Little do I know that it’s the calm before an absolute shipwreck of a storm.
‘So, Kian, how are you feeling about all the changes? Especially with Elijah out and Harper in just a short time before the season starts?’
It’s a question I’ve prepped for since the news about Elijah’s injury broke. The answer is straightforward: send my love and best wishes to Elijah, react positively to change, tell her you’re still looking forward to the season. Easy.
‘Before I let Kian answer your question, let me start by sending my well wishes to Elijah,’ Harper cuts in before I can even move my mouth, stealing my lines.
Like he even cares about Elijah.
I feel my blood start to boil.
‘The whole team is wishing him a speedy recovery and sending him and his family our best,’ Harper continues.
To my knowledge, they’ve maybe met once or twice, never hung out and barely know each other.
I can’t add anything to that without sounding insincere and just uselessly repeating him so I don’t say anything at all.
‘You must be missing your long-time teammate and friend?’ the journalist asks me.
‘He won’t be missing him for long with me on the team,’ Harper interrupts again, this time including a cheeky grin that seems to charm the interviewer, whose name I still can’t remember.
‘Of course I miss Elijah,’ I say before the idiot can add anything else. I clear my throat and shoot Harper a death stare. ‘Elijah Gutaga is one of the world’s best drivers – and the best teammate that I’ve ever been lucky enough to race with. They don’t make many like him anymore. He’s going to be deeply missed on the circuit this season – by me most of all. But he’s recovering well and I’m sure he’ll be back before you know it.’
There’s an awkward beat of silence and I become uncomfortably aware of the multitude of video cameras set up to capture every angle, ready for clips of the interview to go up on their social-media channels right away. It’s nothing outside of the norm, but I hate these stupid little stools and I suddenly feel so self-conscious next to Harper right now. Every time he tries to invade the space between us, I lean the other way. He throws me off-balance. He’s too familiar. Too in my face. All the damn time.
‘It sounds like you don’t think Harper James is ready to step into Gutaga’s place.’
I snap my attention back to the interviewer.
Oh, hell.
‘That’s not what?—’
But Harper scoffs angrily, and before I can continue, she turns her attention to him.
‘Harper, how do you feel about stepping into Elijah’s place in the team? You’ve got a lot to live up to, according to your new teammate.’ The tone of her voice is cleverly goading and I don’t like it. My words in the lift come back to haunt me.
‘I’m not worried at all. Elijah Gutaga has had a great career, but it’s time for some new blood in the Hendersohm team and the higher-ups clearly think that’s me.’
What the hell?
I swivel my head to face him. The interviewer’s grinning and the guys behind the camera look ecstatic with the footage they’re capturing. It’ll probably send them viral.
I’m not going to stand for this.
‘New blood doesn’t necessarily trump skill and experience. Had Elijah not broken his leg, we’d be on track for another fantastic season, especially with all the work the team have done on the car in the last couple of months.’ I’m not about to sit back and let this dipshit bad-mouth one of the greats, my closest friend, and the driver whose seat he’s stolen!
‘But Harper, you did have a great season with Hendersohm last year in the category below, your first podium win, and there was already a lot of speculation about you being drafted as the back-up driver this year for the Championship team,’ the interviewer says. She can clearly smell drama, and she’s going to do everything she can to turn this into a story.
I’d seen that speculation, too, but I’d also heard whispers that management didn’t like Harper’s attitude and were divided about whether to take a chance on him or not. And I couldn’t agree more.
‘When you saygreat, you meanrecord-breaking,right? The best second category season a driver has ever had. The points were insane,’ Harper boasts, looking at me with a distinct challenge in his eyes.
I’ve never had much of a poker face, so I’m sure it’s obvious to everyone by now what I’m thinking.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ the interviewer coos. ‘And in fact, the record before then was actually held by your dad, Kian. Tyler Heath.’ She turns to me.
Until this second, I was determined to keep it professional, to keep my mouth shut, and pray that the mic wasn’t picking up on the way I was grinding my molars to pieces. But with her casual mention of my father, all bets are off.
