“Drink a glass of milk. It helps me and Tabi. When I struggled to sleep as a teenager, I’d watch British police mysteries to send me off, things likeMidsomer MurdersorDeath in Paradise.”
The volume rises, and I recognise the voice of Ben Miller, one of the actors fromDeath in Paradise, before he lowers it again. “Weirdly, murder doesn’t bother me as long as there are no hospital trips,” he says softly as sleep creeps up on him. “It used to help me in Greece because it meant I always had something familiar with me.”
“I used to cradle a difficult Tabi to that show. It was the same for me, something familiar when I was trying to manage something new virtually alone.” I can practically feel the soft fuzz covering her head as I say, “Goodnight, Niki.”
“Goodnight, Rosie,” he says with the sexiest sigh.
As I end the call, I remind myself he’s off-limits. It doesn’t matter, though, because his sigh will fill my dreams.
CHAPTER 18
Niki
Watching the cars fly around the Australian track, I bite back the jealousy that’s poked me since I arrived.
Jacs sidles up to me. “You okay?”
“I wish everyone would stop asking me that,” I grumble. I dig my nails into my palms as I remind myself that I need to be old Niki before I can race professionally again.
“I don’t want to know your emotional shit, but Senna worries, and when she worries, I do, too.”
“She means a lot to you.”
“Aye. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had. I don’t have many, especially female ones. I blame my dad, although Tawny survived his obsession with racing and cars.”
We stare at the screen, where Tawny, Jacs’s sister, takes a corner. I catch a hint of Tawny’s anxiety in the way she edges over the white lines. I had similar issues years ago. I make a note to chat with her.
“But Senna gave me a job when I burned my bridges in Vessa,” Jacs says, referring to the best team in Formula One. “Technically, they were burned for me.”
I stare at her. She’s not talked about the past like this before. “What do you mean?”
“It doesn’t matter. But I understand the struggle to meet everyone’s expectations when you have things to work through. I’m here for you. Not for the emotional shit, but if you ever want to get drunk and raise hell.”
I laugh. “I see why Senna’s more relaxed when you’re around. She needs you and Connor.”
“She needs you, too.” She needs the old me, not this shell of a man. “Are you enjoying the race? You were smiling.”
“I miss racing in F1,” I whisper as if it’s a confession.
“Good, because I want to see you out there again soon.”
I can practically taste the fight between Tawny and Billy Nister, an Australian driver. Billy takes too many risks, and sometimes they end in near crashes. I was like that. Most of us believed we controlled the car and did what we wanted. The crash that could have killed me taught me that wasn’t the case. I tap my cap, the scars a reminder of who I’ve become.
But if I manage my health anxiety, maybe I can race professionally again. Drivers have less control, more overnights away from home, and risks I can’t manage. That’s why I ran away to my health anxiety shelter in Greece, where the days dragged because nothing changed. Rosie was the joy in the middle of it. Maybe that’s why I was attracted to her. She was a soft breeze on a monotonous, blistering hot day.
“You should ask Senna if you can drive in one of the practices,” Jacs says. “You’re a reserve driver. It would be helpful for you to drive the car for real rather than just on the simulator.”
My stomach balks. I’m not there yet. I can’t be here for that many days and get in unclean cars others have used.
Word goes around the garage that Tawny will be brought in for a tyre change. The energy around me climbs. The pitcrew dive around the garage, collecting equipment and sprinting to the entrance.
Jacs returns to her team. I join Senna at her desk and watch her screen.
Every second counts for a tyre change. Any mistake can cost a team a race or worse. When I drank with the crew, they often spoke about the biggest mistakes in races, including when Vessa gave their driver who was leading the race the wrong tyres. He got a puncture, needed another change and eventually crossed the line in ninth position. If that had happened during our last race of last season, we wouldn’t have achieved fifth in the championship.
Every millisecond counts, and I’m hungry for it.
“Box, box,” sounds from Senna’s headphones as Johannes, Tawny’s engineer, uses the special call sign to get her into the pits for a tyre change.
