“Malcolm, he’s a stubborn man. You would’ve had to fight him to stop him from racing. All eyes were on him. He wasn’t going to let down his team and the world. You can’t blame yourself,” comforted Ms. Murielle.
He glared and stalked over to me. “I can blame myselfandyou. I told him it was a bad idea to have you here. But he wouldn’t listen. We’ve trained for years to get to this point, and he blew it because he got caught up in you.”
His accusations touched a raw nerve, and I stood up to face him. “He told me I was his good luck charm and that he did better because I believed in him. I didn’t ask him to bring me here and never demanded his time—ever.”
Malcolm scoffed. “No, you were a fucking distraction. You just used him like almost every woman he’s ever met, who only cares about his money or his fame. I started believing you were different. Actually found myself happy for him. Until today. Guess you fooled us both.”
“What are you talking about? I’m not like those other women. I don’t use people for my own gain.” Pressing my hands over my heart, I gritted out, “I love that man fighting for his life with all that I am. And all that matters ishisopinion of me, so believe whatever the hell you want, Malcolm.”
Ms. Murielle rubbed my arm as she calmly addressed Malcolm. “Reporters are still lurking, and Canaan doesn’t need to read about how his family argued while he fought for his life. We are his family, and we’re all scared and worried. Sometimes, our tempers get the best of us. Our focus and prayers are all on Canaan and nothing else. We don’t need any more drama today. Do you hear me?”
Malcolm’s jaw tightened before he stormed out the doors past the reporters who had been forced to wait outside. Before I could say another word, a middle-aged doctor with balding hair and kind blue eyes finally walked out of the metal door.
“We had to do an emergency surgery to relieve the pressure on his brain. His helmet protected him from any serious injury. We still need to make sure there isn’t any bleeding in his brain. He was extremely dehydrated and broke two ribs. His left arm and shoulder are also broken. His body is badly bruised, and the bruises are likely to last for several months. At the speed he was going, it’s a miracle that he doesn’t have brain damage or that he didn’t die on impact. The car and his protective gear saved him. He shouldn’t be alive.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Ms. Murielle gasped at his bluntness.
His expression softened. “He’s going to make it. He’ll probably be unconscious for a few more hours. A good orthopedic surgery can repair his broken bones, and he will heal.”
“Will he be able to race again?”
The doctor nodded slowly. “With rehab, it’s possible. But I have to say that the trauma he experienced will probably affect him psychologically, and he may not want to race. I hope he does. I was rooting for him.”
I approached the doctor and implored, “Can I see him? Please, I need to see him, even if I can’t stay. I need to see him with my own eyes to see that he’s alive. We’re his family.”
The doctor slowly nodded. “One visitor at a time.”
Ms. Murielle said, “You go be with him. I’ll update Malcolm. Don’t worry about him. He loves Canaan like a brother. He’ll come around.”
“I’m not worried about Malcolm. I meant what I said. Only Canaan’s opinion of me matters.” With straightened shoulders and head held high, I followed the doctor through the doors.
My shoulders wilted when I entered Canaan’s room. The larger-than-life man, who always seemed so virile, so strong, appeared so fragile in a light blue hospital gown, hooked to oxygen and an IV. The slow beeping of his heartbeat through the machine both reassured and frightened me. His arm and shoulder were in a cast, and the back of his head was bandaged. He didn’t look like my Canaan. He would hate to see himself like this. Sickly. Weakened. I gingerly touched his outstretched hand and then bent to press my lips to his. “I’m not going anywhere. Not even for a second. Whenever you wake up, I’m going to be right here.” I wiped my stubborn tears. “Legal or not, you’re my family, and I will fight every last one of these people who try to make me leave. You’re going to pull through and be like brand new, do you hear me?” Resolved, I pulled up a chair and rested my head on the bed near his injured left side.
A hand caressing my hair awakened me from an exhausted slumber. I don’t know when I dozed off or how long I slept. A loud sob escaped my lips at the weak smile he gave me. “I’m all right.” His voice sounded scratchy and not like my Canaan.
“I know. That’s why I’m crying,” I chuckled and sighed simultaneously.
He nodded, and his eyes suddenly watered. “I almost died. I saw my life flash before my eyes, as my entire existence from my childhood to now went through my mind before blackness overcame me. I prayed as soon as the tire hit the rail, and I lost control. Everything happened so fast, and I was no longer one with my car.” His breathing hitched. “I can’t believe I crashed in my first F1. I’ve never crashed in a race, and now that all eyes are on me, I fuck it up just like my father thought I would.”
I brushed my lips with his. “Shh . . . Don’t worry about that now.”
He closed his eyes as tears continued to trail down his face. “All that I worked for is gone in an instant.”
I squeezed his hand and blinked back proud tears. “It was one race, Canaan.One. You accomplished more than most people will in a lifetime. You created a patent, making you and your family billionaires when you were barely out of college. You’ve won races, and you are still in the running to be the first Black man to win NASCARandFormula One. I refuse to let you feel sorry for yourself or worry about what anyone fucking thinks. I almost lost you, and nothing is as important as you being alive.”
Canaan opened his eyes and stared at me wordlessly for what seemed like an eternity before coldly turning his head away from me. An invisible wall separated us, and I had no idea what precipitated his shift. I consoled myself that at least he still allowed me to hold his hand.
Chapter 29
Canaan
Kensie remained by my side for the week I spent in the hospital, only leaving long enough to shower in our hotel suite or when I had a visitor. Ms. Murielle had the staff pack up our belongings at the hotel and the house on Fisher Island for the trip home to Houston. Kensie and I never returned to the house where we fell in love. Maybe if we did, I would’ve remembered the joy she brought to my life, not the pain I now experience.
I didn’t say much to her when we traveled back to Houston in a chartered plane. My sullen and irritable mood didn’t seem to deter her from being there for me. I wanted to yell and argue about her duplicity. But every time she looked at me with those damn baby-brown eyes of hers or cuddled her warm body against me, I wanted to pretend I didn’t know the truth.
Only Malcolm knew the truth when he found me, irate and hurt, an hour before the race, when he entered Ferrari’s private team suite. I slapped my cell in Malcolm’s palm when he asked what was wrong. Malcolm had quickly perused the mail detailing who leaked the video. The email stated that a waiter had been paid to retrieve the recording from the camera. The staff didn’t know who had paid him, but they described a man, the same man the waiter was able to identify in one of the videos posted of the after-party in Miami. Saraj Paul. Kensie’s manager and best friend.
Though he cursed loudly, Malcolm had grabbed my shoulders and gone into crew chief mode, reminding me to forget everything but the road. I thought I could . . . until I didn’t.
