‘Well, this has been fun,’ I say sarcastically as I stand up. ‘Enjoy the rest of your evening.’
Our temporary truce is over, and I turn and walk away.
I definitely hear him mutter something that sounds likeboring bastardunder his breath, but I don’t stop. I am so done with this shit. And I’m so, so done with Harper fucking James.
I contemplate calling an Uber to take me back to the hotel, but decide to walk instead. It’s still a balmy night in Melbourne, and I need to walk off the mood I’m in.
Harper’s been nothing but trouble since the moment he took Elijah’s place. I’ve tried, I really have, but there’s something about him that just riles me up. All thoughts of the benefit of fresh blood and competitive spirit have drained away and I’m left feeling … empty. Alone. And just really, really tired.
I dread being at odds with him again, and I know he will make no attempt to hide his contempt in front of Anders, the media, or anyone who’ll listen. This was supposed to be a brilliant season – my best to date, even – and now it’s turning into a constant battleground with no winners.
I tell myself I don’t care what Harper thinks. I can’t care, because I can’t afford to. I’m not the life of the party. I never was. It’s got nothing to do with being old in the sport, despite what Harper might have to say on the matter. If you look at the average age of drivers now, I’m only slightly above the line. There are guys five, six, and seven years older than me who’re still competitive in top tier racing. I started young, that’s all. Alonso’s over forty. I could have another decade ahead of me, if I wanted. If there weren’t so many youngsters coming up from the lower ranks -right now, I’d be right around average. It’s just the current cohort that’s pushing me into the upper age bracket.
But that’s got nothing to do with why I don’t fit in with Harper and Johannes. I’ve never been into that scene, even when I was a teenager or in my early twenties. I never understood the fascination. I wanted to race and win. That’s all I ever wanted. To race, to win, and then to go to sleep. Is that too much to ask?
Probably.
Definitely, according to Harper. Maybe this is what he needs in order to be at his best, but it certainly isn’t whatIneed. Maybe…
No. Surely not.
A thought occurs to me. Have I underestimated Harper? Is this all part of an elaborate plan to throw me off my game? Is he actually … strategic? Is he actually some zen, chess grandmaster who’s actually ten steps ahead of me?
Now you’re really losing it, Walker.
He’s just an overexcited rookie who doesn’t know his ass from his elbow.
Don’t think about his ass.
I can feel myself spiralling into a vortex of overthinking. None of this is helping me.
I take some deep breaths and try to control my thoughts. I look at my watch. There’s still time to call Elise, and nothing works better to ground me and remind me of my goals and priorities than my sister and her kids. A trophy for Cassie. Defending my title on the track. Making my family proud.
Fuck Harper James.
ChapterTen
Kian
There are at least six pairs of eyes on us as we sit next to each other on the jet.
Anna’s jaw is practically on the floor as she looks up from where she’s frantically typing on her laptop. Her surprise quickly morphs into joy with a beaming smile that tugs her whole face upwards. I’ve never seen her look so happy in all the years I’ve known her. She gives me a little wink and a subtle thumbs-up.
Urgh.
No one needs to know about the argument Harper and I had in the bar after the podium finishes in Melbourne. We’ve smashed out a whole other Grand Prix in Azerbaijan since then. The highlight reel consisted of me not only qualifying first, but also finishing top of the podium, again. That’s three out of four so far this season. More evidence, if I needed it, that my approach works.
Harper finished fourth in both the qualifier and the race, which is actually incredibly impressive for a rookie in his first season. Maybe, I grudgingly acknowledge, his approach works for him.
Since the night out with Harper and Johannes, I’ve calmed down. A little. I’m not so angry anymore, at least. The truth is, I can’t deny that something has changed the way I look at Harper. It’s not something I would ever openly admit or, heaven forbid, act upon, but there are flickering thoughts of him on repeat in my mind. Maybe I’m sexually frustrated – I can’t remember the last time I had sex. But no matter how much meditation I do, or how many cold showers I take, I cannot rid my mind of the image of his shirt riding up, of the sandy skin of his belly with its blond fuzz. Or his curly hair against his damp forehead as he writhed against Johannes on the dance floor. It has fuelled many hot jerk-off sessions. The cold spray, like a thousand tiny needles piercing my skin, only made me hotter as I took myself in hand and fantasised about teaching the rookie a proper lesson, with my dick in his mouth. Even now, sitting beside him, the scent of him in my nostrils, I have to call upon every single meditation mantra in my arsenal to maintain my neutral expression and composure.
He went out with a few of the other drivers, including Johannes, after we all finished top five in Azerbaijan, and I even dragged my sorry ass out to the dinner portion of the celebration. I saw it as a compromise, but on my terms this time. I made conversation with the other drivers and techs, and I didn’t even clock-watch. I enjoyed an ice-cold glass of sparkling water and no one expected me to get up and shake my ass. Better yet, I didn’t have to watch Harper shake his.
‘Why are they looking at us like we’ve both got two heads?’ he stage-whispers to me as the jet door is closed and the steps are dragged away on the tarmac. The rest of Hendersohm are indeed still watching us like we’re animals at the zoo. They’re clearly expecting a show of some kind, but I’m not about to risk everything I’ve worked for my entire life. In public, Harper and I are exactly what Anders demanded of us: a team.
In private … well, that’s another matter.
‘Might be something to do with us breathing the same air and not fighting about who gets the bigger portion.’
