Her dementia has progressed rapidly the last few years, but last I saw her, it was still in the intermediate stage. Pushing severe, but not quite there yet. She still had lucid days just months ago.
Hunter has assured me repeatedly that I need to live my life, and he’ll watch over her. But how can I live mylife carefree when I know the woman I grew up with is withering away?
“Hunt…” I swallow back the sting of oncoming tears. “How bad is it?”
There’s a long pause. “It’s not good,” he finally says. “Her prognosis from the fall is fine, but the prognosis on her condition… we’re looking at about twelve more months.” Another pause. “Optimistically.”
Twelve more months?One more year where she’s on this earth… and I’mhere?Not with her?
“There are some experimental treatments I’m looking into, but Mom’s too advanced to qualify for most of them.”
“Hunter, I should be there with her,” I whisper.
“Do you really think that’s what she’d want, if she could talk to us?” he asks, sounding irritated. “I don’t ever recall her asking you to stay. Shetold youto go to college and live your life. Stop letting your emotions rule and do what she’d want for you. I’ve got her.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.Logically,I understand he’s right. But guilt doesn’t heed logic, and I feelphenomenallyguilty for leaving her. It’s true that she was never really the best mother—Hunter did most of the legwork raising me—but she tried. She was always kind, always ready with a hug.
Now she hardly remembers me, or Hunter. Part of my decision to move away was to avoid watching her forget me. When I went to visit her in the hospital and nearly missed the first race of the season, that’s exactly what I was faced with. She thought I was a nurse.
“If you try to come here, I’m putting your name on no-fly lists,” Hunter says sternly. “You can see her when you come here for the engagement party.”
My eyebrows slam down. “You wouldn’t.”
“To fulfil one of Mom’s last lucid wishes? You bet your ass I would. I was calling to keep you informed—now, you’re informed. Try not to worry, she has the best care in the world. Focus on work.” He pauses. “And in case you get tired of making that algorithm for an F1 team—”
I hang up on him before he can try to poach me,again.
I don’t feelgoodabout staying away from Mom. But, as much as I hate to admit it even to myself, a small part of me is relieved, which only compounds my guilt.
My phone buzzes with a loud alarm. I snap out of my thoughts, swift and startled. My phone alarm signals the end of my break. I still have a few more tests to run with Asher, and I have to prep my program for atonof data it’s about to receive regarding other teams.
But I can’t work right now. I know myself well enough to understand that if I try to force it, I’ll only make mistakes. I’m not the sort of person that can channel emotions into a work ethic—maybe anger or frustration, but not doubt or guilt.
I quietly trash my coffee, swing my bag over my shoulder, and text Asher to tell him I’m not feeling well.
Then, I head home to let myself wallow in misery for a few hours before I can get my head back in the game.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Asher
For the second time in as many days, I find myself standing in front of Victoria’s door. This time, with a bag of fucking chicken noodle soup, because apparently, I’m enough of a simp to bring her a care package when we had our first date yesterday… and haven’t even discussed what we are yet.
There are a thousand other things I should be doing after my conversation with Ilya this morning. Mending fences with Elio, reaching out to my manager and agreeing to start looking into sponsorships and investor events, reading the steward’s report that just went out regarding nuances to the updated race safety protocols.
Instead, I’m here like a moron, because I’m worried. I haven’t known her long, but Victoria strikes me as the type that’d show up and stay at work unless she wasseverelyill. She was fine this morning, so I’m not sure what happened, and I hate the thought of hersuffering alone.
After several minutes of fighting a war with myself, I knock on the door. I’m irritated with myself for being so ridiculous, withherfor making me like this, and with the world at large for deciding to present me with the greatest temptation of my life, in the form of an infuriating intern who takes up more space in my thoughts than anything else.
I hear quiet footsteps approaching the door. After a few more beats, it swings open.
The scowl melts off my face when I see Victoria. She’s wearing an oversized hoodie with leggings underneath. Her hair is pulled back into a deceptively sexy messy bun, and there are weird fuzzy Grinch socks covering her feet. What’s not sexy at all are her red-rimmed eyes, as if she’s been crying recently.
What the fuck?
We both stare at each other for a beat in silence. Finally, I lift up the bag. “I brought you soup.” I sound as dumb as I feel. “Since you’re not… feeling well.”
A slight smile plays on her lips. “I see that. Thank you.”
