I need to pee and find coffee, that’s my prerogative right now– not sit here and mull over the warmth that blossomed in my stomach when waking up next to my race engineer. That thought needs to be banished to the skies and left there for good.
‘Just going to…’ I gesture with my thumbs towards the toilet and then quickly disappear into it.
Luckily, it no longer reeks of alcohol– or worse– and I am grateful to whoever it was who’s been in to clean it. I take a piss and then slump against the sink. I look tired. The mirror is a sad reflection of what three weeks of non-stop racing– and a lack of self-care– can do to you. My brown skin looks dry.
It’s not that I don’t love the pressure of the circuit– because I really do– but when those three weeks also included a traumatic break-up and a big racing slump it really knocks it out of you. I need a face mask and a good hot-yoga session to sweat out some of the toxins and get my skin back to its optimum glowing state. I could also probably use a good buzzcut because my head is feeling quite stubbly right now. A week back in the UK won’t do me any harm before we jet back to Europe for Spa in Belgium.
It’s one of my favourite tracks, and the perk of being back in mainland Europe is that I can whizz home to see the parents for a day or two without missing anything. Yeah, this will be good for me. A chance to unwind a little, get my head back in the right place for the second half of the season. I’m not about to let Jackson Calder ruin what should, and could still be,my year.
Pep-talk over, I wash my hands, splash my face and find a kind air hostess to make me a mug of coffee. The smell of caffeine gets Caleb’s attention and his wide green eyes tell me I should have got him a cup, too, but I was desperately trying not to think of him when I was in the bathroom.
‘Sorry, that was rude of me. I’ll flag down Josie the second I see her again.’
He says not to bother, but I catch him eying the aisle every couple of minutes as we settle into the last hour of the flight. Luckily, Josie comes round and services his caffeine needs with a tea and we slip back into a comfortable silence. He taps away on his laptop while I flick through a bunch of notes for a podcast I’m a guest on this evening.
It’s an easy rhythm of his keys clicking away and Nils’s light snores, but I find it weirdly relaxing. We all spend so much time together– on this plane, in the garage, the endless meetings– you get used to these everyday sounds of each other. Now I’m apparently getting used to Caleb being part of that mix, even after only six months of working together.
I can see where and how he fits into this team– his intelligence and the knowledge he has about the car and the way it runs on track. He must be exceptional to have earned this spot at such a young age– he’s the youngest race engineer in the paddock right now. I listen to him type furiously, working away on his PhD, and I know that I– we, RBF– are lucky to have him.
I finish reviewing the approved questions and talking points for the pod this evening, trying not to be distracted by the little groans leaving his lips in response to a series of text alerts on his phone. I don’t want to pry. It’s none of my business, but I can’t help sneaking a look. His face pulls and his brows knit together as he scrolls through whatever he’s reading.
He sighs deeply, fingers swiping over the screen, and I can’t stop myself getting a better look at what’s got him so agitated.
‘Who’s that?’ I know I shouldn’t be peering over his shoulder, but there’s a very good-looking man on his phone and my eyes can’t exactly avoid the sight.
‘Urgh. This is prospect number six-hundred-and-ten at this point.’ He groans, before swiping over to the next photo– a shirtless version of the previous man. He’s got a toned six-pack, tanned skin and dark, neatly trimmed body hair. He’s the full package body-wise, at least.
‘Sorry, prospect what? Why are you pouting over a hot man?’
‘I’m not pouting. It’s just this is like a weekly occurrence at this point– my mom sending me a Facebook profile of a guyshe’d like to set me up with.’ His mum has great taste because this guy is gorgeous. As Caleb minimises the picture, I spot that the guy’s occupation is listed as ‘Doctor’.
‘Hot and smart. What’s the issue again?’
Caleb zooms in on the guy’s location, showing it to be Caleb’s home state, then shows it to me.
‘And?’ I say.
‘Sorry, do we not spend nine months together on the road?’
Oh.Makes sense. Wow, I’d never thought about it like that, which is ridiculous because in this sport, unless you work together– which I obviously would not recommend– you aren’t going to see your partner a lot of the year.
‘Okay, you have a point. How do you, uh, deal with that?’
I’m not sure what I’m asking, but it’s out before my brain registers that it’s an inappropriate question to ask a colleague.
‘I don’t. I’ve completely sworn off relationships.’
‘Forever?’
I’m astounded.
He shrugs, so clearly there’s a story there. But I definitely can’t ask about it, especially when I haven’t been forthcoming withanyoneabout my relationship troubles.
‘My first and last boyfriend, Brad, was my college sweetheart. We were together for four years– I graduated from college, in three years, by the way– and he wanted us to move in together that final year. So we did. His parents bought, yes,boughta twenty-one-year-old couple a house and life was brilliant. We lived there for six months and I was crazy enough to start looking at rings. Then, the day I found out I got into my master’s programme, I came home to find him shagging another guy in our bed.’
When he’s finished speaking, he physically heaves out a breath, like he knew that if he stopped at any point during the story he wouldn’t have continued.
I wish I could throw my arms around him, because that must fucking suck. It does fucking suck. To think you’re about to spend forever with someone and then poof! Gone. Betrayal.
