He blew out a frustrated breath. “Tell me again, why would you get engaged at a time like this? Why couldn’t you wait until after the biggest race of your life to take the plunge? And I’m still trying to understand where Kensie came from. One minute, you don’t know the meaning of commitment, and the next, you’re engaged. Make it all make sense, please.”
“Sometimes, love doesn’t make sense.” I trusted and respected Malcolm. As much as I wanted to be truthful that Kensie and I weren’t really engaged, saying it aloud to my best friend, who valued honesty and the sanctity of marriage, sounded foolish. “Look, once that video leaked, I wanted to protect her reputation too. It was my idea to go down on her in a public place. My woman shouldn’t have to bear the consequences of my impulsivity. Yes, maybe my engagement was bad timing, and I shouldn’t have announced it to the world, but Kensie isn’t why I’m distracted. It’s my nerves because this is new for me. I spent years racing in NASCAR and didn’t have nearly this much pressure. I have a lot of critical eyes on me, waiting for me to fail.”
“And if you don’t perform like you need to, you’ll prove them right,” Malcolm grumbled before jabbing his finger at me. “You’re the most fearless racer I’ve ever seen. Trust, that woman has distracted you. When she left for Houston, you couldn’t focus. When she came back, you still couldn’t. Trying to show off for her like a foolish boy without a helmet could’ve gotten you killed. And if you insist on having her here with you this entire time, then make it worth it. Let’s not forgetmyjob is on the line too.” He stalked away before I could speak the truth, that I was fighting claustrophobia.
I kicked my car’s tire. My distracting anxiety preceded Kensie. Yet, I had to admit that I thought of her constantly. I looked forward to seeing her beautiful face, hearing her rather annoying laughter—a cross between snorting and giggling—and whatever delicious meal she and Ms. Murielle decided to prepare together. She’d won Ms. Murielle over when she asked her to teach her how to cook. They would spend hours together buying ingredients and preparing the type of diet I needed to be physically prepared for the race. I’d been surprised by her interest and care for Ms. Murielle, assuming Kensie would rather party, shop, and visit Miami. Kensie wasn’t close to her parents like me, and maybe like me, Ms. Murielle served as a surrogate mother.
I could probably justify sending Kensie home and still save face about our relationship. People would understand if I announced that my “fiancée” needed to go home because she had to complete her studies. I even believed Kensie would respect it if I asked her to leave and explained why. Too bad my gut argued with my mind.
Since the pacing didn’t help, I walked to the grassy area of the track and dropped to the ground. I breathed in the warm air slowly and exhaled through my nose. The right decision would probably be to send her home. Yet I couldn’t ignore how my star had sparkled since I announced our engagement, and how my online presence had been enhanced, courtesy of Kensie.
A few days ago, I secured a major endorsement and sponsorship with Michelin Tires for NASCAR, which will cover my team’s regular salary for one year. My fanbase had increased because they adored us as a couple and appeared to clamor for any post featuring Kensie and me. A pic of us frolicking on South Beach had garnered three million likes and had been featured inEssence’s online magazine. People touted us as the new “it” Black couple. A win would fully restore my image and demonstrate to the world that a Black island boy, born in the South, armed with an engineering and geology degree, could compete successfully in any field he dared to enter.
A win that may not happen if I can’t control my nerves or my thoughts, my mind taunted. As my breathing slowed and the fogginess of anger and frustration cleared, I resolved that I still wanted Kensie here with me. I would just have to push harder and train longer.
“Hey. A word of advice?”
I slowly opened my eyes. Gabriel leaned against his car in plain clothes, and I wondered how much he had overheard between Malcolm and me. “I don’t need to listen to anything you have to say.”
“Doesn’t matter what you need, it’s about the team. Stop worrying about beating me and focus on bettering your own time. If you want to be an F1 winner, stop playing the game like NASCAR. Get comfortable with the uncomfortable. This whole world is different. Elegant, classy, elitist, and despite your pretty-boy looks, your style is grimy, gutter, and fighting from the trenches.” He pushed off the car and placed his hands behind his back. “I’m not looking down on you or NASCAR. Stating a fact. We’re two Black men out here trying to make miracles happen in a sport that may or may not want us.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Anyone can see that you don’t like me. Why are you being nice all of a sudden?”
“You think this is nice?” he chuckled. “On this team,I’mthe expert. I’m trying to win even if it means advising a man who doesn’t know how to listen.” He turned to walk away. “And you better get control of that anxiety. You grip the wheels harder out here than in the booth. Malcolm doesn’t see it because he doesn’t race.”
Gabriel glanced over his shoulder. “You were fearless that day you beat my time. I thought we had a real chance to be champions and that you were the racer everyone said you were.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Become one with your car. She’s an extension of you. The way you showed up that day that Kensie watched because you were jealous, well, you need to harness that edge.”
“I wasn’t jealous.”
He shrugged nonchalantly as he walked away. “Sure, you were. Any man would be with a woman like that on his arm. You want to show off for her and prove love isn’t a distraction—then win the damn race.”
I stared after him. Gabriel was more perceptive than I gave him credit. He was also right. I slid back into the car and heeded his advice.
Late that night, when I finally returned to the house, I opened the bedroom door to an angry Kensie who sat cross-legged in a thin yellow satin gown in the middle of the bed. Beautiful and sexy, she was wearing glasses with her braided hair loosely pulled into a bun atop her head. She studied the screen of her laptop and barely acknowledged me when I greeted her. She just continued tapping her keyboard. Too exhausted to question her mood, I strolled into the bathroom to take a much-needed hot shower.
The hot water hit me from sixteen angles, massaging my aching muscles. A massage or sex would temporarily relax the tension from all the force my body endured daily. If Kensie weren’t here, I would be doing the locals. Instead, I used my pent-up sexual energy as a motivating force to practice harder when I grew weary of abstaining.
“At least you could call if you couldn’t make it,” Kensie seethed. She stood outside the glass shower with her hands on her hips, seemingly oblivious to my nakedness.
“Youdoknow I’m in the shower,right?” I continued to lather my chest with a loofah and fragrant liquid soap. My manhood stiffened at her fiery intrusion.
Kensie glared. “I don’t care. I’m tired, and your ass likes to take hour-long showers. I didn’t want to wait a moment longer to curse you out.”
“Curse me out? Because I came home late? Kensie, the only reason I’ve been coming home at all is because of you. Might as well get over what you’re pissed with me about because I don’t have the energy to fight with you.” I dismissed her and continued to lather. We hadn’t had any other arguments since she returned from Houston. We both could be moody, and we’d learned to give each other space on the rare times either of us was irritable with one another.
Kensie moved to see my face, and her brows drew in closer. “You don’t even remember. I don’t know what’s worse, thinking you blew off our first official live together or that you didn’t even remember in the first place?”
“Shit,” I cursed loudly. “Why didn’t you remind me?”
“Where’s your phone? I left several messages.”
“Double shit. I left my phone in the garage that housed my cars.” I softened my tone. “I’m sorry. There’s a lot involved in this race, and I need to focus. I don’t have time for extra.”
“Extra?What does that even mean?” Her tone suggested that if I said another wrong word, she would let me have it. “What does that mean, Canaan?”
I released a loud sigh, thinking Malcolm was right. She was a distraction. “It means that sometimes I forget about things that don’t matter.” When her angry eyes dripped hurt, I was immediately contrite and hopped out of the shower to grab her wrist. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
She twisted out of my cuff on her wrist. “No, you’re not. You think what I do is stupid and irrelevant to your career. It’s in your eyes every time I turn on my camera. You’re right. It doesn’t matter becauseIdon’t matter to you.”
