Faster Harder

by Colleen Masters

  My team, of course, is ecstatic to have an advantage over Harrison. I ride over to the course with my dad and Enzo, and neither of them can shut up about how wonderful this turn of events is. Dad has yet to say a direct word to me, but my head is full of his arrogant carrying on all the same. I sit beside them, watching the city fly by. I hope that Harrison doesn’t think I sabotaged him on purpose, keeping him in bed all morning. He has to know by now that I’d never do anything to hurt his chances on the track. Well...I’d never do anything on purpose. But I’ve given up hoping that our relationship can continue on without a few casualties.

  I shudder, imagining the possibility of really causing Harrison harm. Enzo lays a comforting hand on my shoulder.

  “Don’t be nervous,” he says, “Today is cut and dry. And the way things are going, I bet that tomorrow’s going to be even better.”

  It’s breaking my heart, the extra effort Enzo’s putting in to make me feel better. He means well, but he’s so in the dark about what’s actually going on in my life that his attempts are downright laughable. But at least he’s trying to make up for his inconsiderate behavior. My dad, for his part, simply can’t be bothered to even notice my discomfort.

  Just as Enzo’s predicted, the qualifier goes off without a hitch for him. But I barely notice a thing about his performance. Today, I only have eyes for another driver entirely. From the moment we arrive at the course, my gaze is glued to McClain’s fire-red race car. Harrison has yet to test this track out, which means that the chances of something going wrong are at an all-time high. My fingers are clenched around the barrier railing as the cars take off, and Harrison quickly drops into last place. I’m at once relieved that he’s taking it slow and anxious for him, knowing that the disadvantage must be killing him.

  Harrison doesn’t even manage to make it into the top ten by the end of the qualifier, while Enzo sails across the finish line just behind Landers. I halfway suspect that he let his friend go past him, just for the sake of his narrative. If a driver places first each and every time, people become less interested in him. The drama that goes along with F1 is a big component of every tournament, a fact of which my brother is sharply aware.

  As soon as the qualifier has wrapped up, I make my way to the Ferrelli camp. Bex joins up with me en route, but remains mercifully silent. She doesn’t even need to ask about what happened yesterday morning. She knows full well where I was, and I have a pretty good idea of what she might have to say about it. I’m undyingly grateful to her for not dredging the subject up once more. I don’t know how much more emotional acrobatics I can take just now.

  The closer we get to the Ferrelli corner of the course, the more my sense of dread begins to mount. There are media types swarming around Enzo’s car, trying to get a word out of him. Bex and I exchange wary glances and dive into the fry, trying to wrest some order from the rowdy group of reporters. I elbow my way through the crowd and finally make it to Enzo’s side. He’s grinning into a microphone, reflecting on today’s qualifier and his chances for tomorrow. I feel my dad step up beside me as we look on.

  “I’m feeling very confident about tomorrow,” my brother is saying, “Especially since some drivers who may have posed a threat are starting to show their true colors.”

  “Are you talking about Harrison Davies?” the reporter asks.

  “I don’t want to toss any names around,” Enzo says with a wink, “But I think we all know who I’m talking about.”

  “Do you have any idea why Davies may have skipped yesterday’s preliminary?” the reporter presses.

  “Look,” Enzo says, “My Dad’s been training me to be a professional since the day I was born. Davies didn’t have that same kind of...presence in his life. Perhaps we can conclude that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?”

  I can hear the blood pounding in my ears as Enzo shoots the cameras a wide grin. I whip around to face my father, who’s smiling smugly at his son.

  “You wouldn’t do what I asked,” Dad says, “So, I passed the buck along to your brother. He’s always looked out for this team.”

  “And who’s going to look out for him, if you’re too worried about winning to care about whether he’s a good person or not?” I shoot back.

  “I don’t give a shit whether or not he’s a good person,” Dad scoffs, “I just want him to be a good driver. A champion.”

  I stare at him, dumbfounded, as the media presses in around Enzo, swarming in to swallow him whole.

  ***

  Just as I arrive back at the hotel, I receive a text from Harrison with the name of a restaurant on the far side of the city and a time for us to meet. I stare down at the message, biting my lip. It’s getting harder and harder to sneak off away from my team. After yesterday morning, I feel like I’m on lockdown. Between Charlie, Enzo, and my dad, there are too many watchful eyes trained on my every move to make a clean escape. It’s time to draft some reinforcements.

  Bex knocks on my door mere minutes after I shoot her a text. She’s all dolled up for the evening, looking flawless. Her primped appearance takes me by surprise.

  “Where are you off to, looking so incredible?” I ask.

  “I, uh, may have a date tonight,” she grins, stepping around me into the room.

  “No way,” I breathe, catching her hands in mine, “I didn’t even know...”

  “You’ve been a little preoccupied with your star-crossed lover thing,” she shrugs.

  “I’m sorry, Bex,” I tell her, “You must think I’m such a shitty friend.”

  “No, just a really shitty sneak,” she laughs, pulling me into a tight hug, “How the hell did you manage to sleep through the preliminary?”

  “If you only knew the night we had, you wouldn’t be surprised,” I grin.

  “Ooh, I love naughty Siena,” she giggles, “But that can’t have gone over well with your dad and Enzo. Are you and Harrison still OK?”

  “I don’t know,” I tell her, “After all that shit Enzo spouted to the press...”

  “Harrison won’t hold that against you,” she says, “That would be crazy.”

  “There’s not much about this situation that isn’t crazy, is there?” I sigh.

  “Nope. Not much.”

  “Listen Bex,” I say, skirting past her to lock the door, “He wants to see me tonight, at this restaurant across town.”

  “Well, that’s great!” Bex exclaims, “Look at you two, acting like a normal couple and all. This is more than sex, isn’t it?”

  “I think it might be,” I tell her, “Something’s changed between us. He...he told me that he has feelings for me.”

  “Shut. Up,” Bex says, her eyes wide. “What did you tell him?”

  “That I’m falling for him,” I say softly, “In so many words of course.”

  With a shriek of joy, Bex launches herself at me. For a moment, I’m totally swept up in her excitement. It feels so good to be able to share this with someone, after so many nights of feeling guilty and anxious. I’m falling in love, for god’s sake. It should be wonderful!

  “Someday, when you two are happily married, this is going to be an awesome story,” Bex tells me.

  “Whoa, put on the brakes,” I say, “I have a feeling that things are bound to get much darker before the dawn.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The whole letting the world know thing? How the hell is that supposed to work?”

  “Witness protection?” she suggests.

  “Great,” I mutter.

  “Well, look at it this way,” Bex offers, “Harrison fell behind in the qualifier today, which means that Enzo won’t feel so jumpy about him. Maybe they’ll forget about how much they hate each other now?”

  “Not if Enzo keeps dragging Harrison through the mud just to make sure he never gets back up,” I say miserably.

  “Well, you’re going to see him tonight. I’m sure you guys will figure something out.”

  “About that...” I begin, smiling hope
fully.

  “Uh-oh,” Bex sighs, “I sense a favor coming down the track...”

  “Just a little one,” I tell her, “There’s no way I’m going to make it out of this hotel without someone trying to get in my way. Could you...maybe escort me?”

  “Are you serious?” Bex asks.

  “Please,” I beg her, “You don’t have to come all the way across town with me. I just need to get out of here without anyone stopping me.”

  “But...What about my date?” Bex pouts.

  “Can you push it back a little?” I plead.

  “I...It’s just...” she stammers, “I might not be the best alibi, Siena.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Because...Oh Jesus, this is kinda awkward,” she giggles nervously, “My date...might be with someone...who has a keen interest in your whereabouts.”

  “What the...what?” I splutter, “Bex who are you...?”

  “Charlie,” she says.

  I stare at her, uncomprehending. “Charlie Spano?” I say, “As in, my built-in chaperone who’s been harboring a crush for our entire lives?”

  “That’s the one,” she sighs.

  “But Bex...why the hell would you want to go out with Charlie? He’s—”

  “A Siena Lazio fan boy. I know,” Bex says, “But what can I say? We’ve gotten to spend a little time together, since the tournament began. He’s a really nice guy, Siena.”

  “He’s a controlling, Ivy League stool pigeon,” I say.

  “Eh. He’s cute anyway,” she shrugs.

  “Bex, what can you possibly see in him?” I demand.

  “Company,” she says, “Some of us aren’t lucky enough to have a shot at true love and hot sex right off the bat, Siena. But that doesn’t mean we stop looking.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound like a tool,” I tell her, “I’m just...surprised, is all.”

  “I was too, when he asked me out tonight,” she admits.

  “You don’t think...” I begin, “Never mind. Sorry.”

  “Say it,” Bex drawls, “We might as well get it out in the open.”

  “What if...He’s trying to make me jealous by going out with you?” I suggest.

  “Then I get complimentary drinks for the rest of the tour and a shot at getting the marrying-for-money thing out of the way,” she laughs. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll be able to sway his interest away from the incomparable Siena Lazio. Maybe I’ll go brunette?”

  “You’re a piece of work,” I tell her.

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” she grins. “Get your things. We’ll head out together to ‘grab a drink’ before my date, and if Charlie asks I’ll say that you struck up a conversation with an interesting gentleman at the bar. It won’t be an utter lie, after all.”

  “What would I do without you, Bex?” I ask.

  “I have no earthly idea,” she shoots back, “Now come on. Let’s pick out something pretty for you to wear on your illicit little rendezvous.”

  Under Bex’s supervision, I choose a backless burgundy minidress and pile my curls into a loose up do. No one questions us as we stroll out of the hotel, and in no time we’re off toward the restaurant that Harrison’s picked out for tonight. I step out onto the sidewalk as we reach the agreed-upon address and look back anxiously toward Bex.

  “I’ll do some laps around the city before I head back. Have a good night, my darling,” she says, blowing me a kiss as the car pulls away.

  I turn toward the cozy hole-in-the-way restaurant and take a deep, steadying breath. Gathering my courage, I push open the front door. The dining room is minuscule, with perhaps six tables scattered about. And Harrison is nowhere to be seen. I’m about to turn and wait for him outside when the hostess hurries toward me.

  “Are you Mr. Davies’ companion?” she asks, in heavily accented English.

  “Y-yes,” I stammer.

  “Follow me,” she says, and leads the way into the back of the restaurant.

  I follow her through a turning maze of corridors and doorways until a light begins to glimmer ahead. We step out into a secluded terrace, lit from above by strings of white lights. A single table is set at the center of the patio, and Harrison stands to greet me. It’s hardly been 48 hours since I saw him last, but the surge of relief I feel setting my eyes upon him again propels me across the space, into his arms.

  “I missed you too,” he laughs.

  “Harrison, I’m so sorry,” I tell him.

  “For what?” he asks, pulling me toward the table.

  “For making you miss your preliminary,” I say, “For all the shit Enzo was spouting after the qualifier, and...why are you laughing?”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, “It’s just...Things are going just the way we wanted.”

  “Who’s ‘we’?” I ask.

  “McClain,” he says, “We’ve been gearing up for a coup since my first race. Siena, missing the preliminary was a brilliant accident. I look like an incompetent amateur playboy! And your brother’s pathetic smack talk is only helping.”

  “I don’t understand...”

  “We’ve been luring everyone into a false sense of security,” Harrison grins, “Now everyone will be blindsided when I start to win.”

  “How can you know that you’ll start to win at all?” I ask.

  “Trust me,” he says, “Come tomorrow, I’ll have secured my first win of the tournament. You can count on that.”

  “Does knowing you ever get less surprising?” I ask.

  “Nope,” Harrison smiles, “I’m afraid not.”

  Our waitress returns to fill our glasses with wine. Harrison raises his glass to me and says, “To my impending victory.”

  “Someone’s awfully confident,” I say, clinking my glass against his.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks, “I’m in my prime! I’ve been waiting for your brother’s defenses to fall since this season started.”

  A twinge of annoyance takes me by surprise. Something about Harrison’s brazen manner is rubbing me the wrong way, all of a sudden.

  “You do realize what a tough spot I’m in, don’t you?” I ask him. “You haven’t forgotten, in the light of your ‘impending victory’, that I’m totally going behind my family’s back to be here with you right now?”

  “Of course not,” he says, raising his eyebrows, “You can’t blame me for being excited about the race, though.”

  “I don’t blame you,” I tell him, “It’s just...I’m starting to wonder whether you know just how hard this is for me. Do you have anything on the line by being with me? Anything at all?”

  “How can you ask me that?” he says, his blue eyes blazing.

  “It just seems like you’re in the clear, all of a sudden, and I’m going to get screwed however this turns out,” I tell him.

  “In the clear...? Siena, you do realize what your family means to this sport, don’t you?”

  “Sure,” I shrug, annoyed by his tone, “We’re F1 royalty and all that. Blah, blah—”

  “You’re beloved,” he says, his jaw clenching, “Your dad and brother are the golden boys of F1. They’re everything that drivers should be. They’re good looking, smart, well bred, ferocious, and loyal. And as for me? I’m the degenerate bad boy whose father drank himself to death before he could see me race even once. I’m the underdog, Siena. Do you have any idea how powerful Ferrelli can really be? They could never go after me for winning a race fair and square, but if they decide that my being with you is unacceptable, I’m gone.”

  “How can that be true?” I ask quietly.

  “Simple,” he says, leaning his elbows onto the table, “This sport is as ruthlessly capitalistic as any. Ferrelli’s investors have got more cash in the game than anyone else. All your team would have to do is threaten to withdraw some of its advertising cash flow, and they can get whatever they want. Including my resignation.”

  “That would never happen,” I insist.

  “Like it or not, you’re a princess
in the fans’ eyes,” Harrison says, “And no one really wants to see their princess carried off into the sunset by some tattooed ruffian from a bad family. I’ve got just as much to lose as you do, Siena, but I’m trying to find some way for us to come through this together. Because as terrible as getting knocked out of the sport would be, losing you before we even got a chance to try and be something would be much worse.”

  “You mean that?” I ask.

  “Absolutely,” he says, reaching across the table and taking my hands in his.

  “Well. We could disappear into the Hungarian countryside and never be heard from again,” I point out.

  “It’s a thought,” Harrison says.

  We smile across the table as plates of delicious food are set down in front of us. The tension has been diffused for the moment, but I know that this is far from the last time the two of us will have to have it out. I’ve always know that relationships take work, but damn have we got our work cut out for us.

  “I liked waking up next to you the other morning,” Harrison tells me, “I wish we could make a habit out of it.”

  “I do too,” I tell him, “It made this whole thing feel...”

  “Real?” he suggests.

  “Well, yeah,” I say, “For a while, I thought you were going to lose interest once we’d slept together. Move on to the next F1 groupie.”

  “Before you, that’s probably exactly what would have happened,” he says, “To be perfectly honest, I never could have imagined something like this before meeting you. I mean...look at us!” he gestures around the terrace, “We’re having a goddamn date night, of all things!”

  “Is that so out of character for you?” I tease.

  “You're damned right it is!” he exclaims.

  “Then why did you insist on coming here?” I ask.

  “I...I don’t know,” he says, “I guess I’m still trying to impress you.”