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My parents have a perfect marriage with arguments that end in a hug, a schedule for who takes out the trash and does the dishes each day, and displays of affection that no child should see. Thank God I have a brother because I would’ve been traumatized if it weren’t for him. Lukas taught me why we don’t go into our parents’ room when they close the door, no matter how loud they scream.
“Not everyone gets to have a happy ending,” I mutter into the Bluetooth microphone. The usual tightness in my chest occurs at the memory of Johanna not getting hers.
Fuck.Leave it to my dad to stir up old feelings that have no place in my life right now.
“Listen…I know what happened with Lukas and Johanna affected you more than you let on. We all loved her, and you both were especially close. But you can’t let fear drive your life. What happened was tragic, but that doesn’t mean you need to live guardedly because you’re afraid.”
A bitter laugh makes its way out of my throat by its own accord. “I’m not talking about this with you.”
“You never talk about it. Not with me, not with anyone. Her passing away was hard on us all. But you shut down, and now look at you. It’s been almost three years, and you’re still making these foolish mistakes. Every December, it’s the same with you, holing up somewhere as soon as the season ends, making self-destructive decisions. You avoid us right after the holidays for Kaia’s birthday. This time you ended up with the wrong girl at the wrong time. So, you can pretend to be fine in front of everyone else, but we know.”
“Just because I’m having fun and hooking up with women doesn’t mean I’m hung up on Johanna’s death or anything. I get I messed up, but don’t be ridiculous trying to connect it to shit from the past. I happen to get busy after Christmas.” I bite on my tongue.
My dad sighs. “Save your lies for people who believe them… Really, it’s okay to let someone in. To let them know you for more than the image you put out there.”
The thing about being the nice guy is how no one sees how corroded my heart is—how it leaks acid like an old car battery.
“I’m not looking for that right now.” Or ever. Not since I experienced firsthand what happens to people who love hard.
Johanna’s death changed me. A few months after she passed, I zipped up my race suit, signed a contract with McCoy, and won my second World Championship. I accepted the life I was meant to live while shunning the bitter memories. Passivity became my defense mechanism over the past few years.
My dad pauses. “That’s what people always think.”
I tap my agitated fingers against the steering wheel. “For a good reason, no doubt.”
He lets out a deep sigh, probably rubbing his eyes. “No. The dumbasses who say that usually get hit the hardest.”
“Hopefully, you mean fucked the hardest.”
My dad’s a good sport who laughs along with me while ditching his bad mood. He thinks I’m afraid, but I’m just indifferent.
“Liam…be careful, okay? There’s no reason to make stupid decisions when you can have anyone you want. You only need to be willing to try.”
It’s selfish as fuck for me to still be affected by Johanna’s death. I get it and despise it. Screw my brother for falling in love with my best friend. Part of me resents Lukas for making Johanna part of our family before she was ripped away, leaving me hollow and aching at her memory. Maybe if he kept to himself instead of pursuing her, I wouldn’t be in this very position, screwing my boss’s niece as some stupid distraction.
After chatting with my dad for another ten minutes, I park my car and situate myself inside of McCoy’s waiting room. Rick, my agent, and Peter go back and forth, exchanging inaudible words with one another in a conference room surrounded by glass. Functionally stupid since I can see everything happening.
My agent looks at me a couple of times with a scowl. His slicked-back hair, cobalt suit, and tapping Ferragamo shoe mean business. My eyes stay glued to their discussion as I sit around like a little kid waiting outside the principal’s office.
They call me into the room after five minutes. The sleek conference room feels small enough to make Peter look intimidating. His bald head gleams under the bright lights, highlighting his dark eyes and beard—a scary-looking motherfucker. Anger rolls off him, his eyes following me as I walk around the large table, my stomach turning at his frown. I give him a tight smile before taking a seat in one of the black rolling chairs, feigning comfort despite the edginess creeping into my veins.
Hopefully, my casual stance gives off a submissive vibe. I don’t want to appear overly cocky because Peter looks like he wants to kick my balls hard enough to ensure my future offspring learn from my stupidity.
“As I was saying, Liam feels extremely apologetic about the situation with your niece. He never wanted the breakup to become public, especially when things ended amicably between the two. We have no idea where these negative reports are coming from.” Rick’s American drawl carries through the room. He does his job well, especially since he kisses Peter’s ass enough to make it chafe.
Rick coughs, getting my attention.
I snap back into the conversation. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt Claudia’s feelings, honestly. I shouldn’t have pursued anything with her, out of respect for you and the team. We’re not a good fit. But it won’t affect my skills on the road or my professionalism because I love McCoy. I’m ready to land on every podium this season with no more drama.”
“Drama seems to be following you around lately. Your name comes up way too often in the media.” Peter’s dark brow rises.
No one in McCoy is supposed to talk to gossip rags. Conveniently, Claudia doesn’t need to sign an NDA like the rest of us because of her family name. McCoy didn’t have a reason to believe she’d want negative press for a company that pays for her exclusive trips to Saint Tropez and her monthly shopping bills.
I lace my fingers together. “I’ll do everything I can to fix my image and repair the public’s perception of me.”
Peter’s narrowed eyes hold mine. “It would be best for you to remember you’re replaceable. You’re one of the best drivers in the whole sport, but nonetheless replaceable. I don’t want to read any more nasty gossip articles about you. Chris picked you for this team, knowing you’re one the greatest, up there with Noah. So, show us you’re worth every million we pay you.”
Chris, our team principal, manages the McCoy crew, including Jax and me. Peter bringing him up adds to my embarrassment, knowing I pissed off a man who has always believed in me.
I swallow back the lump in my throat. “I’ll make sure to drive my best, and I’ll keep my dick out of the papers this season while making McCoy proud. No question about it.”
Peter stands. “You’ve got a tough season ahead of you, with Santiago joining Bandini and Noah having a fire lit under him from new competition. James Mitchell wants another win. I expect nothing but the best work from you and Jax, especially with the new lineup of cars we have for you. Now get out of here and go test the car out. I want to hear positive reports from the team.”
Peter doesn’t have to tell me twice. I say goodbye and leave like my ass is on fire. Somehow, I dodged a bullet. I’m shocked at how Peter seemed a lot more relaxed than I anticipated, but I can’t help worrying about it all being a false sense of security—a trap to see if I fail again. But this time I’ll stay aware and think before I act.
There’s no need to harp on the conversation because this shit needs to be put behind me, including the crap my dad brought up today about Johanna. I don’t race in F1 for the drama. No, I race for trophies, titles, and titties—except the latter now remains off the table for an unforeseeable future thanks to my recent blunders.
I want to keep the past in the past, right where those fucking bad memories belong.
