Page 22 of Handle Me

“Seriously. I’ve got this,” I said.

He straightened, casting a doubtful look at me, before jerking his thumb toward the offices. “Inside.”

The only thing worse than Wilkes laying into you on the track was him asking to speak to you privately. A public lecture usually consisted of screaming and a few insults, but behind closed doors, he hit you with what really hurt.

Disappointment.

I followed him inside and shut the door behind me. It wasn’t the first time I’d been in here. I knew the drill.

“Son, you gotta get your head out of your ass,” he muttered. He sank down into a bucket seat from an old decommissioned F1 car that had been converted into an office chair.

“I know,” I started. “I’m getting rid of her as soon as—”

“You can’t get rid of this,” he cut me off. “I know you didn’t ask to find out who your dad was, and I know you didn’t ask for it to be Albert. But you know now. Everyone knows. Getting rid of her isn’t the solution.”

“She’s fucking with my head.” I dropped into the seat across from him. “That’s it. I’ve got this under control. And sod my family. I’ll tell them to go to hell. Say the word.”

“You’re going to tell the King to go to hell?” He laughed softly. “Good luck with that.”

“You forget that he’s my brother,” I said bitterly.

“Maybe…” He hesitated for a moment. Conflict wrinkled his forehead as he tried to think of what to say.

“This is my life,” I told him. “This. The track. The team.”

“Maybe it was, but things have changed. Look at what happened a few months ago. You nearly got killed out there.”

“That crash wasn’t my fault!” I jumped to my feet. “Rossi lost control. I could have wound up in the wall. I made the best choice I could.”

“You cut it too close, pushed it too far. You were trying to prove something,” he argued.

“We’re all trying to prove something!” I was blind with fury at his betrayal. All I needed was to have one more person in my life turn on me. “You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be out there.”

It was a step too far. Like most former drivers, Wilkes hadn’t walked away from the wheel willingly. He’d survived his own crash, but he’d never been able to keep his focus after. It was one of the reasons that he was great at what he did now. Usually.

“This isn’t the yips,” he said. “You’ve lost your flow. It’s not safe for you out there.”

I didn’t even realize I’d taken a swing until plaster crumbled to the floor. I pulled my hand out of the wall. Dust had caked along a few bloody spots on my knuckles. I’m sure Lola would be curious about that.

Lola. Why the fuck had I immediately thought of her? Was she the problem? Or just an easy excuse? I didn’t know anymore. But even now when I was having my dreams kicked to the curb, I was thinking about her. That couldn’t be a good sign in terms of my focus.

Wilkes didn’t say anything as I brushed plaster off my hand and sat back down.

“If I don’t belong here and I don’t belong there, then where the fuck do I belong?” I asked him.

He lifted his shoulders, smiling sadly at me. “That’s all anyone is trying to figure out.”

“I’m not ready to quit,” I told him.

“Yeah, I suspected that.” He nodded like he understood. Maybe he did. He’d watched his own career end.

Fuck, that wasn’t what was happening was it? One crash couldn’t set me back this far. I wouldn’t let it. Not with the whole world watching me now—watching and waiting for me to fail.

“So, what do I do?”

“Hell, if I know,” he said.

“Great. That’s very reassuring,” I grumbled. “Look, I don’t want anyone to know what’s going on. Can we keep this quiet?”