Page 3

Chapter

Two

A DECEMBER TO REMEMBER

Madden

“You’re never far away.

I kept you close to my heart even after all these years.” — W

T he calm before the storm or so the shitty phrase goes.

Life has shown me just how true it is. When things seem to be going too fucking well, I’m always on high alert, waiting for what might go wrong next because I can never have a quiet day before something going terribly wrong.

Today feels like one of those days.

Fuck, even the weather matches my mood— the sky is gray, and rain will soon fall. There’s not one clear cloud in sight and the sun is a no show.

I lean against the pit wall, the smell of gasoline and burnt rubber hanging heavy in the air. My car sits on jacks, hidden by my team of mechanics, as they make some adjustments and fine-tune it. The men’s chatter is a dull hum, I stopped listening to about an hour ago. Usually I love the silence and the feeling of peace that settles over me whenever I’m here but there’s just something nagging at the back of my mind today. I can’t point out what exactly it is but the feeling is there in the pit of my stomach.

I’m lost in my head when a loud voice cuts through my thoughts. “Did you check the fuel pressure?” one of the mechanics, Jaime, shouts as he wipes sweat from his brow.

“Yeah, man, but I’m not sure about the readings,” another replies, peering into the engine. “I’ll recalibrate the fuel map.” The men keep talking among themselves while working on the car.

With a deep sigh, and the annoying feeling in my stomach, I look around and find Perry, my manager, standing a few feet away from me with his phone on his ear and a scowl on his face. His neatly combed, salt-and-pepper hair looks disheveled as if he ran his finger through it in frustration. He’s wearing a checkered blazer that looks like it had been plucked from a discount rack and paired with a bright yellow shirt makes him look like a clown.

I frown when I notice his shoes—some sort of faux-leather monstrosity that looked like they’d survive a flood. The man makes several million dollars per year, he can afford a decent wardrobe for fucks sake. I’m starting to think the fucker dresses like a circus clown just to fuck with me.

Suddenly more annoyed than before, I turn to Remi, my publicist. She’s pacing near the entrance of the garage, her eyes flitting between her iPad and me. Remi is a beautiful Afro-Latina, with chestnut curls styled in loose waves and a face that should be plastered all over modeling magazines. Instead, she’s stuck cleaning up my shit and working night and day on cleaning up my image in the media.

Half of the shit the media says about me is exactly that… bullshit yet she works extra hard on making me look good for not only the fans but for possible work collaboration and business opportunities.

She’s a beast and Perry is too but while Perry has a more gentle approach, Remi is a bulldog with sharp teeth.

Every single person here loves their job and even if they’re tired or pissed off they still find joy in the shit they do.

Then there’s me.

I stand back, watching all of them with bored eyes. Everything feels so dull and there’s no thrill to my life unless I’m racing. Every damn day feels like a repeat of the last. Nothing and no one excites me anymore.

Not the women.

Not the money.

Not the fame.

Nothing.

I’m at the top and is all I ever wanted and what I sacrificed so much for and now it just feels… empty.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I dreamt of this shit.

Danny wanted this for me.

Why am I not satisfied?

Will I ever be?

A vibration in my pocket pulls me out of my head. I pull out my phone and glance at the screen. It’s a notification from a news app. The headline reads: Tragedy Strikes Formula Two Champion Madden Hunt: Brother’s Suicide and Scandal Unfold . Read more here . I swipe the notification open, and my stomach clenches as I read through the headlines and social media posts. The news is everywhere.

My older brother, Milton, is dead.

The news reports it was a suicide.

I will myself to feel anything. Anything at all but all I feel is a never ending numbness and emptiness in my soul. My brother is dead leaving me alone in the world with no more living relatives and yet I do not care.

I guess I was alone long before he decided to off himself.

A news like this one would’ve easily crippled another man. A good man. A good brother.

Not me.

All I can think of at the moment is how not only did I learn of the asshole’s death at the same time the world did but that I’m faced with a barrage of accusations. The article mentions a note. A note Milton left behind, and it has everyone’s attention, as it supposedly trashes my name. Milton wrote about how much of an ingrate I was. That as I climbed to the top and made something of myself, I forgot about him and left him to rot in poverty. Motherfucker. His letter paints me as the villain, a shit brother who drove him to take his own life.

“Bitch,” I ground my teeth as I keep reading the article.

Even in his last moments on earth the motherfucker had to do wrong by me. He couldn’t left well alone yet decided to fuck me over one last time.

I slam my phone down on the pit wall, my hands shaking. Perry looks up from his phone, his face shifting from concentration to concern. Remi stops her pacing, her eyes wide as she takes in my reaction.

“Did you see this shit?” I ask, my voice cool and empty. “That motherfucker…”

They know. My team knows the lengths Milton has gone through to tarnish my name and extort shit from me over the years. The bastard has not only tried to extort money from me but sold fake stories about me to the media just for a quick buck.

“Yeah,” Perry says, his voice calm but laced with worry. “We’re handling it. We’ll do some damage control.”

“You’re handling?” I chuckle incredulously. “That fucker is dead, and they’re blaming me. They know shit.”

Remi steps closer, her usual cool composure cracked. “Hunt, you need to do as we say and nothing else. Foremost we need to stay focused and not give the public anymore reasons to trash you. We don’t want to make this bigger than it already is. We’ll issue a statement, and we’ll get the truth out there to all news magazines and tv outlets.”

“The truth?” I scoff, my voice cracking just a bit. “Come on, Rem. The truth has never mattered to the media. People believe what they want to believe and what makes them the most money.”

It’s true.

No one fucking cares the good someone does. They only focus on the bad and what helps them cancel someone just for fucking kicks.

So yes the internet only cares about the truth that makes them the most money with complete disregard about the life and career they’re destroying with their lies.

Fuck them.

I know the truth. I don’t care for anything else.

Good fucking riddance, Milton. Took you long enough.

Perry nods, his face stern but sympathetic. “We’ll clear your name and this will all blow over, but you have to stay out of the public’s eye.”

“Isn’t that admitting culpability?” I whisper through gritted teeth. “Hiding means that I’m admitting that I’m guilty of driving that son of a bitch to suicide.”

“He’s right, Perry. He should carry on with his life as if nothings wrong but don’t go overboard. No drinking. No fucking scandals. No women.” Remi warns.

“Maybe you can just lay low.” Perry adds.

I take a deep breath and turn back to the car, watching as the mechanics continue their work ignoring the rest.

“It’s all your fucking fault.”

“Look at us. Look at this shit life.”

“Fuck you, Mad.”

I can almost hear Milton’s voice as memories from the past try to make their way to the forefront of my mind after years buried in the shadows where they should stay.

“Madden,” Perry’s voice laced with concern snaps me out of my head.

I glance over at them, their faces a mix of concern and empathy. Even through all the shit, good days and bad days they’ve been here for me. They’re good people.

The only people I truly trust aside from Lincoln.

Trying to collect myself and with nothing else to add, I wander away from the pit area, my footsteps heavy on the gravel as I seek a moment of silence. My team and the garage’s constant buzz of activity fades into the background as I walk away. Thoughts of Milton, he’s suicide and the lies the media is spinning crowd me and fuck with my head.

Perry and Remi’s voices are a distant murmur now, while they go over strategies and reassurances that barely register. I need space—room to breathe, and to think what I should do next.

One thing is for sure. I won’t hide like a fucking coward. That fucker took enough from me already. I won’t let this shit change my life and stop me from living the life I busted my ass for.

No fucking way.

As I stroll along the edge of the track trying to get my head straight, my eyes catch a splash of color against the grass. I stop dead and take a closer look. It’s a small mushroom, red with white spots, standing out in the sea of green.

Something about beckons me closer.

The fucking thing is cute.

Cute, colorful and alone.

As I stare at it, I’m transported back to a different time, a different place. Memories of cold winter evenings spent in a garden with a tiny girl who loved nature as much as she loved to talk endlessly about fungi and bugs. I remember the way her big eyes would light up as she read the mysteries of all nature’s creatures from one of her favorite science books. I would sit quietly next to her, half-listening, half-lost in the comfort her presence gave me when everything else hurt or made me angry.

Not her.

Never the girl with kind eyes and a wild heart.

The girl with a name as pretty as her face.

Even all these years later I can’t still bring myself to utter it. Because I know the truth no one else knows. Nothing in life brings me joy now. Nothing makes me feel aside when I’m racing. But every time I think back to that year with the girl that reminded me of a fairy, it opens the door to feelings and shit I rather stayed buried.

She’s gone and so is the Madden I was with her.

Yet, the feelings I got when I was with her seem to resurface as I look at the damn mushroom. The sight of that little mushroom brings a pang of nostalgia, a reminder of a time when nothing hurt because she was there smiling at me like I was a superhero or some shit. I can almost hear her soft and sweet voice now, whispering about her mother’s plants, about her simple dreams and all the things she wanted to explore when she got older.

And as the memory settles over me, I know exactly where I need to go to lay low.

The place that reminded me of all I never had and what could’ve been.

The place that was part of Willow’s dream.

A country that reminded me of her— of green .