Page 24

I’ve done a series of stupid things tonight, but drinking’s not one of them. I would never do that the night before getting in a race car, even if it’s just a free practice. Yet, at the same time, I feel drunk. I mean, sober me wouldn’t be grinding up against this random guy whose names I don’t know. Nor would sober Harper be posting a string of pictures and videos of us together all over my Instagram stories. Anyone with half an ounce of sense wouldn’t have come back out here for round two after suffering a panic attack on the floor of the men’s bathroom.

Yet here I am again, a different guy dancing behind me like he’s won big tonight. Not that he’ll be getting anything from me at all.

I’m not even sure what I’m trying to achieve here. To push Kian away? I’m confident I already did that when I freaked out – again – when he asked if we had a future together. He’s a saint if he’d even think about giving me a chance after that. And there’s whatever I’m doing here.

I suppress my anxiety to the sound of the pulsing beat of the EDM blaring from the speakers in the bar. The bone-shaking volume of the noise helps me to ignore every thought about Kian, but even pressed up against this stranger, there’s only one person I actually want.

I don’t even want to be here. It won’t help. I know it, but I’m too scared to go back and deal with the consequences of my actions. I’m sure my therapist will have something to say about that, but I’m not opening the lid of that box of horror tonight.

Luckily, I don’t have to worry about that now because out of the corner of my eye I spot Johannes pushing through the crowd as he makes a beeline for me, a scowl trained on me that would finish off a lesser mortal.

‘You’re being a fucking idiot,’ Johannes growls as he finally reaches me. He’s quick to drag me away from the random I’m grinding against. Whoever he is, he’s annoyed by the interruption, but one look at Johannes’s grizzly face and he scuttles off to find someone else.

‘He was hot,’ I grumble with a total lack of enthusiasm. I’m not even sure I got a good enough look at him to tell, but he was keen as soon as he realised who I was.

‘No, he isn’t. He’s a two at best and you were humiliating yourself.’ He’s still dragging me by the hand and before I realise it we’re outside the club.

‘How did you know where I was?’ I ask. I’m completely sober, but the panic attack has screwed with my brain.

‘The second you hung up, I saw that you’d posted your gross display of shit dancing on your Insta story. You were stupid enough to catch the name of the bar in the background. Anyone could have seen this. You’re lucky you don’t have a stampede of fans waiting outside.’

‘You’re here to save me. My hero,’ I grit out sarcastically.

‘What the hell is wrong with you? I thought you were on your best behaviour. You’re on a final warning, remember? Don’t you want this? Don’t you want to be in the Championship?’

I shrug, because when did Johannes get so wise or become the boss of me.

He’s guiding me into the back of a taxi and giving the location of his hotel over mine. That’s probably for the best right now, considering how I left things with Kian.

He doesn’t yell again for the rest of the drive home, the taxi not offering a partition between us and the driver to shut him out of our private lives. But the second the door to his hotel room is closed behind us he lets rip.

‘I can’t believe you. Honestly, Harper! If even I’m over this ridiculous behaviour, then surely that must say something.’

I’ve never been shouted at by Johannes before, but he towers a good four inches over me and his voice booms when he’s pissed off. It’s kind of scary.

‘Says you! Remember Belgium? The hot twins you shagged and the litre of tequila? So don’t bring the holier-than-thou act to my door because it won’t fly with me. You’re forgetting I know you too well, Johannes.’

‘What’s going on, mate? There’s no world in which we should be fighting about this. It’s bullshit, Harper. We don’t do this. You and I don’t do this. We straight talk each other, so tell me, what the hell’s going on?’

What do I tell him? I can’t believe I live in a world I haven’t already told him about Kian, and yet I also enjoyed it being something private that only he and I shared. But now that it’s over, what does it matter?

‘Me and Kian, we, er, we were sleeping together.’

He laughs. Like, fully laughs. ‘Are you drunk? Because if you are, that’s a new low, even for you. We’ve got track time tomorrow.’

I shake my head, and his eyes widen. ‘Well, that’s a surprise. So, what, you had a fight or something?’

‘It’s more complicated than that. It’s not just tonight… It’s … it’s been, like, a couple of months actually.’ He can’t think I’d be this upset after just one night with Kian. I would never let a one-night-stand make me feel this bloody awful.

‘So you’re together?’

I shake my head. Whatever we were, we’re not that anymore.

‘No, it was just sex.’

A snort escapes him and I am glaring, because when did my life become so ludicrous. ‘What?’

‘So, you’ve been like a different person for months, you’ve been sleeping with the same guy for months, and when it’s over you have a panic attack in a bar, and it’s just sex? I don’t think so.’ He thumps my arm. ‘You’re a fucking dickhead.’

I hate that he’s right. I hate that it’s so obvious when he puts it like that.

‘You should see your face right now,’ he says, and I expect him to laugh, but he looks me over with concerned eyes. ‘You look gutted, man. I can’t believe Kian Walker has you all twisted up in knots.’

‘He’s…’ I let thoughts of Kian fill my head again and there aren’t enough words to describe him or what he’s come to mean to me, even if I’ve been too chickenshit to see it. I can’t describe his beauty in words or do his character justice in even a whole book. I’d need an epic series to capture his heart and explain how big it is.

‘Kian Walker, racing legend, your hero and the love of your life.’

‘Don’t.’ Not that word. Not right now. Maybe not ever. It holds too much power over me and I’m afraid of what it will do to me this time.

‘Harper, man, it’s okay. Kian’s a good guy and you can’t shut him out because you’re a bit scared.’

A bit scared? Understatement of the bloody century. The thought of opening my heart to Kian, even a little, makes me shudder.

But, when I look a little deeper, I realise he’s already there. He’s wormed his way into every tiny space. It’s too late and I know it.

‘Oh, you big idiot.’ I’m grateful when Johannes doesn’t say anything else on the subject and pulls me into his broad chest instead. His scent hasn’t changed in the many years I’ve known him. His clothes always smell freshly washed, like a true clean-linen scent that mixes nicely with the soft scents of vanilla and sandalwood in his cologne. It’s almost comforting as I take a big sniff, my hands fisting the back of his vest.

I need this. My best friend and his brilliant bear hugs. I’m nestled neatly into this arch of his shoulder when I spot the hickey.

Punching his arm, my voice comes out a little screechy. ‘Who’s the big idiot now? Is that what I think it is?’

He laughs before going round to the other side of his bed, sliding back under the covers. If he thinks he’s getting away with this, then he’s having an absolute laugh.

I shuck off my jeans and climb into bed with him.

‘Was he at least hot? Or is this the guy who’s been stealing your attention?’

He tries his absolute best not to react, but his whole face cracks into a grin that he can’t contain. Blimey, he must have been good.

‘No comment.’

That only makes me more suspicious and I’m desperate to push him, but I’ve kept Kian from him for months. If he needs to hold a little secret in, I’ll let him. For now.

We’re both tucked under the duvet, looking up into the darkness. I’d say it’s quiet, but I can hear both of our minds running wild.

‘Kian Walker,’ he mutters before we both start to laugh like absolute maniacs.

It is kind of insane, I guess. Kian’s always said to me he doesn’t care if people know he’s bi, but he’s never openly said it and he’s definitely never had a boyfriend in public before. Not that I’m his boyfriend.

‘You remember when we went to Silverstone, what, eight years ago? Or was it nine? And you tried to get his attention from the crowd when he was signing autographs after his race?’

Of course I remember, but there’s no way Kian would ever be finding this out. Especially not now.

‘Nope, never happened.’

‘Oh, but it did, and when the two of you sort this out and we all become friends, I’m looking forward to telling him every single detail of how you screamed his name and cried when he won.’ Because of course my best friend is going to absolutely torture me.

‘If. If we sort this out. I don’t even know what there is to sort right now. I’ve been kind of a prick.’

‘Shocker. What’s new?’ I strike the back of his calf with my cold foot and he winces. ‘Yep, definitely a prick.’

‘Aren’t you meant to be comforting me through this heartbreak or whatever.’

I don’t even know if this is heartbreak. All I know is that I’ve never felt this kind of despair about anyone before, and when I think too hard about Kian being done with me it makes it impossible to breathe.

‘I’d rather help you come up with a way to fix it than throw you a pity party.’

It’s late and he’s probably right, but that doesn’t stop us staying up for the next two hours talking about the grand gesture that will fix our relationship. It’s almost perfect when we fall asleep and I’m beyond excited to see Kian’s face when it all falls into place.

For the first time in ages I feel hopeful, so very hopeful as I drift off into a peaceful slumber.

Only to find myself being shaken awake by Johannes what feels like no less than five minutes later.

I hardly even have time to crack an eye open when he’s waving the bright screen of his phone around.

‘Shit, shit, shit! You need to see this.’

It’s hard not to see it when Johannes thrusts his phone straight in front of my face. The fact that it’s morning catches me off guard, but not as much as the newsflash there in black and white on his screen.

Pop legend, Chastity Walker, dies aged 59 after a four-year battle with Parkinson’s.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ I reach for my own phone, heading straight for his name in my contacts. I hit the call button but it doesn’t even ring. I don’t even get a dial tone. Which can mean only one thing.

‘Maybe his phone’s off?’ Johannes suggests and I want to believe that, but he didn’t see how angry Kian was when I told him he couldn’t like me.

‘He’s blocked me. I need to go back to the hotel and make sure he’s okay. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! I can’t believe I abandon?—’

‘You didn’t know his mum was going to die, Harper. You couldn’t have known. But you were a fucking idiot for going out when you should have been talking to him and being honest with yourself.’

I want to glare at him, to tell him he’s wrong, but I can’t. He’s so right it hurts. I screwed up and now Kian’s going through this on his own. There’s no way I can fix things right now without making his grief worse. He’s got to do what’s best for him and his family, and that doesn’t include me. I can’t imagine he’ll be competing this weekend, so I’m guessing I’ll be racing London. I’ve barely spoken a single word to him all season. Free practice today is going to be interesting.

‘I should, uh, probably – definitely – go back to my hotel. I’ll check on him. Do you think that’s the right thing to do?’

‘Maybe, I don’t know. Maybe just go and offer your condolences and leave it at that for now.’

‘Yeah, you’re right.’

‘Always am, man. Things will be okay, Harp. I promise, it’ll all be okay.’

I decide to walk back to the hotel instead of taking a car. I need the fresh air to clear my head, and the walk will give me a chance to think about how I’m going to approach him and what I’m going to say. Maybe he’ll shut the door in my face, but I have to try.

I barely start thinking when my phone begins ringing. My heart leaps for a moment at the thought it might be Kian, but of course it’s Anders. I’ve already deleted the Insta stories I put up last night, but it’s probably too late and I’m probably going to be dropped next season.

‘Good morning,’ I croak out, my throat suddenly drier than the Sahara Desert.

‘Harper, hey, sorry it’s early. I know you have a free practice later this afternoon but I wanted to give you a heads-up that London will be racing this weekend. As I’m sure you’ve heard, Kian has returned to the UK to be with his family and won’t be racing this weekend.’

Kian’s gone?

‘Uh, yes, thank you for letting me know, sir.’ The call’s short and sweet and I’m just grateful not to be getting the bollocking I deserve right now. Somehow, though, it feels worse.

Kian’s gone.

And I’m blocked.

I can’t even try to be there for him.

I was a mess last night. How could I do this to him? How could I hurt him like this? How could I hurt someone I love like this?

Why has it only just hit me that I love him?

Why has it only just occurred to me that I don’t have to repeat the patterns of my past, the patterns that hurt me, by hurting others? I could choose to let him love me without throwing it back in his face. And I could love him, too, couldn’t I?

I feel sick to my stomach.

Is it fear? Adrenaline? Hope?

I honestly don’t know.

I get up and go to his room. I know it’s pointless but I want to be amongst his things. Trying the handle, I almost burst into tears upon finding it open.

Everything’s gone, but you can tell he left in a rush because his bed isn’t made and the bathroom’s a state. Not that I care, because I just want to feel close to him for a moment. I throw myself down on his bed. Oh, God, it still smells like him, and I let myself just inhale him, duvet tucked right up under my chin. I sit up and see the plastic bag by the door with my hoodie spilling out of the top.

Oh, God, it really is over.

I pull out my phone to send him a message. I need to say something to express how sorry I am for everything, to offer my condolences, to tell him I’m here for him if or when he needs me.

I compose something that doesn’t go halfway to saying everything I want to say, but then I remember. He really has blocked me.

The worst part is, I deserve it. He has every right to be done with me. I’m done with me too.