‘I think the rankings both today and over the season so far speak for themselves. Harper’s having a great first season after dominating lower-category racing last year. He works incredibly hard and deserves all his success.’
‘And what about when Elijah’s back to full health? Who would you rather have as a teammate?’ He’s a cheeky fuck. Not in any world would I be able to comment on that and I would be in big trouble if I did. I also don’t know what I would say.
‘You know I can’t comment on that. I’m sure the bosses will make the best decision for the team and they’re lucky to have two fantastic drivers to choose from.’ I step away quickly to avoid saying anything stupid. I have no clue what the line-up will look like when Elijah’s better or even this time next year. I haven’t even decided whether I’ll be here.
Elijah and I have obviously kept in touch throughout his recovery and I know he had a set-back when one of the incisions became infected. He’s still got a way to go before he’s back.
The rest of the interviews move along in the same kind of fashion. There are a lot of questions about what’s going well, and thankfully not a lot of nit-picky questions about what can be improved. Though I’m doing well enough to start thinking about challenging the record for championship points within a single season, even I’m not immune to the knowledge that there’s always more I can be doing.
Anders claps me on the shoulders as I make my way into the pit. I can’t think of many teams where the principal is always there waiting for us when we come off the track.
‘Son,’ he starts, and I have to work on steadying my breathing in order to keep my emotions in check. My own father may be a piece of shit, but I’m lucky to have been blessed with a father figure in this sport. A proper role model. Someone who isn’t only concerned with the money we draw in, but who actually loves the sport and his team. ‘Absolute brilliance. I thought I saw some good drives from you in your early career, and last season especially, but this was fantastic. Your poise and focus, and your ability to decide when to take the risk and when to cut it smooth … it astounds me. I’m so proud of you.’
It’s high praise from him, and I’d be flushed a deep shade of rouge if I were back in my teens or early twenties. Now, well, now I soak it up. My muscles cry out with a decade’s worth of aches and pain from the toll this sport takes on the body, so it’s nice to hear that they’ve been worth it.
‘Thanks, sir. Really appreciate it.’
‘And the way you’ve taken Harper under your wing… I know he still needs a few of the sharp edges knocking off, but he’s learning some really good habits from you. Becoming a proper asset to Hendersohm.’
It’s almost nicer to hear good reports of Harper – why is that? I’m still contemplating my future on the track, but I know that whether I stay or go at the end of the season, it will be my choice. Harper doesn’t have leverage yet – one good season doesn’t guarantee his seat next year. Especially when Elijah’s fit and ready to go again.
I don’t envy the tough decision Hendersohm will have to make.
‘He’s doing great, but I don’t think it’s anything to do with me. He’s got natural talent.’
Fingers drag across my back and I feel my whole body go ram-rod straight. I don’t even need to turn around to know he’s behind me, and that he heard at least some of what I just said about him.
Thankfully, no one seems to notice his intimate touch. Anders congratulates Harper and they start talking about the specifics of opportunities he had to sneak up into second, before going over to Ash so they can see the details in the data.
I don’t know how he still has so much energy. The thrill of winning wears off quickly nowadays, and I’m left with nothing but a heavy weight of exhaustion. I can feel it in my bones. They want nothing more than to collapse into bed and take the weight off for a little while. I don’t even have the energy to look at data today.
At just thirty-four, I probably shouldn’t feel like this. I’m in my prime, but it feels like the sport has aged me. I’m sure most drivers feel like this – and sports professionals in general. It’s a short career to stay on top of elite performance, whether you run, throw, kick or hit. I need a good massage. I’ll get one in the diary from the physio before we head off on the road to Italy next, for our final stop of the European tour.
Or maybe I’ll get Harper to put his magic hands to good use when we get home. He can iron out some kinks in my more intimate muscles. I’m sure I’ve probably pushed my glutesrealhard today.
I have a fair wait, though. Harper’s mind does not stop working nor his mouth moving as he sits beside Ash at his makeshift desk in the garage, stats and figures flying across the screen as Harper analyses every number. Not that I’m complaining – I’m happy to sit back and watch his pure enjoyment of this sport. No one seems to enjoy it as much as him. Whatever might be said about his lax attitude towards training and self-discipline, no one can knock his passion.
Or maybe it’s just because I see it all going on behind the scenes. I see the way he lies in bed some nights watching hours of footage to learn from other drivers and his past races. He stews over his slower laps, his mistakes and his missed opportunities, and takes even more care analysing the details of his faster laps. Harper James just wants to keep improving and that’s damn admirable, whatever way you look at it. Forget the choices he makes in his personal life, I want to tell every journalist, just keep your eyes on his drive.
It’s over an hour later when he tugs on his team hoodie and strides over to where I’m scrolling through my phone and texting with Elise.
‘You didn’t need to wait.’
There’s surprise on his face, that I’ve hung around for him. Little does he know I’d have waited longer. Another hour. Two. Longer, even.
‘Thought we could walk back together, that’s all.’ I’m measured as I speak – a lot of the team staff are still milling around and packing up our team pit to prepare for transport to Italy.
‘We’d best get going then, huh?’ Surprise morphs into excitement and then quickly into pure lust as he takes me in. I’ve had some physio and done some stretching in the meantime, but I’ve still got my kit on. I don’t think I’ve ever been subject to such appreciative eyes.
We don’t speak on the walk back to the motorhome, but we don’t need to. Even though we’re keeping our distance as we move, there’s a zing of electricity bouncing between us. It’s the promise of what’s to come the second the door to the outside world closes behind us.
I haven’t even taken off my trainers when he mounts me like a bloody tree. He’s lucky I have the upper body strength of a weight-lifting pro, because I’m practically having to hold him up as he mauls my face with his lips.
‘Sometimes, I wish I could watch you drive from the sidelines again,’ he murmurs between kisses. ‘It’s so fucking hot. Even when you overtook me I think I was turned on.’ His lips are on mine, then on my cheek, my jaw, and my neck until he’s meeting the fabric of my T-shirt. ‘Need this off.’
‘Need you in the bedroom first,’ I reply, releasing him from my grip so he can jump down.
His hand finds mine and he leads us to my bedroom like it was his idea. My back can’t take another session on the couch.
