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Thirty
“I’ve been around the world, I’ve seen a million girls. Ain’t one of them got what my lady she’s got. She’s stealing the spotlight, knocks me off of my feet. She’s enough to start a landslide just walking down the street.” - AC/DC - Girl’s Got Rhythm
Lennox
It’s Thursday before race weekend, press day. All of my life I’ve hated this day the most, the day a roomful of journalists in a stuffy conference room grill us for an hour about the upcoming race. Today I’m looking forward to it. Today I start the fight that matters, to get her back and redeem myself in the ways that matter.
“Are you sure?” Matty asks inside the motorhome at Silverstone. The support staff is buzzing with the extra preparations for the home race celebrations. The executives and team bosses are out of sight though, behind closed doors dealing with the situation I handed them this morning on typed letterhead from my attorney.
“Aye, I’m sure. It’s done.”
Matty puts his head in his elbows on the table and rubs his eyes. His forehead wrinkles. “There has to be another way.”
“There isn’t. I can’t stay here anymore. I don’t like the person it’s turned me into. I need to focus on what’s important and I can’t do that while I’m not even worthy of her. I definitely can’t do it watching her work for DuPont the rest of the season.”
“Why can’t we just get Celeritas to fire her, again?” This would be one of those times Matty says things that offend people and he doesn’t mean to.
“He’s in love,” Jack slaps Matty on the arm and grins like a fool.
“Aye,” I pause. “I won’t help destroy her dreams. If I leave, hers are still unbroken. She’ll be able to do anything she wants, go anywhere she wants. If I leave, DuPont won’t be able to use her as leverage and will lose interest.”
“If you stay?” Matty asks.
“They’ll destroy us both.”
“You’re falling on the proverbial sword,” Jack clutches his heart and I roll my eyes at him. “Hey wait, what about my dreams?”
“Your only dream is to get paid,” Matty grimaces at Jack. “Though this does bring up a valid point,” he raises an eyebrow at me.
“You can always move back in with Mum and Pop,” I laugh. I’ll do whatever I can to help Matty and Jack land on their feet, wherever they want to go or whatever they want to do. Both will surely be able to stay in F1 if they choose. Good physio’s and PA’s are hard to find.
Jack is more optimistic. “There’s always next season, right?”
“Not likely with me resigning and breaking my contract like this. There are more important things in life.”
“Like what?” Matty asks, horrified at my response. Such a bloody pessimist.
“Like her, for starters. Like having pride in myself again. I used to stand for something but along the way, I’ve forgotten what that might be. I can’t be complicit in this shit anymore or I’m no better than DuPont.”
Matty and Jack both cringe at my last statement, but it’s true. I want to be a man my parents are proud of. I want to be a man Mallory can be proud of. I want to be happy and I need her for that. I guess that makes me a selfish asshole, but I can live without racing. I can’t live without her.
“The fine?” Matty asks.
“50 million. The lawyers can work it out,” I shrug. I may have to cool it on the supercars, but I’ll be fine. I’d live in a bloody fort and drive a Yugo as long as Mallory was in the passenger seat.
“This is an awfully big risk, mate,” Jack rubs his head. “What if she won’t even forgive you?”
I nod. I’ve thought a lot about that, but this is still something I need to do. “Guess I’ll spend the rest of my days trying. Maybe go back to karting. Maybe I’ll be a ballerina,” I smile.
Jack checks his watch, “Now that I have that image fried into my brain, we have five minutes until press time, shall we go?”
“Aye, let’s enjoy the last one.”
Mallory
Max had the driver waiting for us right where he said it would be. By the time we made it to our prearranged hotel room under someone else’s name in London, all the files were uploaded and Max was headed to the airport. Sixteen videos in all and Max says there may be a lot more his team can access when they finish analyzing the hardware. His reporters are already knee-deep digging into every nook and cranny of Digby DuPont’s life.
But of the sixteen videos we have now, it’s more than I could ever have imagined. Prostitutes, drugs, and enough seedy shit is in his search history to make a trucker blush and to tank a career politician.
