Twisted Mind (Chequered Flag #2)

by Mia Hoddell

  * * *

  Seeing my neighbour sprawled out on my sofa the next morning was a wake-up call I could have done without. I stumbled out of my room at seven a.m., heading straight for the coffee machine when his snore caused me to jump and squeal.

  How I’d forgotten about him was beyond me.

  Thankfully, I hadn’t woken him. It gave me a second to dart back into my room, slam the door, and get dressed into something less revealing than my almost see through white camisole and boy shorts.

  When I returned—grudgingly—it disappointed me to find him still asleep. He had outstayed his welcome a long time ago, so as I went about my morning routine, I made as much noise as possible.

  Mugs clattered, the coffee machine whirred, taps were switched on full blast, and I slammed the microwave door. I even went as far as dragging out my fairy cake tin from the box labelled “kitchen”—because my baking supplies were one of the few things I couldn’t leave behind—and “accidently” dropped it.

  Still I got no reaction. Not even a change in breathing. All I’d done was work myself into a state.

  I downed my coffee in a few gulps then reverted to sending him dagger stares. If noise failed to wake him, maybe the heat from my glower would.

  I snorted, realising how ridiculous I sounded. Unfolding my arms, I shook my head to clear my frustration. It seemed pointless to get so worked up over someone who couldn’t see it. Therefore, grabbing my keys off the counter, I marched—as well as I could with a lump of plaster on my leg—over to my front door.

  Not wanting him to wake up while I wasn’t there, I shut the door behind me softly and headed for the lift.

  If there was one thing I hated most about having broken my leg, it was the time everything took now. Even the simplest of activities, such as getting dressed or walking somewhere, took forever. It frustrated me to have to slow my usual tornado speed and really focus on my actions. I’d never thought about something as simple as walking until it was taken away and hindered.

  On the plus side, my arms were getting a work out every day.

  The lift doors opened on the bottom floor where a middle-aged man with greying hair waited. Giving him a polite smile, I exited the lift and limped over to my post box. With the key the landlord had given me a few days ago, I unlocked the box corresponding to my flat number. I retrieved the few envelopes, wedging them under my arm. Once I’d relocked the post box I made the arduous journey back up to my flat.

  It wouldn’t make a difference once my cast came off, but the lift made my life a hell of a lot easier for the moment. I didn’t even want to consider struggling down two flights of stairs with a broken leg.

  The lift stopped on my floor and I rounded the corner to find the man I’d seen downstairs leaning against the wall opposite my flat while talking furiously into his the mobile. His eyes blazed and his nostrils flared as he paused to listen to a response.

  With a cursory glance, I walked by and focused my attention on fishing my keys from my pocket.

  “Excuse me, this is probably a long shot, but have you seen Dustin?”

  I lifted my gaze from the lock on my door. “Sorry, I only moved in yesterday, is Dustin the guy who lives there?”

  “Yeah, a lot of people have been trying to get hold of him and we’re starting to worry. I really need to get his ass on a plane.”

  A plane? His comment made me curious, though not curious enough to ask. I pushed open the door and hitched a thumb over my shoulder at the figure sprawled out on my sofa.

  “That him?”

  The man exhaled and cast his eyes to the ceiling briefly. “Oh thank God. Do you mind me asking…uh…why?”

  “Why’s he there?”

  He nodded and I explained what had happened. A myriad of expressions flittered across his face: embarrassment, frustration, anger, worry, and finally concern.

  “I’m so sorry…”

  “Tazia,” I filled in for him when he looked at me expectantly.

  “I’m Anthony. Like I was saying, I’m truly sorry you’ve had to deal with this. Although it’s not an excuse, he really hasn’t been himself lately. He doesn’t usually do this. All I know is something happened yesterday.”

  I shrugged, not able to lie and say it was no trouble.

  “Do you mind if I come in? I’ll get him out of your hair.”

  “Have at it.” I waved him past me then followed him in. Anthony shook, pushed, and raised his voice at Dustin, only to get a grunt of protest when Dustin rolled over to show him his back.

  Anthony puffed out his cheeks and blew the air from them forcefully. He scrubbed a hand over his tired eyes and an idea came to me.

  “Let me have a go.” I hurried to pull a glass out of a box and filled it with water from the tap. “He owes me after he knocked me over.”

  Anthony’s lips curved and he shook his head mockingly. “Your funeral.”

  I made my way over to the sofa and held the glass over Dustin’s head. Tilting it slowly, I let a steady trickle hit him right in the middle of his forehead.

  As soon as the first drop collided, his eyelids shot open in time to see the glass being tipped upside down and the rest of the contents pouring down on top of him.

  He flew up from the sofa with a splutter, and I couldn’t contain the grin pulling at my lips. A giggle escaped and I glanced up at Anthony. Even he wasn’t immune to the sight.

  “What the fuck?” Dustin cried. His voice cracked as he surveyed the room wildly, his mind struggling to process everything.

  “Serves you right,” I stated proudly, causing his hard stare to snap to mine.

  “Who are you and where am I?”

  “She’s the person you owe an apology and thanks,” Anthony interrupted, capturing Dustin’s attention.

  Dustin made a disgusted gurgle. “What for? She’s the one who dumped an ice cold cup of water over me.” He turned back to me. “Who are you anyway? And where the hell am I?”

  “I’m Tazia, your new neighbour and the person you knocked over and left on the floor yesterday. That happened to be before you woke me up and dragged me from my bed because you banged on my door drunk, then passed out on my sofa since you were locked out.”

  Dustin groaned and raised a hand to massage his temple. “I didn’t.” His statement sounded more like a whine of hope than denial.

  “You did.”

  He peered at me with contrition. His gaze dipped to my cast and the guilt plastered over his face deepened. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “I’m sorry. I’m honestly not usually like this. You caught me on a bad day.”

  I shrugged off the apology.

  “Really, I’m sorry.”

  When I stared down at him, the startling intensity pooling in his forest green orbs knocked the air from my lungs. The anger inside me subsided and I could finally look at him properly. Apart from the scratches, hangover, and pain etched into every tired crease, he actually looked quite attractive.

  His body was lean like an athlete’s, though not overly big. He had more of a runner’s build than someone who lifted weights for fun.

  Anthony cleared his throat. “We need to go, Dustin. You’ve already missed one flight and the team won’t accept an excuse for missing another.”

  Wordlessly, Dustin pulled himself to his feet with shaky legs. He combed back his hair and exhaled heavily. “Can you call Raine? You’re going to need her set of keys to get my stuff. I’ll wait in the car so I don’t have to see her.”

  Anthony appeared like he wanted to say something, but with a glance at me he shut his mouth. Grabbing Dustin by the back of the neck, he herded him from the room, once again apologising, and shut the door behind them.

  As soon as the lock clicked into place I sat down on the dry edge of the sofa. All of the questions I wished I could have asked Dustin, yet had no right to, filled my mind. For some unexplainable reason I wanted to know him.

  I shouldn’t have after the way he’d acted. However, when he’d gazed
at me in apology he really did seem to mean it. The emotion I’d seen in his eyes had been so intense I believed below the surface lay a good guy.

  The only problem I faced was how to unearth him.

  Chapter Six

  Dustin

  The second Anthony slid into the driver’s seat of his car I knew he wasn’t going to hold back. I’d watched Raine and Teo arrive and enter the building from the opposite side of the street. When they reappeared minutes later, I slumped down so only my forehead remained visible above the window. The only time Teo didn’t have his hands on her was when she pulled the passenger’s door closed and in spite of everything they looked happy.

  Even though a part of me couldn’t be more pleased they’d found their way back to each other, envy overpowered it. Without the cloud of alcohol to dampen my memories, they all flooded back more potent than ever. Like barbed wire being slowly dragged through my veins, the pain shredded me from the inside out.

  It hadn’t taken long for Anthony to emerge with my bags after they drove away. He threw my belongings into the boot with more force than I deemed necessary then stomped around to his door and slammed it behind him. I knew I’d only escaped his wrath until now because of Tazia.

  Tazia.

  It was an unusual name.

  A bit like her.

  “Dustin! Are you listening to me?”

  Anthony’s words shocked me from my musings. I blinked up at him, perplexed. “What was that?”

  Anthony let out a pained groan. “I said what the hell is going on with you? The anger, the drinking, the fights…none of this is you. You’ve never missed a practice session or acted like racing wasn’t important. You’re throwing away your shot at the top. If the teams see this type of behaviour, then the contracts I have been negotiating for next year are all going to disappear, Dustin. And so will the one you’ve got now. No one is going to hire an alcoholic.”

  “Let them then. None of it matters anymore. What’s the point in racing when you have no one to race for?” I snarled. “And I’m not an alcoholic and I haven’t been in any fights. It was one really shitty, life-altering day.”

  Anthony made a deliberate effort to soften his words. “Dustin, talk to me. What’s going on? What happened? You don’t get cuts from nowhere and you don’t drink to excess without good reason.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Raine and Teo asked about you. They’re worried too.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He sucked in an exasperated breath. I wasn’t convincing anyone, even myself.

  “We all care about you, Dust. Don’t push us away.”

  “I’m not.”

  “They asked if they could have tickets to your race. They want to see you.”

  I ground my molars together and my gaze bore into his. “No. Keep them away. They are not getting in my garage, you hear me?”

  “Dustin—”

  “No, Anthony. You keep them out. I can’t deal with them right now on top of everyone else.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell them no, but talk to me. What’s going on?”

  I folded my arms and the wounds scored into my heart tore open a little more. Every word sent a searing stab to my chest as I held back my explanations. I couldn’t tell my story and not have people look at me differently.

  I didn’t want to be pitied or babied, and I definitely didn’t want people watching my every step, waiting for me to shatter.

  “I’m not talking about it, Tony. Let me deal with it in my own way.”

  Silence hung in the air for a minute. Anthony gripped the steering wheel in agitation. From the corner of my eye I could see he wanted to say more, and was struggling to decide whether he should.

  Finally, he broke the silence. “Okay, I’ll stop asking and trust you to deal with everything.”

  My relieved exhale was premature.

  “But you had better finish the season with your best races. No more getting drunk, no more fights, and no more missed flights. If I allow you to do this you will be on time for everything. You will throw all of your energy into winning and landing a Formula One contract. Got it?”

  I balled my fists against my chest and spoke through gritted teeth. “Got it.”

  What Anthony didn’t realise was I didn’t have much energy left to throw into anything. Every morsel was being used to keep me relatively functional throughout day-to-day life.

  * * *

  Despite what I’d thought when I agreed to Anthony’s ultimatum, I threw myself into racing the second I arrived in Hungary. Throughout Free Practice and Qualifying I focused solely on being the best and destroying the competition. I channelled my agony and rage into an unwavering focus where I only saw the track from the letterbox sized window inside my helmet.

  I became part of the car when in it. Moulded to my body, it fused to me like a second skin so I joined with the machinery, and I was its heart. When I had to get out of the cockpit I ran over my numbers.

  Drive, analyse, improve.

  It was all that ran through my mind.

  Drive, analyse, improve.

  I had been wrong when I said I had nothing left to race for. I raced because I loved it and even though it was hard to feel any kind of passion for the sport at that moment, I refused to give it up.

  People had taken too much from me already.

  It turned out my new focus had an effect. I qualified on pole and I felt unstoppable. Nothing would prevent me from winning and no one would enter my bubble as I headed out to my car on race day.

  I answered the few reporters with brief, clipped answers when they followed me. A few of the more familiar ones were taken aback by my attitude. Since I’d become known as the joker of the track my abruptness didn’t fit with what people had come to love me for.

  Tough shit.

  I pulled on my helmet and waited by my car at the front of the grid. I stared down to the first corner, visualising the track, and when the team gave me the signal I clambered into my car and waited for my engineer to tighten the six seatbelt straps to hold my body in place. Comfortable had never been a word to describe single seat racing. The belts had to be tightened to an impossible level for safety in the event of a crash. They also helped eliminate muscle fatigue by physically holding the driver in place so we became a fixed component. They cut into your skin and made it almost impossible to breathe. However, they hurt a lot less now the bruises on my chest were healing, and they hurt a hell of a lot less than when Elora bruised my ribs. That had been murder. I fitted the steering wheel in place, tuning out all noise except the engines revving around me. I even shut out the voices of my team boss and engineer in my ear.

  I flexed my fingers around the wheel and set my car up for the start.

  I was a machine; becoming one with the car.

  Eventually my team backed off from the car to the edge of the track. I flicked down my visor, the last barrier between me and the outside world. Snapping it shut blocked everything out to conceal me in a stuffy bubble where not even the fresh air penetrated. It focused me.

  We were stationary for less than half a minute when the lights on the gantry illuminated above me and signalled for me to lead away the grid on the formation lap.

  And soon I returned to sit back on the grid and wait for the final car to be in position.

  The lights began to turn red and I revved my engine.

  One.

  Two.

  I pulled in both paddles on my steering wheel.

  Three.

  I revved the engine again and I felt the car come alive beneath me.

  Four.

  I stared at the lights. As soon as the fifth one lit up I released my car, allowing it to surge forward.

  * * *

  My team cheered for me as I pulled up into parc fermé and stopped in front of the number one sign. Behind the metal railing they jumped up and down, waving me over as I pried myself from the cockpit. In the past I’d run over to celebrate with them. This time I kept my he
lmet on, gave a brief wave to the fans, and headed into the building to be weighed. I picked up the promotional shit I had to wear on the podium and ignored the other two drivers and my engineer who’d been selected to receive the constructors’ trophy this week. Keeping to myself, I gulped down my water and stared at the TV displaying all of our times.

  Mine weren’t fast enough.

  I wasn’t far enough ahead.

  Sure, I’d won, but I could always get more out of the car or push myself further.

  One of the organisers announced they were ready for us on the podium. The other two drivers, Cale and Raffele, who were two of my closest friends on the circuit, left the room. Then finally it was my turn.

  Summoning all of the enthusiasm I could, I forced a smile. I placed a bounce in my step as I heard my name called over the speakers and strolled out to take first place on the podium.

  Throughout the whole ceremony I laughed and played along, even through the damned champagne showers. I did what people expected of me for the cameras, though on the inside I felt little. My body acted on auto-pilot, performing the actions ingrained in my muscle memory thanks to my many wins. In reality the end couldn’t come soon enough.

  Chapter Seven

  Tazia

  I was rapidly driving myself insane. I used to be an active person and to suddenly become so restricted in what I could do and where I could go had my body twitching with the desire to get out.

  Since my flat came fully furnished, it left me with little to do inside. I’d deliberately chosen it because of that reason and now I was starting to think maybe renting a flat with slightly more work to do would have been a better idea. After all, I could only watch so much daytime TV. I knew I should stop when I became so absorbed by Jeremy Kyle I shouted at the TV like I was a part of one of the dysfunctional groups on there.

  Don’t judge me, I wasn’t proud of myself for that either.

  Anyway, with three weeks left of my eight week recovery I knew I needed to start doing something or risk losing my mind. Therefore, I decided to indulge myself and make my favourite treat: chocolate and passion fruit macarons. I hadn’t baked since the accident, and being away from work only intensified the gap. I hadn’t felt the desire to create anything amidst the chaos that was my life, so I’d simply stopped. The passion hadn’t been destroyed though, and the more I thought about baking, the more the appeal grew.