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CHAPTER8
ROYAL
I don’t want to open my eyes when my dog starts yipping away. I keep them closed as I lie flat on my back on my big comfortable bed. I barely managed to order food last night. I let my dog inside from the backyard and then shared the food with him before I fell asleep, letting the day fade away.
Trying to push away all the bullshit that clouded my mind. But when Oscar won’t shut up, I finally force my eyes open and nearly fall off the damn bed when I see Axel picking my dog up and laughing when the dachshund traitor starts licking his face.
“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” He looks amused, putting my dog down on the floor so he can scamper off. Axel is dressed the way I’m used to seeing him when we aren’t on the track—jeans, white t-shirt, and a black jacket.
“Now, that’s really fucking funny, coming from you.” The asshole just sits on the edge of my bed, not caring at all. And okay, so I may have barged in his house a few times without knocking, but come on.
Soren’s little visit last night was enough.
“Not in the mood,” I say grumpily and cover my eyes with my arm as I lie back down.
“Oh, how the tables have turned,” he says, the amusement clear in his voice.
“Go. Away.”
He chuckles, and if he wasn’t my best friend, I’d kick his damn ass. Still might. “Jenny called.”
I drop my arm from my eyes and look over at him. “And being a good friend to me, you told her to fuck off,” I deadpan.
He rolls his eyes at me, shaking his head. “Nope. I had dinner with her.”
I sit up, pressing my palms into my eyes again and trying to rub the sleep out of them. “I have no friends.”
He just grins smugly at me. “You actually have a lot of friends. A lot of good damn friends who’ll tell you when you’re being an idiot, and you’re being an idiot.”
“Why? Because I don’t want to play nice with the media? You’ve really changed, and I’m happy you’re happy,” I say as I climb off the bed. “But I’m not changing.” I start toward the door of my bedroom.
“You saved me, you know?”
That makes me stop and turn around to face my oldest friend, who’s still sitting on the edge of my bed, his eyes deadly serious. “What?”
“We both know what I’m talking about,” Axel says quietly. “I was angry. So damn angry, and you taught me how to be okay.”
We don’t talk about this stuff. We just don’t. We keep it light, and I like it that way. That’s what I taught him all those years ago when we first met. To bury it. To laugh instead of getting angry.
That it’ll piss ’em all off more. The people who let us down.
“So what? You honestly think this is going to help my career or whatever? Doing interviews with some reporter who hates me?”
He stands up and walks closer to me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Soren. Yes. I think he’s the right person to help you out.”
“Was he at dinner too?” I ask incredulously.
He nods. “So was my husband. We all care about you and your damn career.”
“You seriously think it’s that dire? I win races.”
“And we both know it’s not just about that anymore. The fans can turn on you, and they’re starting to. I know you’re the Hotshot...”
I roll my eyes. Both of us hate the nicknames, no matter if we’ve embraced them or not.
“But you don’t have to be that all the time. You can change that image, and hell”—he shrugs—“maybe you’ll be happier.”
“I’m plenty happy.”
