Page 75 of Drive Me Crazy
Ella’s good luck must have been sprinkled with special fairydust or some shit because my win isverylucky indeed. I place P1 by less than a quarter of a second.
“Blake!” a reporter yells during the post-race interviews. “How are you feeling after today’s first place win?”
“I’m feeling on top of the world,” I reply, meaning it. The most amazing part? I know the best is still yet to come.
IF IT’S possible to die from boredom, I’m about three minutes away from my funeral. Theo, on the other hand, is thriving. He’s a born entertainer who can somehow talk incessantly about himself, but still make you feel like you’re part of the story. I’ve told the big wigs at McAllister that Theo is much better suited for these types of dinners, but they still insist I go. Theo’s amusing everyone with one of his outlandish stories, so I slyly check my phone. I see two missed calls from Ella and immediately excuse myself from the table. My heart starts beating faster, my skin crawling with discomfort. Ella never calls during business dinners. She claims that unless she’s bleeding or something’s broken, nothing is urgent enough that it can’t just wait. I quickly make my way outside to call her back.
“Hi,” she answers.
“Did something happen?” I ask agitatedly. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Her voice trails off. “I-I just wanted to hear your voice, I guess.”
“I’ll be back twenty.”
Before she can argue, I end the call and shoot Theo a text, saying I don’t feel well and need to leave. He’ll probably love not having to share the spotlight with me, anyway.
Ella’s curled up on the couch when I finally get back to our hotel room. She looks like a little burrito with how she’s tucked herself under a blanket. I sit next to her, resting my hand on her back as she talks to her mom on the phone.
“Mymom wants to know if you’d prefer regular potatoes or sweet potatoes for Thanksgiving,” Ella tells me. “And she says hi.”
“Whatever she wants to make is good with me,” I answer. “Tell her I say hello.”
“He’s fine with either, Mom.” She rolls her eyes at something before saying goodbye. Narrowing her eyes at me, she says, “You shouldn’t have left dinner.”
Ella watches me warily as I lift up her arms and tilt her chin, looking for obvious signs of injury. When I don’t see any, I relax slightly.
“Checking for broken bones or blood,” I explain with a shrug. “What’s wrong, love?”
“None of that,” she says, her lips turning up the smallest amount. “He madeForbesThirty Under Thirty.”
She hands me her phone; I find the website already pulled up on her screen. I briefly read through his feature, trying not to crack her screen in half when I read the words “titan in the industry.” I don’t bother finishing the profile; I already know more than enough about him.
“I started working on a business plan, but then Poppy texted me that,” Ella shakily admits. “She didn’t want me to hear it from someone else.”
I scoop Ella up, wrapping her in my arms. She sighs, resting her head against my chest.
“It’s not fair,” she murmurs. “He put me through hell, yet he’s being praised and I’m what? Starting from scratch and stressing out that he told people not to work with me? It makes me feel like I’m damaged goods.”
Her chin starts trembling and she hunches her shoulders, shrinking into herself. If I could take every bit of pain from Ella and suffer through it myself, I would without a second thought.
“You’re not damaged goods,” I reassure her. “You don’twant to work with people who would believe his bullshit, anyway. It means they’re bloody idiots.”
“I guess so,” she sniffles, her voice cracking. “I hate that it makes me want to cry. I just want to be okay.”
“But it’s okay tonotbe okay,” I gently remind her. “I’m nearly thirty and still dealing with shit that happened to me when I was a kid. You went through something bloody terrible. No one expects you to emerge from that unscathed.”
She nods into my chest, and I feel her body shake lightly as silent tears fall down her cheeks. I tighten my hold on her, desperate to let her know I’ve got her. That she’s okay. That she’s the strongest person I know. A few minutes later, Ella tilts her head up, blinking those damn beautiful eyes at me. I hate how red they are because of her tears.
“You know when someone massages a knot out of your back? And it really hurts, but you know it’ll be worth it in the end because you’ll feel better?”
“Yep. Sam once gave me a back massage after a crash and told me he couldn’t tell if I was choking or having an orgasm.”
Her soft, infectious laugh is the best damn thing I’ve heard all day. And I won a Grand Prix earlier.
“That’s what all of this is like,” she admits. “I know it’s all part of the healing process, or whatever, but it just sucks.”
“I know it does but look at how far you’ve come. You’ve traveled the world. You’re almost done writing a goddamn book that I know is going to be a massive hit. Not only because it’s about me and I’m remarkable, but because you wrote it, which makes it doubly amazing. And you’re working on a business plan for a podcast that’s going to wow the world. That’s pretty impressive shit, love.”
