Page 89 of Drive Me Wild
“Yep. No dramas, mate.”
I may die of heart palpitations before the call is over, but sure, everything’s good!
“Anything I need to know about?” His eyes nearly disappear as he squints at me. “As your manager?—”
“It’s a personal call,” I reassure him with the flick of a wrist. “Nothing work-related.”
Russell lifts his brows but doesn’t comment. I’ve never been one to shy away from sharing every detail of my personal life, especially with him, so his suspicion is warranted.
It takes twenty minutes for me to work up the nerve to hit the little green call button on my screen. It’s just a casual, friendly phone call. No biggie. Part of me prays it goes to voicemail.
“Hello?” a familiar voice says. “Theodore?”
I roll my eyes. “No. Santa Claus.”
Why is my first reaction always to be a dick to him?
Richard chuckles. “Definitely Theodore. Is everything okay? I’m not with your mum right now. She’s?—”
“I was, uh, actually hoping to talk to you about something,” I stammer awkwardly. “Off the record.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t want my mum to worry, is all,” I quickly add.
There’s a brief hesitation before he consents. “Sure. What happens on this call, stays on this call. Just like Vegas.”
My laugh comes without warning. My dad and Richard’s Vegas trip from way back when is legendary in the sense that no one knows what happened, except for the fact that Richard is no longer allowed in the state of Nevada. It’s unclear whether they didn’t remember much of the trip or if it was so raunchy they couldn’t fathom spilling the details.
“What’s going on?”
“Well, first, I want to apologize about what happened in Melbourne. I said some uncalled-for shit and I’m sorry.”
“You’ve already apologized, Theodore,” Richard says, his words marked with confusion.
I take a deep breath. “Yeah, but um… this time I mean it.”
Deep, loud laughter comes through the phone—just as I think it’s going to end, it lingers. My original half-arse apology to him was to appease my mum, and not because I actually felt bad for being a dick. Call it maturing or realizing that the things I say in the heat of the moment have long-lasting, undesirable consequences, but Idomean it now.
“Well, apology accepted.Again. You are your dad’s son through and through, you know that, right? Always able to make people laugh, whether you mean to or not.”
A sheepish smile spreads across my face. Most people compare me to my dad in terms of my driving—not as many people can look at our similarities strictly as dad and son. “Mum says you talk about him… together.”
What was once weird to me now gives me a small sense of comfort.
“We do,” he admits cautiously. “He was a big part of both of our lives. And I’d never try to replace him, Theo. He’s your dad and he loved you more than anything.”
I crack my knuckles against my thighs. “Do you think… I mean, what are your— Shit, uh… well, did my dad always know he wanted to drive for McAllister?”
There’s a long pause before Richard says, “He almost signed with Giovani.”
My head jerks back at his statement.What?“Giovani? They haven’t been around in,” I attempt to do the math in my head, but give up, “years.”
They were a pretty good team, comparable to today’s Porsche, that had the potential to be great, but just couldn’t seem to get there. They lost their funding a few years after my dad’s retirement.
“If your dad had signed with them, I’m sure their luck would’ve changed,” Richard notes. “But McAllister offered him a contract a few days before he signed with Giovani.”
“And he obviously chose McAllister,” I finish for him.
