Page 84 of Drive Me Wild
I grab his hand in mine and give it a squeeze. It’s sticky from the ice cream dripping down, but Theo doesn’t seem to mind. He intertwines our fingers, gripping my hand so tightly, I’m nervous I may lose circulation.
“I’m not giving up on us, Theo,” I promise. “The farthest thing from it. I’m giving us a chance. But I need to figure things out forme, not the me that’s in a relationship. I’ve always put other people first, and for once in my life, I need to put myself first to prove that I can handle the big stuff alone.”
Theo nods slowly, letting my words sink in. His death grip on my hand gradually relaxes and blood rushes to my hand.Christ.I sometimes forget how much muscle he has. Personality of a golden retriever, muscle mass of a goddamn German shepherd.
“Okay, angel.” He pauses before nodding. “If you think this is what’s best… I trust you, eh? I won’t give up on us, either. I mean it when I say I’m going to fight for us.”
I release the deep breath I’ve been holding hostage in my chest. I expected Theo to argue with me, to dig his heels into the sand and push and plead until he got his way. To scream, kick, and fight his way back into a relationship. Because that’s Theo. A few years ago, he talked Blake out of getting arrested for trying to undress a cop he thought was a stripper. He has a way with words that few have blades sharp enough to fight.
Instead, he’s respecting my space and listening to what I need. He’s giving me hope that we can work out.
He’s letting me choose myself.
THIRTY-ONE
THEO
Every time I turn around,my heart plummets when I realize Josie’s not here. She hasn’t made a final decision about Kelsey’s offer yet, but she did request this race weekend off and her absence is glaring. And not just for me; Wes threatened to smack Blake in the head with a fire extinguisher if he didn’t stop acting like an “entitled brat” and Ella had to step in to play referee.
Spending time apart from Jos is unwittingly forcing my hand. Without her smile or laughter to distract me, I have no choicebutto think about my contract. The end of the season is quickly approaching. To sign with McAllister or not to sign with McAllister, that’s the question twenty-first century Shakespeare would be asking.
My radio snaps me out of my thoughts. “How you doing, Walker?”
I roll my eyes, thankful they can’t see behind my helmet. I’ve kept to myself this weekend, opting out of additional fan encounters and interviews. I’m not sure who knows about my breakup-slash-break-slash-time-out and who doesn’t, but I don’t give a shit. I can’t think about that. All I can think about iswinning. It’s all I can allow myself to focus on. Because when my mind wanders, it always finds its way back to Josie.
“Fine,” I reply.
“Everything good?”
“Mm-hmm.”
The voice on the other side snickers. “Um… this is Theo, right? Not Blake? Want to make sure we didn’t press the wrong button.”
I snort at the comment. My one-word answers are reason for concern. “Yeah. I’m all good, mate.”
“Alright. Good luck out there.”
Josie should be the one wishing me good luck.
Taking a deep breath, I rest my hands against the wheel, letting the familiar smell of burning rubber and fuel calm me. The race is business as usual, until lap forty-seven, when McAllister fucks up. Big time. They pit Blake early because they’re worried his tire degradation won’t last through the final stretch of the race. They may be right, but now he’s running over the same piece of track as me in the final third of the Grand Prix. That means our strategies are overlapping, and I’m two-point-five seconds ahead of him.
“Don’t hold up Hollis,” the guys from the pit wall instruct. “Pull back.”
Rage churns inside me, resentment clouding my thoughts. Does Blake have a better chance of winning the Drivers’ Championship this year? Yes, probably. But this may be the last year I’m able to willingly fight for it.
I ignore the radio. Fuck it.
Switching gears as I head into the next turn, I brake a second early, using the downforce to open the exit of the corner and gain acceleration heading down the next straight. Thompson is ahead of me, taking a curve at an impressive speed. Kid’s honing in on his instinct, I’ll give him that.
“Walker, do you copy?” I hear Andreas’s tense tone through the radio. “Pull back. We need you to fend off Adler.”
“Andreas? Are you saying something?”
“Yes!” he shouts. “Stop holding up Hollis, for fu?—”
“All I hear is a really weird crackling,” I lie, the chaos of my rage taking over. “Something must be off with my radio.”
Why shouldn’t I be able to hold my own pace? I’m here to race, not be a goddamn pawn piece to Blake’s King. I continue to ignore my radio for nearly half a lap more. As we go into turn ten, Blake underbrakes, forcing me to pull back so I don’t ram into the barricade.
