ChapterOne
Kian
‘What do you mean he’s got a broken leg?’
I should be packing for Bahrain when my agent, Will, and the team principal, Anders, decide to drop an absolute shitstorm into my life.’
‘I’m not sure what more I can say, Kian, other than that it was a freak accident and Elijah slipped on the side of a pool. His leg’s broken in three places, the muppet.’
Hearing the story a second time doesn’t settle the riptide of stress my brain releases into my body.
It’s a no-brainer at this point. My teammate’s out for at least the first six months, maybe more, of the season and everything is truly about to go to shit.
I look down at my suitcase lying open on the bed. All the packing cubes in the world aren’t going to make me feel better. And that’s saying something, because I bloody love sorting my life into tiny, organised squares of neatness. Elijah Gutaga and I have been teammates for the last five seasons and we’ve developed a bond not only on the track, but off the track, too. I’m godfather to his three-year-old. He’s my best mate in a world where it’s hard to find people you can trust. In one of the most dangerous sports in the world, there has to be a level of trust within your immediate circle and within the wider team too. That bond, especially for the Constructors’ Championship, is vital. Without this trust, everything falls apart.
It takes me way too many seconds to realise that I’m sitting in silence whilst the two people who hold my career in their hands wait for me to respond. I don’t quite know what they expect me to say. Holding my nerve is one of the most important skills in this sport and it feels slightly shaken right now. Racing isn’t exactly a team sport, but Elijah and I have been training together for years and we’ve always worked really well together.
With Elijah out, well, I don’t know what that means for me.
Jeez I can’t afford to think about it like that. There are already whispers about this being my retirement season – I’m thirty-three and I’ve been world champion four times, most recently last year. Even so, I need this to be a spectacular year in order to shut the press up.
‘Okay.’ I move away from the phone mic to take a calming breath. ‘That’s fine. It’s not the end of the world. I’ll give him a call. I did wonder why he hasn’t returned my texts in the last twenty-four hours.’
Anders immediately pounces on my words. ‘You’ll be fine, Kian, and we’ll make sure Elijah gets the best care. He’ll definitely need surgery so we’ll get Harley Street’s finest surgeons on the case. We want him back and fighting fit as soon as possible.’
‘So you think he might return before the end of the season?’ I ask hopefully.
That would be something, at least.
‘Best not to count on it at this point. We’ll have to play it by ear. It depends first on how the injury heals and then his recovery. All you can do is focus on your own game plan and let us work with Elijah to support his recovery.’
‘Okay, well, I’d best finish packing, then.’ I survey the mess I’ve created whilst trying to organise myself. It’s probably going to take all night. At least I can sleep on the jet.
And I can sleep well knowing we’ll have London, the team’s back-up driver, taking up Elijah’s spot. He’s come on leaps and bounds in the last year.
‘Good man. That’s what we wanted to hear. We’ll see you and Harper on the runway first thing tomorrow.’
‘Tomorr— Hang on, what?’Did he just sayHarper?‘Did you just say Harper? As in, Harper James?’
‘The one and only. We’ve called him up from the lower category to take Elijah’s place whilst he’s out. I dropped him a line before we called you.’ Anders sounds completely calm about this, like it isn’t the worst possible news he could be giving me right now.
Through gritted teeth I say, ‘Of course. Makes sense. See you tomorrow.’ The line drops and I have to resist the urge to lob my phone at the wall.
Harper bloody James.
I could write you a list of about twenty other drivers I’d rather share a podium with than Harper James.
Face like an angel but an absolute devil on the circuit. He’s better known for his partying and seduction techniques than his skill on the track. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating, because he did win the lower category last season, but his antics captured on social-media and in the press overshadow anything else he’s achieved in his career. He makes the headlines every other day even in the off season and I’ve seen more of that guy’s body than I could ever wish to. If there’s a scandal in the sports pages, chances are his name is attached to it. I’m surprised that Anders is willing to put this aside and risk pissing off the sponsors – Harper James is good but he’s notthatgood!
That’s the only thing we’ve got in common, actually. Having been raised in the public eye from the second I was born, I’ve made enough headlines to last me a lifetime. The stories about you as a kid – and the awkward, unflattering helmet-hair pictures that accompany the lies – follow you around forever. He could do with learning that.
I shoot Elijah a text asking him to call me as soon as he has a moment. I’m sure he’s devastated, and things at his end must be utter chaos right now. I can’t even imagine how hard a season-ending injury has to be just days before we jet off again. I want to make sure he’s okay and let him know I’ll be by to visit as soon as I can.
As I hit send, my phone pings with a news blast, containing a press release I was sadly already privy to.
‘Elijah Gutaga out for Hendersohm. Harper James in, with the new season just around the corner.’
Well. It’s official.
