And that night, no one yelled or clapped louder than I did as a stunning, glowing Kensie, in an elegant black dress, received her award, which declared her the best in her field.
She stood proudly in front of everyone, smiling and blowing me a kiss.
Being there for her in her moment of glory: priceless.
On the morning of the race, I was a bundle of live wire nerves. My kinetic energy demanded release. I wanted to fuck it out, but having sex with Kensie only made me want more. That damn woman made me insatiable, and I needed my legs. I walked into my private suite, grabbed my earphones, and sat on the plush carpet in the center of the room. Kensie had made an ASMR playlist for me. Whispering and rain soothed me the most. The race would begin in three hours, and I wanted to at least take some of the nervous edge off by walking away from the pit.
On Friday, after rushing from the airport to barely make it to the track, I placed fourth during my rookie run. And on Saturday, I crossed the line in second place for the qualifying, and Gabriel earned fifth place. We made it in the top five of twenty-two racers, and I was in the best position beside pole or number one to take it all. I’d already broken a record during the qualifying rounds.
Ferrari execs who watched from their penthouse balconies secured a contract with me for the next two seasons with Malcolm as the crew chief. I also negotiated flexibility to still participate in NASCAR races that didn’t interfere with Formula One events. Despite being absent a day and pissing off a few press members and Ferrari executives, I had a triumphant appearance in my inaugural run at The Grand Prix. Even Malcolm had to smile with approval.
Adjusting my headphones, I twisted my upper torso and moved my head from side to side, stretching my muscles. The rain sounds finally began to lull me, and the beautiful Barbadian beach flowed into the sandy beaches of the Atlantic Ocean. I instructed each of my body parts to relax, beginning with my toes, until my body became fluid, and I could feel tingling sensations course through my veins.
Yes, it is happening.
Soon, I will regain control of restlessness. As I breathed in and out, grateful for this moment, the rain in my ears stopped.
Damn itto hell.
My eyes popped open, and I scanned the room for my cell. When I reached for it on the sofa, my cell phone slipped from my gloved hands, which had been systematically measuring my temperature, dehydration level, and the amount of G-force striking my body. Annoyed with my clumsiness and that my concentration had been wrecked, I picked up my phone again with a firmer hand. As I swiped, searching for the playlist, my eyes settled on an unopened email from the private investigator I hired back in February, with a message that this was the third attempt.
I stared at the envelope icon, fighting the compelling urge to click it. Finally, I took a settling breath and pushed past my almost unshakeable need to see the contents of this email. I restarted the playlist and tossed my phone, now furious that I’d allowed nonsense to interfere with my peace. I usually shut off my phone hours before practice and racing events until Kensie gave me a new way to zone out, and it’d been effective in Miami.
Reminding myself of our blossoming love that had sustained while energizing my spirit, I inhaled my life force and exhaled negative thoughts. Kensie and I had the type of love I’d never imagined, one in which our being together seemed second nature once she and I completely dropped all walls. Whatever the email stated wouldn’t change my feelings about Kensie. Despite the initial embarrassment and fallout, we were both grateful for the video leak because it brought us together. Soon, the sounds of the rain cleared my troubling thoughts, and I disappeared into a mindless abyss.
Chapter 28
Kensie
“Come on, baby, you can do it.” I anxiously watched him with my heart in my hand as he made the fifty-second loop of fifty-seven laps in the winding streets of Miami. The entire race usually lasted up to two hours, depending on the speed. He and Gorman had remained in a tight race from the outset. They would break records, each completing a course over 2 miles in under a minute, neither losing their position. Canaan was in second place, right behind Gorman, who remained first. Gabriel was in fifth place, fighting for fourth.
The crowd in the private stand at the start/finish line all around me was yelling for their favorites. However, I mainly heard people chanting Canaan’s name as he disappeared out of sight.
“I don’t know how much more I can take,” I lamented to Ms. Murielle, who sat beside me.
She agreed. “I’ve seen him race numerous times, but this might be the most nerve-wracking event I’ve ever attended. Whenever he hits a curve or a dip, my heart beats out of my chest.”
“Just three more laps, and we can breathe again,” I nudged my shoulder with Ms. Murielle. “Then we can celebrate and finally have fun.”
The last three days were filled with high-society activities and events, including a brunch on a yacht and a formal dinner for the drivers and their guests. Although it had been a thrilling, unforgettable weekend I’d shared with our fans, I looked forward to being alone with Canaan. I missed him, though I’d accompanied him to every event where guests were welcomed. He’d shown up for me at my proudest moment, and that sacrifice would forever tether me to him, regardless of whether we ever married. He’d become my family. Canaan had taken the backseat that night of the awards, entirely in support of me, cheering louder than anyone else in the room, seemingly uncaring about what awaited him in Miami. Even Dr. Radi had to grudgingly admit that he understood the appeal of Canaan and wished us well when he congratulated me after I accepted the award.
Ms. Murielle grabbed my hand in excitement, bringing me back to the present. “Canaan is this close to passing Gorman.”
We checked the screen as the cars approached the stand, finishing yet another loop. The race had been going on for over an hour, and both men had made two incredibly fast pit stops that maintained their leads over the other drivers. Gorman moved from side to side, trying to prevent Canaan from passing him. In a stunning move, Canaan slowed down enough to be in Gorman’s blind spot and managed to pass on the right side of Gorman while Gorman shifted left. Everyone rose to their feet as Canaan suddenly accelerated again and drove past Gorman to take the lead with only one more lap in the course. The crowd went berserk as we all watched the maneuver that landed him first as the cars drove around the bend out of sight. All eyes turned to the large screen as the race intensified, with Gorman accelerating and attempting to pass Canaan to retake the lead. At the same time, other drivers, including Gabriel, closed the gap. As the crowd jumped up and down in the anticipatory thrill of who would take it all down the stretch, the nose of Gorman’s Mercedes tipped the back driver’s side of Canaan’s car. At speeds upward of 200 miles per hour, that small bump hit like a Mac truck careening into a Volkswagen Beetle.
Canaan’s front passenger tire hit the wall, and his car spun around four times, flipped over the wall, and then over on the embankment before it landed in the grass right side up outside of the track. The rest of the cars zoomed past while his crew ran from their pit to where Canaan had yet to move. I screamed in horror and tried to rush to him, though he was a few minutes away. Ms. Murielle pulled me back down by my hand and hugged me. “We can’t be with him, so we need to pray right now. Remember, the car is designed to protect them during a crash.”
“And people swore the Titanic wouldn’t sink,” I retorted and immediately regretted my words. Ms. Murielle loved Canaan like a son. She was just as worried as I was. I stared at the severely damaged car, silently praying for a miracle that Canaan would survive and remain sane if he didn’t. He had become a part of my every fiber, and the thought that the future we were beginning to plan wouldn’t happen was unfathomable. He’d been so unsettled right before the race. He paced and jumped around, trying to expend his restlessness. He didn’t even look my way as he eased into his car, though I wasn’t that far from him in the private viewing stands where most of the family members of the drivers watched the race.How did he lose focus, or did the hitfrom Gorman cause the crash, no matter his focus?
I was still standing when the ambulance drove near the wall as the race finished with Gorman crossing first and Gabriel in third place. An accident didn’t automatically stop a race, mainly because his car didn’t impact any of the other drivers. Everyone gasped as Canaan’s inert body was placed on the stretcher. My legs gave out, and Ms. Murielle managed to catch me. A couple of other fans helped Ms. Murielle and me pass through the stands to the ground. One of his crew led us to a car following the ambulance. Malcolm trailed behind our car as the vehicles continued to roar past them. Although Gabriel’s time would help the Ferrari team, Canaan had lost his Formula One debut.
“Doesn’t it seem callous to continue a race with an injured driver? Any other sport, everyone stops until that person has been attended to,” I spoke through my tears and clenched teeth as we rode to the nearby hospital.
“From my understanding, they would only stop the race if it were a fatality.” Ms. Murielle squeezed my hand. “It’s actually a good sign that they didn’t stop the race. Canaan would hate it if they did, which means we can be hopeful.”
We gripped each other’s hands for the fifteen minutes that seemed more like ninety minutes to get to the hospital. Once there, we waited in a small, private room in the ER, surrounded by the media, which was flashing cameras and demanding answers outside. For the first time, I understood Canaan’s disdain for the press. I didn’t want this moment captured so it could be relived repeatedly. I didn’t want to see my fear that I’d lost him forever captured for eternity. I didn’t wish for Canaan’s legacy to be the African-Caribbean-American Formula One driver who was killed on the track in his attempt to make history.
Malcolm and some of the team arrived shortly. After finishing third, Gabriel had to stay back at the Grand Prix to represent his team. Malcolm didn’t attempt to hide his anguish. The usually stern-faced man’s eyes were red and swollen. He wrung his hands as he paced the floor after we’d anxiously waited for three hours. “That kind of hit wasn’t enough for him to crash. I knew he wasn’t focused. I should have argued more when he refused to make eye contact and barely said our mantra. And then he ignored my instruction to make a pit stop to change the tires five minutes before one of those tires hit the wall.”
