Or at least that’s what he thinks. I haven’t told him about my agreement with Jacques to fund his charity. And I won’t, not until it’s a done deal and the money is on its way to him. I don’t want to get his hopes up unnecessarily. What if I don’t make it through to the end of the season? Or Grady doesn’t? Then Stefan will wind up with nothing, and all I’ll have done is let him down. Again.
I’m almost at our garage, which is not where I want to be for this conversation. Too many ears. And more than a few big mouths. I take a sharp left turn and head for the gate at the end of the paddock.
“Yeah, about that—”
“Let me guess. You were afraid to tell me you were back on the circuit.”
Of course Stefan would have heard that I was working with Grady. And of course he’d know I feel guilty about returning to racing when he’s stuck in that fucking chair. I never could hide anything from him. The man is too damn perceptive. Part of what makes him such a great driver.
Madehim such a great driver, a persistent voice at the back of my brain needles me.
“Did you think I’d be mad at you for taking the job?” he continues. “Jealous that you’re there and I’m not?”
Yes and yes. I push through the gate and continue toward the grandstand, which is empty this early in the week.
“The thought had crossed my mind,” I admit, dropping into a chair a few rows up from the track.
“I’m not that big of an asshole,” Stefan scoffs. “You’re my friend. Or I thought you were. And you’re a damn good race engineer. LaRue was smart to snap you up.”
“Iamyour friend.” Although I haven’t been a very good one lately. “And I don’t think you resenting me makes you an asshole. I think it makes you human.”
“Then I must be superhuman, because I don’t resent you. I’m happy for you.” He takes a deep breath that I can hear over the phone and lets it out in a whoosh. “Sure, I’d like to be there with you. Behind the wheel with your voice in my ear, telling me to stop singing during the radio check or letting me know I’m cleared to activate the drag reduction system on the straightaway. But that’s never going to happen again. And the only thing that resenting that—or you—would accomplish is to turn me into an angry, bitter, lonely man. So I choose to be focus on what I can do, and not what I can’t. For my sake. For Lina’s sake. And for the sake of our baby.”
“The sake of—what?” I must have heard that last part wrong.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” I can almost hear the smile in his voice. “Lina’s pregnant. And before you ask, yes, it’s mine, and yes, it still works. With a lot of patience and a little help from modern medicine.”
“You weren’t kidding when you said you were focusing on what you can do,” I say, and he laughs.
It’s a sound I miss. One I used to hear often. Would I have heard it more if I hadn’t cut him off so abruptly?
I stifle a frustrated groan. What the fuck was I thinking? Stefan has been my best friend for years. We started in the circuit together. Him a rookie driver, me a junior control systems engineer before I worked my way up to race engineer. I should have known he wouldn’t object to me taking the job at LaRue. After all, he’s told me more times than I can count that I’m not responsible for his accident.
Too bad I can’t find it in myself to believe him. Sometimes I think it would be easier if he blamed me, at least initially. Punched me in the face and told me I was a fucking moron for telling him to try to pass Cristian on that last turn. Maybe then we could have hugged it out like men, and I’d be able to let it go and move forward like he has.
“What can I say?” Stefan’s voice still has its light, teasing tone. “I’m a man of many talents. Racing. Baby-making. Setting the world’s record for unanswered calls and text messages.”
I slump down and close my eyes, trying to make myself invisible like Stefan’s here next to me and not four hundred miles away at his villa in Stuttgart. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
“Nope.”
I suppose I deserve that. So I suck it up and move the conversation elsewhere.
“In all seriousness, man, congratulations. Tell Lina I’m happy for you both. You’re going to be great parents.”
“You can tell her yourself. We’ll see you in two weeks in Monaco.”
My stomach free falls to my feet and I jolt upright. “You’re coming to the Grand Prix?”
“Lina wants to do some traveling before she gets too big to fly. And Xander wants me to make an appearance. Show the Arete fans that I’m still alive and kicking. Well, metaphorically, at least, as far as the kicking is concerned.”
For not the first time I’m amazed at how easy it is—or seems to be—for him to joke about his condition.
Paralysis, the nagging, pain-in-the-ass voice at the back of my brain reminds me. Yep, it’s back again. I try to shake it, but it doesn’t let go.Don’t sugarcoat it. Your friend is paralyzed. And it’s your bad decisions that put him in that chair.
“Do you need a place to stay?” Like many of the drivers, Stefan used to have an apartment in Monaco, but he sold it after the accident. No need for a crash pad on the circuit when you’ve crashed and aren’t racing anymore.
“Nein. Xander is letting us use his penthouse in Fontveille.”
