Canaan uttered, “If you’re not backbyMonday, don’t come back.”
“What? I’ll be gone for the day.” My chest constricted. “The whole thing is off if I’m not back on Monday? How did we get here?”
He practically shouted, “Because I need you here.”
The longing that peeked out from behind his anger confused me. He said it as if he really needed me to be there with him.How can thatbe?“You made it this far without me. I didn’t exist until a couple of months ago, and I haven’t been to any of your practices. What difference does it make if I’m there?”
Canaan opened his mouth and snapped it shut. “You’re right. Makes no difference.” He stalked away.
With each step away from me, my heart wilted. “You’re so used to getting your way, you can’t see how you’re wrong,” I yelled.
Canaan didn’t turn around.
Chapter 14
Canaan
“Canaan, what’s wrong?” Ms. Murielle, holding two wineglasses and a bottle of an expensive Cabernet Sauvignon, called after me when I stalked past her. “What about dinner?”
“I’m going back to practice.” I picked up my keys from the gold stand by the door.
“You told me to make a special dinner for you and Kensie. I went to the trouble of traveling to the city to find this rare wine, as you requested. What happened?”
“It’s off.” Without turning around, I gripped the knob. “I won’t be back until tomorrow.”
“Canaan.” The reprimand in her tone stilled me from walking out the door.
“Don’t leave here angry. Couples argue.” She moved closer to me. “Whatever just happened between you and Kensie, you can work it out.”
I sucked my teeth. “What if she doesn’t want to?”
Ms. Murielle demanded, “Look at me when I’m speaking.”
My irritated sigh tried to escape my clenched jaw as I faced her.
She advised, “Whether she does or not, you can’t stay out overnight when you’re engaged. Relationships take time and patience.”
“Well, I don’t have either right now,” I retorted and quickly refocused on the door at the frustration in her gaze. “Everyone can’t be like you and your husband or my grandparents. Love like that doesn’t happen anymore. My generation is too selfish and caught up in the fakery of social media to have anything real. I gotta go.”
“Canaan, don’t mess it up by running the streets . . . and youknowwhat I mean. You can bounce back from an argument, but not whatever you think is out there. She’s a good woman who knows her worth. She won’t stick around if you hurt her,” Ms. Murielle warned.
I shut the door firmly behind me and sank against it. Ms. Murielle knew me too well. I was headed to find a woman who would make me forget the woman I just left behind. The woman who may not return to me. I pushed off the door, jumped into my ride, and headed off of Fisher Island back to the city.
The moment I hit one of the clubs in South Miami, I knew it was a mistake. The loud music, the strobe lights flashing pinks and purples, the smell of hookah and weed permeated the air. Two barely dressed women were already draping my arms like accessories. I smiled for the pictures of anyone who recognized me, doing the very thing I’d just warned Kensie of doing, bringing attention to myself as if I were single. The irony of it all was that I was a single man and could do whatever I wanted to whoever I wanted. Yet, the idea of breaking my promise to Kensie, no matter how angry I was with her, didn’t feel right. She may not see me as hers, but I saw her as mine. And the sooner I remembered that we weren’t real, the sooner I could get rid of expectations that she was supposed to be there for me. Then I could let go of the gnawing hurt in my chest, that Kensie wouldn’t be around for my birthday on Monday, and how disheartening it was that she didn’t even know or remember it. I thought women who were interested in a man found out those little yet essential facts, like his favorite food, color, and birthday. Maybe she only saw me as a plug and not someone she would ever take seriously. The pumping beats, the clingy women, and the blinking lights only illuminated my glumness. My melancholy.
Thirty minutes later, I walked into Ferrari’s temporary team headquarters. If I didn’t believe that Malcolm would tear a hole in me, I would’ve gone to the practice track. Formula One races often took place through the streets of a city, rather than on a typical race track. I spent most of the day in a booth that mimicked the feel of the car and the road. Although it didn’t compare to the intoxicating mix of adrenaline, fear, and excitement of the real track, this booth came pretty damn close.
After I placed my helmet on my head, I inhaled deeply and pushed out any troubling thoughts as the machine lit up, ready for me to drive.
“I was wondering when you would get that you need to be here twenty-four seven to win,” a voice mocked from the shadows of the showroom.
Gabriel Marcel.
Four years younger and more of an arrogant hothead than I. Born into wealth and of mixed heritage, courtesy of his Nigerian mother and French father, he’d been training for Formula One since his teens and raced in his first one last year. I sensed he hated that my star shone brighter than his and that, though we were both in a field that didn’t look like us, my win would be more historic than his. He had never won a race. Period. I’d won three NASCARs and was predicted to place in the top ten for Formula One.
Gabriel probably resented that I’d been asked to join the team midseason after the last driver dropped out due to a recurring wrist injury, and that I was the favorite to win, despite his actual experience in Formula One. Our collective times determined the best team at the end of each season. Because I started while the season was underway, we weren’t gunning for the best team until next season, a fact he resented and showed every time he beat me. He believed that if Ferrari had gone with an experienced F1 driver, he would have had a better chance of finishing in the top two spots and being the best team overall.
“Oh, am I taking your place?” I gestured to the console, though we both knew that I meant more than just the car.
