Page 168 of First in Line

Probably noticing my reddened eyes, his eyebrows twist with concern. “Evie, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

He’s with me now, crouching to come closer. “Tell me. Please.”

If I talk, I’ll start sobbing. So instead, I reopen my laptop, enter my password, and scroll all the way to the top.

When he sees the pictures of the trailer park and reads the caption, he understands what’s going on.

“Oh, Evie, no… The internet is a fucked-up place. You can’t do this.”

“Ignoring it doesn’t mean it’s not happening, Jax.”

He sighs, passing a hand over his face before his eyes narrow on the nearly empty bottle of wine. “Did you drink all this?” he wonders.

“What did you expect from the daughter of an alcoholic?”

“Wait, did they mention your mom in the video?”

“No, not yet. But give them a couple of days, and they’ll get there.”

I’m not sure how he does it, but he effortlessly lifts me from the ground and, after some maneuvering, takes me onto the couch with him, halfway over him. In the comforting embrace of his powerful arms, some of my pain melts away.

He soothingly grazes my hair back and whispers in my ear, “I know you feel like we should do something about it. But trust me, princess, the best thing you can do is let it go. They’ll move on before you realize it.”

“Do you get a lot of hate, too?”

“Oh, yeah, tons. Some people love me. Some hate me. I’ve read all sorts of racist shit. Received death threats. Boob pics. Dick pics, even. Oh, and I did this ridiculously long drift on cold tires at a corner during a Japanese Grand Prix, and it became an internet joke to photoshop me in Tokyo Drift memes. That wasn’t so bad. It was actually pretty funny. Lastedmonths.”

“What did you do?”

“Ignored all the nasty shit. Justine told me it was the best way to handle haters. Don’t give them the satisfaction of letting them know they got to you, or they’ll just keep doing it.”

“Did it work?”

“Yes and no. I’m sure there’s still plenty of hate against me out there, but I’ve learned to filter it out. And when I stumble on some emotionally harmful content, I let it slide. These people don’t know me, so why should their judgment matter?”

I adjust myself over him, listening to his steady heartbeat under my ear. “Don’t you care about what they think of me?”

His arms tighten around me a little. “I hate that you’re going through this. I should have seen it coming. But I was a little too wrapped up in our reunion to think of the implications. But from experience, trust me. Addressing it will only make it worse. More headlines, more spotlight, more talk, more speculation… It can’t do any good.”

“So, you’re fine with everyone thinking you’re dating trailer park trash, when you should be dating Dasha Gavan or whatever?” I ask, meeting his mismatched eyes.

“Who?”

“She’s a model. You were dating her in February.”

“Oh…” He thinks intently, as if trying to remember her, and it unknowingly heals some of the pain inside me. He genuinely hasn’t cared about any of those women he used to be spotted with. Not like he cares about me.

When it doesn’t seem to come back to him, he refocuses on me. “I don’t give a shit what strangers may think of you, no. I’ve known you for fifteen years. Why the fuck would I care about what some jerk-off living in their parents’ basement has to say about who you are? They have no idea. But I do care when they hurt you. And they can only do so if you let them. Like you did just now, watching and reading that shit.”

“What if the press starts asking you questions about me?”

“I don’t answer personal questions. Ever. The veterans know, so they don’t ask, and if a rookie does, I simply skip to another question.”

The moment stretches as I slowly come down from my spiraling madness. This is nothing like it used to be when he was in F2. He’s the world’s most famous driver now, and it comes at a cost. One I never really thought about.

We stay quiet as I trace absent-minded patterns against the damp fabric of his T-shirt. Outside, the Tuscan countryside is slipping into the night, crickets singing somewhere beyond the open windows, replacing the cicadas. It feels so detached from the ugliness waiting behind every screen.