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Because Emily actually threatened to have me arrested. Or rather, Klara did.
After I gave her a couple days to cool down, I drove there to talk to her, to work this out. Klara met me outside and said she was given orders to call the police if she ever saw a Lamborghini, a Ferrari, a McLaren, a Bugatti, or ‘any other car worth six figures’ parked outside.
The competitor in me wanted to come back on a motorcycle, or in a thrashed Fiat. But I let her win this round.
I would be more insulted if Klara didn’t add that she’s to call the cops on any men who show up in US military outfits, as well, so I know we’re all on Emily’s shit-list.
Then Emily put in for official leave at Imperium.
But she didn’t quit.
She hasn’t blocked my number, as far as I can tell. It still rings when I call, I can leave voicemails. My texts say they’ve been delivered. Google confirms I haven’t been blocked.
She hasn’t answered.
But this is the game we play.
I know it’s anything but a game to her, right now, technically. Of all people, I understand the pain she’s going through. It’s taken me my whole life to deal with the feelings so I’ll give her the time she needs.
But I meant what I said to her. As long as she wants me, and I think she does, there is no corner of the world that I won’t follow her to. No amount of time or distance has ever been able to stop it.
I’ll be miserable right alongside her, in different corners of the world, for as long as it takes.
“She’s still working on the tires, too, with Tillman from Cambridge,” Edmund tells me, knowing I’m always desperate for affirmation that I haven’t lost her forever.
“Oh yeah?”
“Mmm-hmm, it’s the other reason I came b
ack early, even against the doctor’s wishes,” he coughs and proves his point. He’s still on a mess of antibiotics and pills. If I weren’t such a selfish prick, I’d feel bad he’s here, not home in bed where he belongs.
“She’s right about the bloody tires. They’ve gotten them all broken down and are running computer simulations now. It’s not good,” he continues.
“What do you mean?” Dante asks. This affects him, too. It affects all of us on the track.
“Not sure yet. Let’s pray for dry races, though, boys.” Edmund sighs and tries to make light of the situation, but we all know how serious it is. We all know Alessi is still laid up in a neck brace and going through physical therapy right now.
And he got lucky. The incredible safety advances in these cars are the only reason he’s alive. The engineering marvels created by people like Emily.
The first thing Edmund did when he got back was cornering me, emphasize the accident wasn’t my fault. I knew it, logically, but he knew it meant something to me to hear him say it.
“Is that why Olivier has been hanging around even more?” Dante asks.
“Probably,” Edmund confirms. “Emily and Tillman tried going over his head at Concordia. Olivier isn’t happy.”
“I don’t trust him,” Dante huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.
“No one trusts him,” Liam adds.
I don’t know how deep this thing with Olivier or Concordia runs, but Liam is right. Everyone in the paddock is distrustful of Olivier. He’s just too smooth, too slick, he gives everyone the creeps and sets off their bullshit-meters.
Twenty grand in tires, per race, per team. I didn’t grow up surrounded by this kind of money, I know what it does to people.
And he knows Emily is on to him. Better safe than sorry.
Cole: Can you arrange for security for Emily please?
Mila: Yes. One person?
