini attire, flowing white thobes and ghutras, standing shoulder to shoulder with fans in jeans and team jerseys. I even spot a few women in brightly colored abayas, their faces lit up with excitement as they chat animatedly and wave flags for their favorite teams.

Some fans are decked out head to toe in Crown Velocity gear, complete with silver, black and green hats, while others proudly wear their favorite driver’s colors such as red, yellow and black for Italia Forza or the new team colors of purple, silver and white of Titans Racing to match their sister sports team, the Pittsburgh Titans. Although I’m a Crown Velocity fan first and foremost, I do plan on buying a Titans Racing hat while I’m here.

I take my time before entering the paddock, soaking in the experience of being among the fans. The merchandise booths bustle with people lining up to grab last-minute souvenirs—hats, scarves, replica race car models. The smell of food wafts through the air, too, from traditional shawarma stands to more international fare. There’s even a line of teenage boys in Ronan Barnes T-shirts, trying to get selfies with anything remotely connected to the sport.

The energy is simply electric, and I know that it will only increase as we get closer to the race. I have to wait in a short line to enter the paddock, my credentials within easy reach as they hang around my neck. I text Maeve that I’m here and she immediately responds that she’s on her way to meet me at the entrance. We plan to walk around the paddock, taking in all the sites as the teams hustle through last-minute preparations. Then we’ll sit in the Batelco Grandstand for the race.

While I was more than welcome to watch from the Crown Velocity paddock club, I wanted to be in the thick of it with the fans. Maeve arranged for our seats, which she promised offered amazing views of the start and finish line as well as the main straight where crucial overtakes will occur.

I buzz through security into the paddock and the first thing I do is look up at one of the dozens of massive electronic boards that show various camera angles as well as statistics once we’re underway. My chest tightens with pride when I see at the very top: Lex Hamilton, P1.

I relish that feeling as it envelops all my worry—the pressure, the expectations he must meet, and my desire for him more than anything to be safe. It hits me as I wait for Maeve, the sheer enormity of what being with Lex means. It’s not just us anymore—it’s the entire FI circus, the media, the fans, the teams. And I’m terrified that I don’t belong here, that I’m just playing pretend in a world that will chew me up and spit me out.

“Posey?” Maeve’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts, and I see her walking toward me with a glowing smile. She’s wearing a Crown Velocity polo and black pants, her red curls pulled back under a racing cap. “Any problems getting here?”

“Easy peasy,” I assure her. “But I have to admit, I’m nervous as hell. And all of this is really overwhelming. I don’t think I understood what it meant to be with Lex until just now.”

Maeve gives me a sympathetic look. “I can’t imagine what it must be like, being in the middle of all this.”

“I’m afraid I don’t belong,” I admit to her in a moment of vulnerability. What I don’t confess is that I fear Lex will one day think the same thing because part of me wonders if this is just a novelty to him.

That’s what Ronan said, after all.

And this morning, he was so distant it’s easy for me to believe the worst, that maybe he’s tiring of me.

But no… that’s not Lex. I know it.

Maeve does too as she narrows her eyes and smacks my arm. “That’s silly talk. You’ve got Lex in your corner and from what I’ve seen, he’s pretty damn crazy about you. But enough of that. I am officially free to escort you around the paddock for a bit. Let’s go check out all the other teams.”

That makes me feel so much better and I manage a grateful smile. Maeve hooks her arm through mine and we get no more than three steps before someone shouts my name.

Actually, more than one someone.

Multiple people.

Maeve and I turn to see a gaggle of reporters trotting toward us and for a moment, I think they’re coming to talk to Maeve since she’s the communications manager.

“Posey,” one of them yells, and my heart sinks. They are not here for Maeve—and there’s only one reason they could want to talk to me.

“Posey,” a young guy with a buzzed haircut calls out before shoving a recorder in my face. “Can you comment on the allegations that you’ve been posing as a journalist to research Crown Velocity?”

Nausea wells so violently that I have to suppress the urge to vomit all over the man’s shoes. My skin goes cold as I feel blood draining from my face.

This isn’t happening.

This can’t be happening.

Not now.

“What?” I stammer, my voice weak and shaky. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The reporters press in closer, their voices overlapping as they hurl questions at me.

“You’re a romance author, right? Writing a book about FI? How did you deceive Crown Velocity into letting you in?”

“Is it true that Lex Hamilton knew about this the whole time?”

I glance at Maeve, who looks just as stunned and pale-faced as me. Her eyes are wide, and she’s shaking her head like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. “No comment,” she says firmly, stepping in front of me, trying to shield me from the barrage of questions. “There will be a statement after the race.”

But the reporters don’t stop. A female steps forward, shoving a microphone in Maeve’s face, a camera man standing just behind her. “We already have a statement. This story is going live in a few minutes. Do you have any comment on that?”

I freeze, my mind spinning. A statement? I didn’t give a statement.

And I can tell by Maeve’s bewildered expression that she’s not the one who let the cat out of the bag. She’s as shocked as I am.

And then, like a sledgehammer to the chest, it hits me.

Lex.

He was the only other one with my secret and there’s no other explanation for how they know.

My insides churn, and I swallow down the nausea. Why would he do this? Was this his way of ending things? Is this his out?

The way he was distant this morning, even a little standoffish. He didn’t like me asking if I’d see him before the race. Were these all clues that he wasn’t feeling it anymore? That he wanted to break things off and he didn’t have the guts to do it himself?

You’re a shiny toy to him right now, but he’s not built for monogamy. He’ll drop you as soon as he’s bored with you, so don’t be surprised when it happens.

That’s what Ronan said and he knows Lex better than I do.

Oh God… the pain in my chest is unbearable.

I whirl away from the reporters and start running. I hear Maeve yelling my name, the pounding of feet behind me. She grabs my arm, halts me only to have us surrounded once again by reporters.

I’m shocked to my core when Maeve turns on them, snarling, “Fuck off, for all that’s holy. There will be a statement from Crown Velocity soon, but not if you jackasses keep hounding us.”

Maeve steers me several feet away, and I’m relieved that the reporters don’t follow.

“Lex did this,” I mutter to myself, but she hears it loud and clear. “You and he were the only ones who knew my true identity, and I can tell you were just as surprised by those reporters.”

“Posey, no,” Maeve hisses angrily. “Lex wouldn’t do this. You know he wouldn’t.”

But I don’t know that. I don’t know anything anymore. Not when there’s a horde of reporters just waiting to out my perfidy to the world. The weight of it all comes crashing down, and I can’t breathe. I can’t think.

I want to run and hide. It’s my only option.

“I have to go,” I say, my voice barely a whisper as I glance at the security entrance I’d just come through. “I’m leaving.”

Maeve tightens her grip on my arm. “Don’t do this. Don’t run. Just talk to him. There’s got to be some explanation.”

But I can’t stay here. I can’t face Lex, especially if he wants to end things, and I most certainly can’t face the world knowing that this is how it ends. Those reporters are waiting to make a fool of me and record my heart breaking.

The thought of looking into Lex’s eyes and seeing… what? Challenge? Indifference? Pity? I don’t even know anymore.

I suck in a deep breath and pull forth a level of fortitude I’d need for the coming hours. “I’m leaving,” I say, pulling away from Maeve sharply. “I can’t stay here.”

And then with tears welling in my eyes, I unlatch the diamond bracelet Lex gave me and push it into Maeve’s hands. “Give this to him for me. Tell him I’m sorry.”

She tries one last time to stop me, her voice pleading as she clutches the jewelry to her chest. “Please, Posey. Don’t do anything you’ll regret. Just talk to Lex.”

But I’m already gone. I’m already walking away, my chest tight, my vision blurred with tears I refuse to shed. I push through the paddock exit, elbowing my way through the throngs of people and finally I’m free of the track with the desert spread out before me.

For a moment, I’m lost and unsure of what to do and then it must be serendipity because a taxi pulls up and out pour some Matterhorn FI fans. I bolt that way, grab the back door and peer into the sedan. “Can you take me to Manama?”

“Yes,” the driver says and motions me inside. I give him the hotel address and he nods his understanding.

My phone buzzes inside my purse as the car pulls away, but I ignore it. I know it’s Maeve begging me to come back. I lean my head against the seat and close my eyes, formulating the plan in my mind.

I feel long bursts of buzzing coming from within my purse, but I’m not about to answer. Maeve is just going to have to deal with it all because I don’t have it in me.

It’s time to come up with a plan. I need to pack, check out of the hotel and head to the airport. I’ll grab the first flight to anywhere—doesn’t matter where it’s going. I just need to get as far away as possible.

That’s a good plan.

I grab my phone so I can book a flight and I’m shocked when I see it was Harley who called me. I bet she’s been hit by the reporters and now she knows the truth. The voicemail icon shows she left a message and I stare at it in horror. I can only imagine what she said. Probably something like, You are unbelievable. Absolutely deceitful. You preyed upon our generosity and you are sick, depraved and beyond redemption.

Truthfully, Harley wouldn’t say that, but she’d probably threaten me with legal action. I can’t bear to listen to it so I pull up my browser and get to work on booking my ticket out of here.

By the time I make it to the hotel, I’ve booked a flight on Emirates to New York, and I have just enough time to make it if I hurry.

“Can you take me to the airport?” I ask the driver, assuming he speaks English as many here do.

“Yes, of course,” he says.

“I’ll be fifteen minutes max. I promise a good tip.”

He nods politely and I scramble out of the back seat.

It takes only ten to stuff my clothes into my suitcase, swipe my toiletries into my carry-on and slide my laptop in my backpack. I spy one of Lex’s T-shirts at the foot of the bed. I wore it last night after…

Tears spring to my eyes and I resist the urge to take it, even as my hand rubs at the bare spot on my wrist where his bracelet had been.

Without a backward glance, I leave the hotel room and begin the process of putting the shambles of my heart back together. It all starts with distance, and I cannot wait to leave this place.

In the taxi, I sit quietly as we navigate out of the city to Bahrain International Airport. It’s weird, but my mind should be swirling with the horrors of the last hour. Instead, I relish the blessed numbness.

Actually, I feel a decided calm within me and I think that has everything to do with the fact that I’ll be flying out of this country, away from this lifestyle and back to my little cocoon in North Carolina. It makes me almost giddy with excitement and I vow to myself I’ll just forget this ever happened.

In fact, I’m deleting the damn manuscript and going back to my historical fiction.

Fuck formula racing.

This new burst of confidence has me curious and I pull out my phone. I navigate to voicemail and without hesitation, press the button to listen to Harley’s message. I do need to know how bad the fallout could be for me.

“Posey, I need you to call me back immediately. It’s important that we talk about what happened. Obviously, we aren’t telling Lex that you left as we can’t have him distracted, but… well, just call me.”

The message ends and I’m flummoxed. There were no threats. In fact, she didn’t sound angry, only mildly annoyed.

Part of me wants to dial her back and get the berating over with, but the other part—the one that wants to put this all behind me—decides against it. I delete Harley’s message and shut off my phone, shoving it deep into my bag.

Back into the sand my proverbial ostrich head goes, and there it will stay.