Page 21

‘Elise, I promise, I’m okay. The doctors have done thorough checks and nothing’s broken. It’s just a few cuts and bruises,’ I reassure my overly worried sister for the fourth time in this phone call.

‘God, I’m so glad I didn’t let Cassie watch this one. I have no clue how I’d have explained it to her.’

It’s a relief to me, too. Even at almost four years old, Cassie’s way too young to be worrying about anything in her life.

Plus, I also hope to get her in a kart one day and that can’t be done if she’s afraid because of something that happened to me.

‘They’ll let me go after the concussion period has run out, but please, honestly, don’t worry about me.’ My sister has way too much already on her plate to be worrying about. I’ve noticed that in our recent calls she’s quite short in reporting to me about Mum.

I tell myself it’s because the kids are growing up and every time she calls there’s more to say about them. Jesse’s grasping more words every week and tottering around like the toddler he’s becoming and Cassie’s a ball of artistic energy who loves painting and making things with clay.

I’m missing so much. It makes retirement seem that little bit more appealing.

‘Are you listening to me, Ki?’

I clearly wasn’t. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’

‘I asked what happened. Even I know that was a bend you can do in your sleep.’

She’s right. More than. I’ve never had any issue on this course the last fourteen times I’ve driven it. But I can’t tell her that the guy I’m falling for won’t even go on a date with me. I definitely can’t tell her it’s Harper James. She’d kick his ass.

‘I don’t know what happened,’ I lie. I absolutely hate myself and the guilt that eats me up as the lie continues to spin. ‘I don’t know if I just misjudged how sharp it was or if there was a problem with the car.’ It was neither of those things; my mind just wasn’t on the track.

It would be a dangerous admission, and I’m already dreading the possibility that I might have to tell the team when they investigate the car and track to see what caused the crash.

‘I still hate this. I know it’s been, like, fifteen years but I still hate that you do this every other weekend for nine months of the year.’

Might that be another reason to retire? Does it seem like there are more and more reasons because they’re valid reasons, or because the press keeps putting them into my head every time I’m interviewed? Some days, it feels like I’ve already decided.

‘I know, I’m sorry, El. I promise I’ll be more careful.’ The nurse who’s been coming round checking my vitals pops her head around the door and signals to get my attention. ‘One sec, El.’

‘You have a visitor in the waiting room. He’s been here waiting a long time. Do you want him to come in?’ I nod and the nurse leaves.

‘El, I’m gonna have to go. I think Anders is here, or maybe Cole, I don’t know. Someone from Hendersohm.’

‘Okay, baby bro. Love you. Let me know when they discharge you.’ I return the love and she hangs up.

Before I know it, lurking in my doorway is a very sheepish-looking Harper. The guy who laughed in my face yesterday when I tried to ask him to go for dinner with me.

‘How’re you feeling?’ he asks, letting the doors close softly behind him but not taking any steps towards my bed.

‘Fine. Just a bit achy all over but I’ll be discharged in the morning as I’m on concussion watch.’

I’d like to be heading home right now, but I know concussion protocol better than I know my own name after more than a decade in the sport.

Before Harper can even take a seat at my bedside, Cole’s popping his head around the door too. ‘Hey, Cole, thanks for coming,’ I say.

‘I won’t stay long. Track report, you know. And…’ He looks at Harper. ‘I’ll tell everyone you’re okay. Good to see you.’

‘You, too, Cole. Thanks again.’

And with that he leaves. He’s clearly picked up on the weird energy bouncing off Harper but I can’t afford to think about that right now.

‘I thought…’ Harper steadies himself with a hand resting against the wall. ‘I don’t know what I thought. Shit! For a moment I thought you were dead. Ash was being so slow with updates and then he said it was you and I thought, fuck, he didn’t want to tell me because it was already too late.’

For a second, the terrible conversation from yesterday is completely forgotten. The raw emotion on his face makes it hard for me to breathe. His hair’s a floppy, sweaty mess of curls from both his helmet and what looks like hours of running his fingers through it. There are red blotches on his cheeks that can only be from repressed emotions and his eyes are swollen with unshed tears. His gaze is so intense as he scans my body to check I’m okay.

How am I meant to be mad, how can I push this man away when he comes to me like this?

Except, I know I have to. I know I have to because if it’s not going anywhere then what’s the point? I don’t want casual sex, I want a lover, in every sense of the word.

‘Thanks for coming to check on me, but I’m all good. You should probably head back. The motorhome’s a mess and we have to hand the keys back in less than forty-eight hours before we fly to Singapore.’ I don’t think for a second that he’s going to be responsible and do any tidying up but it’ll give him a chance to get his stuff from my room. I also need him out of here and it feels like the perfect excuse.

‘I, um, ordered pizza to the hospital when they came out and told me you could have visitors. I thought we could eat together. It’s probably not the most romantic setting, but you did suggest we go for dinner together.’ He laughs, nervously, and there’s a pink flush creeping up his neck.

If my head weren’t throbbing with a raging headache right now, I would roll my eyes. When I asked him out for dinner, this isn’t what I meant, and I think he knows it. But I don’t think I’ve got the strength to have the conversation that’s long overdue while I’m recovering from a 300km/h crash.

‘Pizza sounds good.’

I really am too tired and bruised to put up more of a fight right now. I feel like I’ve been tiptoeing around his skittishness for months. We’ve been acting like a couple in private, and things have felt really good, but the second I push for more he freaks out. I know we never even explicitly agreed to be exclusive, but we were always together so it’s not like he was out seeing anyone else. But he won’t go out on a date with me yet he shows up at my bedside with big feelings and pizza? It’s more exhausting to figure out than two hours on the track. It’s gruelling for my brain, having to hold myself in check so I don’t scare him off. I don’t know if I’m coming or going and I won’t sacrifice my performance on the track for the sake of his comfort. Italy has been a total shitshow for me, and I’ve got no one to blame but myself. We’ve been operating on his terms so far, but what I want and what I need matter, too.

Except, every time he runs, he comes back quicker. It feels like progress, and the way he’s looking at me right now it’s clear I must mean something to him. But how long can we keep doing this for? How far would he run if I asked him to be my boyfriend? Would he ever stop running if I got down on one knee?

Woah!

Now is not the time to be thinking about marrying someone who won’t even go on a date with me. I must have hit my head really hard.

‘Where did you finish?’ I ask.

He meets my eye with a shy pride I didn’t know existed in him. I know arrogant Harper, teasing Harper, seductive Harper, sad Harper, but this is new. And it’s a good look on him.

‘P1,’ he says.

‘Well done. You should be really proud of yourself.’

‘I am, you know. I mean, it’s only cos you’re in here, but still.’

‘No, you deserve it Harper,’ I say. He does. He’s an incredible driver. I don’t know why it’s taken so long for him to get called up to the top category. Sponsors and team owners must really dislike his off-track antics to have passed him over for so many years.

‘Thanks,’ he says quietly.

‘What pizza did you get me?’ I ask in an attempt to discharge the sudden tension in the room.

‘Pepperoni with hot honey.’

He’s too good at this. For me this is the perfect mix of meat and spice and sweetness on a pizza and I hate that he knows me so well.

I know he sees my reaction because he looks really proud of himself.

He obviously takes this as an invitation to get closer, because he sits down in the chair next to my bed, scooting it right up next to my pillow.

‘I did good, huh?’

‘Depends. Did you order just pizza?’

‘What do you take me for? Of course I didn’t. I got tomato and mozzarella arancini and then garlic bread with chipotle jam and caramalised onion chutney.’

He’s right. He is too good. It’s the post-race cheat meal, and because we’re in Italy, it’s going to be phenomenal and I’ll end up falling even harder for him.

Then he’ll probably say no to an actual date and we’ll never sleep together again. He’ll disappear to another team or I’ll retire and that’ll be it. One hospital pizza date and a whole heap of excellent sex. Then nothing.

It’s depressing that my thoughts stray like this around our non-existent relationship.

‘Maybe I am good at this dating business.’

I’m not sure if he means to say that out loud. His face says not as it contorts with a mixture of surprise and shock and a healthy dose of fear.

I push myself into a sitting position and the undignified action pulls apart the hospital gown they forced me into.

His sharp intake of breath echoes in the sterile room. ‘Fucking hell, Kian! That’s not a few cuts and bruises. It’s like fifty per cent of your body is black and blue, and that’s only what I can see.’

I try to adjust both my gown and the blanket to cover up the marks, but I’m not exactly mobile right now and every joint and muscle is sore. Harper bats away my hands and surveys the damage in full. His fingers dance lightly across the darker bruising on my forearms and biceps and my elbows, which are practically black. There’s a painful cut on the top of my shoulder where something dug into me on impact, but it doesn’t hurt half as much with Harpers fingers trailing over it.

‘It’s just what happens, innit?’ I try to sound casual, but it’s true that getting injured is part of any sport. Ours is just slightly more extreme when it comes to weighing up risks and benefits, because we could end up dying in a pit of fiery hell. I’m glad Elise won’t see it.

‘You crashed, Kian. I haven’t seen one like that before. I kept holding my breath every time I passed the scene. I wanted to see you but I didn’t want to at the same time, you know? They had to pull you out. Imagine trying to drive and still rubberneck at the same time?’ The words fall out of his mouth fast and breathless. It’s almost like he’s on the verge of panicking – and it’s not at the thought of being in a relationship but at the thought of me being injured.

‘Hey, hey…’ I reach out to grab his hand and lace our fingers together whilst praying that a nurse doesn’t walk in. Harper would run and we’d be tabloid fodder and I don’t have the energy to deal with that right now. ‘I’m actually fine. They’ve X-rayed and scanned every inch of me. They’ve checked for a concussion more times than I can count and mostly I feel fine. A bit sore and tired and a bit of a headache because my body needs to repair itself, but that’s it.’

He sinks back into the uncomfortable plastic chair, his other hand on top of mine to hold me in place. Not that I’m going anywhere, seeing as I’m hooked up to a monitor for my heart rate.

It’s the most worried I’ve ever seen him about anything and I know I should be honoured but the doubt is still there, niggling away. I’ll want something from him that he isn’t ready for, I’ll push him too far too fast, and he’ll leave again. And one day, he’ll stop coming back.

‘I just need to rest and take it easy for a couple days. But don’t you worry, I’ll be kicking your ass again the second we’re back in the gym.’

We’ll be staying in a hotel in Singapore – no more motorhome! – and apparently we’re taking over a whole wing that’s newly built, on the same floor as the spa and gym facilities.

My body almost melts at the thought of a good soak in a hot tub.

‘Sure, sure, because it’s always you kicking my ass, baby.’ The gulp that follows the pet name assures me he didn’t mean to say it. That’s two things he didn’t mean to say out loud – his defences are clearly down right now. I don’t know how to acknowledge it without scaring him off, so I’m grateful that the nurse decides to interrupt us just then.

Our hands spring apart in what feels like an obvious way, but the nurse must not notice. ‘Sorry, visit over. Mr Walker needs rest.’

She doesn”t leave the doorway, so Harper has no choice but to say a quick and casual goodbye and follow her out. I guess I’ll be eating that pizza on my own after all.

* * *

The following afternoon, Kev, one of the drivers, delivers me to the door of the motorhome and I’m surprised someone doesn’t race over with a wheelchair to transport me the couple of metres up to the door. I’ve been thoroughly coddled for the last twenty-four hours, and I can’t wait to have some privacy again.

I thank Kev for his help getting out of the car – my abs seem to have suffered disproportionately – but the opportunity to finally stretch properly is heavenly. The fresh air is delicious, and even though every part of me hurts, it’s nice to extend my limbs and get some motion back into my body.

Harper appears in the doorway, almost as if he’s been watching for my arrival. There’s a soft smile on his face and I hear him audibly breathe out, relaxing his shoulders and holding open the door for me to pass.

‘It’s good to be home,’ I say stepping over the threshold. I stop short, though, when I see that the place is spotless. ‘Who’d you hire?’ I joke.

‘Asshole.’ He goes to thump my arm before he remembers and stops short. ‘I’ll have you know I did all of this, by myself, with only a little help from Johannes who held the sofas up so I could vacuum under them.’

‘You vacuumed? I didn’t know you knew how.’

‘I wasn’t actually sure where any of the cleaning equipment was, but it’s all kept in that.’ He gestures to the grey storage caddy like it’s the first time I’ve seen it, too, during the twelve weeks we’ve been living in the motorhome.

‘Yes, I’m aware. Who do you think’s been cleaning up after you for the last three months?’

‘Yeah, yeah.’

It’s good to be back with Harper, even if my brain’s still mush – I’m telling myself it’s from the crash but I know it’s mostly a result of uncertainty about our situation.

‘Thanks for sorting some clothes out for Kev to bring to the hospital this morning. Leaving in the very short hospital gown would have produced some interesting headlines tomorrow.’

‘You’re welcome. I didn’t want anyone coming in here and realising our shit’s all in your room.’

And there he goes again. He could have left it at you’re welcome but now I feel like his dirty little secret again.

‘Right.’ It’s all I can manage without revealing my disappointment.

‘I also cooked dinner. Don’t get me wrong, it’s only pasta with pesto – nothing fancy – but the cupboards are pretty bare with us flying out tomorrow.’

‘I’ll take anything over hospital food.’ I hate that the conversation now feels awkward again.

He spoons pasta from a pot into two bowls and we settle on the sofa to eat it. We’re side by side, but we may as well be thousands of miles apart. Silence settles around us as we eat and then he even volunteers to do the washing-up.

I can’t quite believe my ears, but I’m not about to protest. I don’t think I could stand up for long enough anyway, and I want nothing more than to sleep for a year. I’ll have to pack in the morning because my head’s in a spin.

‘I’m going to get the shower going. I got you some eucalyptus shower gel – it’s supposed to be good for you and it smells amazing. I also got you some magnesium spray for afterwards, and some arnica cream. Is that okay?’ I’m not sure why he’s asking so hesitantly. Maybe because I’m shocked into silence by what he’s clearly been doing for the last twenty-four hours.

‘That sounds perfect, thanks.’

His shoulders straighten at my words and he quickly finishes up the dishes before disappearing into the bathroom.

I don’t know what to make of his acts of service. I’m in danger of reading way too much into them and thinking it means something it probably doesn’t. I can’t afford that. I don’t need to look very far to be reminded of that.

As I slip into bed, clean and refreshed and looking forward to sleep, Harper appears in the doorway in a pair of what I believe to be my boxers. He presses a kiss to my shoulder and then my forehead and I realise he’s not sure whether he’s welcome in my bed or not. I lift the covers and he slides in beside me.

‘Do you wanna be the little spoon tonight?’ he asks.

I don’t know why but my throat suddenly feels too thick to swallow and my eyes begin to mist over. Maybe it’s the relief that I’m okay after the crash. Maybe it’s the painkillers I’m on. Or maybe it’s the way he’s looking after me for a change. I don’t know.

I nod and he wraps his arms around me gently and scootches close until my ass is flush against his crotch. He’s not hard and neither am I, yet this feels like the most intimate thing we’ve ever done.

We fall asleep, his chest pressed to my back, and the last thing I remember thinking is how much I’d love to spend every night for the rest of my life like this.

* * *

But then, in typical Harper James fashion, the next evening he chooses a seat away from me on the plane. He jokes that he wants to be closer to the bar, but that doesn’t fly with me. Especially when he spends the whole flight in his seat, minus a bathroom break, and doesn’t take a single drop of alcohol.

Just like in the moment of the crash, I still can’t get my mind off of him and his feelings towards me. Even when he acts like this.

It’s the famous hot-and-cold routine we’ve settled into and I feel utterly deflated. From the highest high to the lowest low.

I pull out my phone, itching to text Elise for advice, but what would I even say? How would I put into words the situationship I’m in? How can I explain how I feel about him when I’m on such an emotional roller coaster.

At this point, with how shit I feel right now, we might as well be nothing.

And that’s the most heartbreaking thing of all.