“You’ve got no balls.”
“True.”Stavros has always been good at calling me on my bullshit.
“Get the fuck up here, then,” he says, nodding to the trellises nailed to the side wall, covered in climbing vines.He disappears behind the railing.“Hurry the hell up, Romeo.”
I glance back down at the waiting cab, and then put my hand on the first beam and climb up.It’s hot work, and the heat of the wood burns my skin.Once I get to the top, I pull myself over and find Stavros lying on a sun lounger, his eyes closed, his chest bare, and his red swim shorts barely covering the scar on his right thigh.Close up, the burns are just visible on his forearms now, still red and angry, but healed.
Not as bad as I’ve imagined in my nightmares.
“I wondered when you would show up.The longer I waited, the more I hated you,” he says, opening a single eye and nodding to the sun lounger next to him.I do as I’m told, sweat pouring off my forehead and running down my back.
“Stavros,” I start, sitting forward.There’s so much I want to say, and I have no clue where to begin.“Dude.I’m so fucking sorry.I know it’s no excuse, but I tried to come and see you but your mum—”
“Stop,” he says, holding a hand up.“Just stop.Don’t put this on my mum.Jesus.That was one time.It’s been months.”
“I know.I’m a fucking coward.I thought if I kept my distance and messaged you...”My voice is tight, and I swear tofucking god my heart is beating harder than when I’m driving the straight at Silverstone.
“You don’t message someone to sayI’m sorry I nearly killed you,” he deadpans.“You get off your ass and you come to the house.”He holds his hands out and I cringe.“At least you’re here now.”
“Stavros.I’m...”I don’t want to saysorryagain.It falls so terribly short of how I feel.
His eyes dart to the floor and then back up to meet mine.“It’s probably better we waited to see each other anyway.I needed time to cool off and process,” he concedes.“I saw your text messages and they made me really fucking angry.”
I bunch my hands up in my lap, but I don’t take my eyes off my friend.
“Sorry.I know,” I say, chewing on my lip.“How ah...how are you doing?”
His smile is wry.“I’m better.But, ah...you sure you want to go there?”
I nod.Stavros looks surprised, but he shrugs, looking back up to the sky, his eyes closing again.“I was in a lot of pain for the first days,” he says.“I was very confused after the operation.Twelve hours, the first one.Seven hours, the second.On it went.”
My heart squeezes as he talks, more quietly now, dropping in and out of Greek as he details the days after the crash.His eyes glaze a few times.
“But yeah, I’m recovering and doing better now.I had some realizations as I’ve been away from the track.Out of the F1 world.”
“But will you recover?”I ask, my eyes darting to his hands.“I mean, eventually?”
“Apart from the hands?Actually, maybe,” he says, crossing himself, and then looking back to me.“I still struggle with headaches.But the fog in my brain is...clearing.”
A woman emerges from the house behind us with a tray of lemonade and two pills for Stavros.Her long brown hair is wound in a bun on top of her head, a golden sheer caftan just hiding the bikini underneath.She’s not a nurse, that much I can guess.
“This is Céline,” he says, nodding toward her.“We met at the clinic.”
My eyes widen as I notice the burn scars up her left leg.“Bonjour,” she says, smiling wide.She follows my gaze and lifts her skirt a little.“Helicopter crash.”
Then she leans over and gently kisses Stavros on the mouth.“I’ll leave you two to catch up,” she says before walking back inside.
“Take one,” he says, nodding to the drinks.
I do, gratefully, downing almost all of it in one go.
“I had a little bet going with Céline,” Stavros says, stretching out his hands and cracking his knuckles.“I said you would come.She said you wouldn’t.And so, I win,” he says, grinning.“I know you don’t like to face your shit, so in a small way I’m proud of you.”
I can’t acknowledge the compliment.Not yet.I don’t deserve it.And so, instead, I shrug.
“Stavros,willyou race again?I read you can’t,” I say, my voice gravelly as I pray to the gods it isn’t true.
“I think Icouldrace again,” he says, tipping his head to the side.“But actually, I don’t want to.”
