I barely ignore theunder mepart. I’m the only one remembering that kiss. The whisper of his lips against mine as his arms encircled me, his hands slipping under?—
“And you could travel and get involved in all parts of the business. You might find it too awkward to work with me. You wouldn’t even have to see me.”
But I want to see him. I want to help him. He can’t focus on me without wringing his hands. His anxiety comes off in waves. My stomach is in knots with the desperation to help him and be the person he needs.
“One more question. Well, two,” he stammers, and I nod. “When we met, you didn’t tell me your age but said you were older than you looked. I saw your résumé. You graduated last summer, which means?—”
“I’m just twenty-three. I’m sorry about lying. I was role-playing a confident, savvy coach that night.”
“Fuck. I kissed someone who’s nearly nine years younger than me.”
So he does remember the kiss.
“Sorry.” I hold my hand out, but he doesn’t take it. I pull it back, remembering where I am. “I’ve no clue how you got a kiss out of me when you were wearing those ugly sliders.”
“Hey.” He chuckles, and his shoulders relax a little. “I bought them at the airport when I landed.”
“When you walked on the beach, it imprinted the words ‘Mad Sex’ on the sand because the words were embossed on their soles.”
His laugh is loud, and he slams his fist on the table. People glance over, and he curves into himself. I don’t want him to react that way to people looking at him. I need to help him.
He leans in, and I do the same as he says, “It actually said ‘Sex Mad’.”
I cover my mouth. “I’m such a doofus.”
He smiles back. “Last question, I promise. You definitely didn’t take this job just to get in my pants? I’m only asking that because a lot of the people I interviewed wanted to, and…I sound like such a knob. You ran as soon as you saw me. Of course you didn’t apply for that reason.”
“Obviously there was something wrong with those weirdos who wanted a party in your pants.” I press my lips together but can’t help the laugh that breaks free as he raises his eyebrows.
I need a workplace where I can laugh. With my parents, it’s like working in a morgue. I adore my daughter, but so much of my life involves struggling, and no one sees me as anything but a mother. I miss the old me who laughed, played sports, and could be anything.
“I promise I applied because I wanted to work somewhere related to my future career,” I continue. “I didn’t know you worked here. I only managed to research Coulter Racing’s last year, the year you weren’t with the team, and the ad didn’t specify who I’d be working for. If it had said I’d be working with someone who’d probably buy pants at the airport that have ‘Mad Sex’ printed on them to match his sliders, I’d have run a mile.” I wink at him, and he shakes his head. “Seeing you today was as big a shock to me as it was to you.”
“Good.” He makes an arch with his forearms, which are more muscly than I remember, and links his fingers. “Here’s my pitch. Only you and my counsellor know about my health anxiety. Over a year ago, in my last race of the Formula One season, I slammed into a barrier, and my car burst into flames. I was lucky, but I was left with burns. I still have some scars on my scalp.”
“Hence the cap?” He nods. “What you told me on the beach was true,” I say softly before sipping my coffee to give him space tocontinue.
“Mostly I’ve recovered, and I’m not scared of driving. It might be the one place I feel free, but I spent a month in the hospital after the crash, where I picked up a virus that nearly killed me. For months, I had recurring nightmares of those moments where I thought I’d die.” He stutters. “I’d hear the voices of the nurses talking about my options and smell that clinical scent that made me want to retch. Sometimes I’d have flashbacks while awake. They were so visceral.” His voice is nearly a whisper.
“PTSD. Post-traumatic stress disorder,” I clarify.
He nods with relief. “That’s what my counsellor said. It’s part of my health anxiety. I don’t get flashbacks like that anymore, but the terror that I might still get ill hits me at the worst moments.” He trembles, and it’s getting harder to ignore the instinct to help him. He can’t be himself, even with those he cares about. “While I recovered, my dad had a heart attack. He’s better, but it got to me and left me panicking about how easy someone can get sick and, selfishly, how I could get ill again. I’m not who I was before.”
Sweat beads his forehead, and I study him. Health anxiety was one of my key modules at university.
He leans back in his chair, warily glancing around the room. “I was always the big, confident man around here.” He shakes his head. “Now everyone calls me grumpy, although around you, I’m a bit more me, but with added awkwardness.”
My mouth quirks. “Which is understandable.”
I don’t add he’ll never be the same person he was. A part of me wishes I could be who I was before, too.
“I have to travel sometimes with the team, and although I don’t expect you to join me, I need someone who can pick the right places and organise my trips exactly how I need so I don’t get anxious. I don’t want someone I have to explain all of this to or someone who tries to fix me. I want to feel like me again,which is what my counsellor’s for, but I’m so fucking scared all the time. I don’t know who I am anymore.” His hands shake, and he shoves them under him.
His vulnerability reminds me of when we spoke in Greece.
“It’s okay, Niki. I’ve not been through the same as you, but I’ve experienced feeling like I’ve lost a part of myself.”
I wouldn’t change Tabi for anything, but I had hopes and dreams. Mine changed because of the most incredible girl in the world.
