Fast & Hard: A Formula 1 Romance (The Fast Series)

by Kat Ransom

  “William, are you stupid? Nevermind, don’t answer that. You are, indeed, stupid,” Digby goes back to flogging William. I lose track of what he’s even going on about, something about the private plane, maybe? Who cares, there are videos of Digby doing cocaine on his phone! It was definitely him! I’d recognize that pasty white chest and smarmy face anywhere.

  Between my racist NBA player and other naughty clients of the past, I know what a video like this can do to an athlete’s career. Steroid use alone has brought down legends, Digby doing blow off some women’s stomach has to be enough to tank him.

  I knew he was a fraud, I knew it! Mr. Squeaky Clean apparently can’t keep his nose clean!

  Fuck, they’re in the Recently Deleted folder and are going to auto-delete themselves. I didn’t even notice how many days they had left.

  I don’t know how but I have to get those photos and videos. I’m going to take this trash to the curb. Douchelicker Dupont, you’re going down! You’ve fucked with the wrong New York nanny.

  I need access to that phone, which means I need access to Digby. More access to Digby. I swallow hard.

  In that moment I hear a shrill giggle from Lennox’s garage bay, or it could be a seabird being strangled. A blond-haired Oompa Loompa has her triple D’s plastered up against Lennox, who is laughing like a hyena and taking selfies with her.

  I want to claw her eyes out. I want to slap the hell out of Lennox. I can’t deal with this right now. My brain goes into survival mode. It’s fight or flight time. I hear Cody’s voice telling me I’ve always been a fighter. I’ll cry more later but right now, I fight.

  I touch Digby’s arm, I run my hand up to his shoulder. I smile at his surprised reaction.

  “What is this, Ms. Mitchell?” He licks his lips.

  Stay down, bile. Stay down.

  “He humiliated me in front of the entire world,” I act like a wounded butterfly. It’s not a had act to play right now, quite honestly, and the Oompa Loompa is illustrating my point all too well.

  “Ah, a woman scorned?”

  I nod to the blond bimbo nanny behind us with her pink fingernails all over the love of my life. “Two can play at this game,” I shrug suggestively as Digby glances behind him.

  I need to play this cool. He’s stupid but I can’t risk being too obvious.

  “Interesting. You’re a wicked one, Ms. Mitchell.”

  “Mr. DuPont, you have no idea.” I run my palm up and down his back and he puts an arm around me while he continues his assault on William.

  Across the garage, I catch a glance at Lennox slapping the Oompa Loompa’s ass. I’ve tried to avoid looking him in the eye for days now, but mine are drawn to his. I want to tell him so much.

  Why are you doing this to me? How could you?

  Despite it all, I am still going to help you, you stupid asshole. I will do this for you.

  ◆◆◆

  It’s past three in the morning and I haven’t slept. At this point, I may as well stay awake for my early morning flight back to Aylesbury. But there’s nothing I can do but plot so I continue to lie here and stare at the smoke detector light on the hotel room wall that blinks every three-point-six seconds.

  Tomorrow, or today I suppose, I go back to the Celeritas headquarters until the next race two weeks away. Lennox will not be in Aylesbury with me. He won’t be across the hall from my flat. He isn’t across the hall from my hotel room now, but at least he is in this building, somewhere. I think. Is he alone like I am each night?

  Doubtful. You’ve seen how women throw themselves at him.

  Stop thinking about him. Focus on the plan.

  My stomach growls. I don’t remember eating today.

  Knock knock. Knock. What the hell. I check the clock again. Then I sneak out of bed to see what’s going on. If it’s Digby at my door, I’m not ready for this. What if he doesn’t have his phone? No, I’ll have to stay in here and hide.

  I patter in the darkness to the door and look through the peephole. My heart drops and the damn tears start to flood my eyes. Lennox is in the hallway with his long arms stretched above my door frame, his head hanging down. He has no shirt on, what the hell is he doing?

  I can’t leave him out there, Digby is on this floor and if he sees Lennox outside my room, it might ruin my plans. He has to believe I am anti-Lennox. I am anti-Lennox, damnit.

  You lied but he put the nail in the coffin.

  I take a deep breath and open the door to my dark hotel room. He stands upright and his face meets mine. He looks like I feel, bags under his hooded eyes, sagged shoulders. The green of his eyes is shattered.

  I move aside so he can enter and he staggers two steps inside and bumps into the small office desk just inside the entry. My door closes and I turn the desk lamp on. “Are you drunk?” I whisper.

  He looks around my room like the dumb asshole is expecting Digby to be there, then he shrugs. His reddened eyes are transfixed onto my shirt. His shirt, the damn Talisker Distillery hoodie. Don’t ask me why I’m wearing it. I know the right thing to do is burn it.

  I cross my arms and draw myself in when I catch a hint of his cologne. His hair is unruly and looks like he’s been running his hands through it over and over again. Or maybe someone else has been running their fingers through it tonight. “What do you want?” I ask him when he doesn’t speak.

  His gaze drops from the logo of my sweatshirt to my bare legs. The hoodie comes up to my mid-thigh. His eyes come back to mine and he whispers, “you.”

  A tear rolls down my cheek, I can’t stop it despite how angry I am. He lifts a hand to wipe it away but I smack his hand back, “Don’t.”

  “Don’t cry,” his voice cracks.

  My anger rises, heating my flesh and building pressure in my brain. He’s been making me cry, deliberately, and now he shows up acting like he gives a shit. “What do you care? Why are you here?”

  “Creature from the Black Lagoon is on TV.” He mumbles.

  “Are you fucking serious,” I bark. “That’s what you came here at three in the morning to say to me?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  I could think of a million things I want him to say. But what’s the point? “Nothing. I don’t want anything from you. Get out.”

  “Please,” he whispers. His nostrils flare for a breath and his chest shudders.

  “Please, what? What do you want?” Despite being angry, the tears keep coming. He looks so broken I can’t stand to look at him. I want to hit him and I want to hold him, not in any particular order.

  “Argue with me, call me an asshole, anything.”

  “It’s too late, Lennox. I don’t want to fight with you anymore,” I shake my head. These stupid tears, they sting my eyes from all the broken blood vessels.

  “Don’t say that,” his hand comes to my face and I try to slap it away but he brings it back and his warm palm cradles my cheek. I close my eyes and try to control my breathing. “I miss you so fucking much,” he whispers.

  My shoulders heave, there’s so much pressure in my chest. His thumb runs under my eye and he wipes away each tear that falls.

  “I don’t know what’s real anymore, Mal.” I blink through the haze and look up at him. “I don’t know who’s here because they care and who’s here to fuck me over.”

  “Why don’t you ask them?” I sob.

  “Because the truth hurts, maybe I don’t want to know.” He brings his second hand up to tuck my hair behind my ear, but it’s too much. As much as I want his touch, it reminds me.

  “Go ask your Big Tits, your new nanny,” I smack his hands away again.

  “She quit.”

  I huff. “That’s great, even she has more sense than I did.”

  “I told you I was an asshole,” he speaks softly.

  “It’s not funny, Lennox. You said you were ‘an asshole not a monster’ but you are a monster!” I make air quotes about the little joke he’d always make while doing something obnoxious than sweet tw
o seconds later. “I was real. You hurt me. You destroyed us.”

  “No,” he grabs my hand but I pull it away. “Jesus, please stop, please let me hold you.”

  “You lost that privilege when you fucked half of London!” I back away from him.

  He follows my steps, “I didn’t. I wouldn’t. You know that.”

  “I don’t know that! Have you seen the fucking photos? How could you!” I am yelling now. If hotel security comes, that’s fine with me, they can haul him away.

  “All I ever wanted was for you to trust me and you still can’t.” He takes a step back and grabs fistfuls of hair on his head.

  “I did, and you broke it!” I poke my finger at him. I am quaking from emotion.

  “I know I was an asshole but I did not touch anyone else. I don’t want anyone else. Mal…”

  “Tell it to Kate,” I snarl at him.

  “Oh fucking hell,” he turns his back to me with his hands on his hips. He paces a few steps before turning back. “There was no Kate! There is no Kate!” He’s yelling too now.

  “It doesn’t matter, you are deliberately being cruel and I will never believe you!” I scream and look him in the eye and watch his face change. He looks like I slapped him. Like he’s just been hit with the finality I’ve already come to realize, if not accept.

  There’s a long pause where all I can hear is my heartbeat before he finally says, “Well, I guess that’s that, then.”

  “Looks that way.” I stare at the wooden desk. He moves toward the exit but pauses. My insides are turning inside out, panicking because once he walks out of this room it’s really over. I have to fight my body to not beg him to stay.

  “You know, no matter how pathetic it makes me, I still wanted you. Even after you made my worst nightmare come true. I still wanted you. I would have forgiven you.” He reaches for the door.

  “I did not betray you!” I scream and stomp my foot.

  His head hangs down to the floor and he nods at his feet, then looks back to me. “But you did. You’ve been lying to me just like the rest of them. I begged you to let me handle this. I would have given it all up for you.”

  “Given it up?” I rave at him. “Are you mad? This is your dream! Everything you’ve worked…”

  “No,” he interrupts me. “I just needed you to trust me. You were my dream.” He opens the door and starts to leave but turns back. “I love you, Mal. Goodbye.”

  Twenty Eight

  “These are just flames, burning in your fireplace. I hear your voice and it seems as if it was all a dream, I wish it was all a dream.” - The Head and the Heart - Another Story

  Lennox

  I don’t know why I bought this house. I envisioned a home, but it isn’t. It’s a house. A giant, empty house with black stones as dark as my heart. It’s been almost two weeks now since I’ve locked myself up here like the monster in the castle. How fitting.

  I quit checking my phone, no good has ever come from it. I feed the bloody cats then slip back into bed and sleep all day. The cleaning service had long since changed all the sheets by the time I pulled up the drive so any traces of her were long gone. Just as well, there are enough memories lingering to haunt my every step no matter where I go here.

  I don’t go to the cliff because I remember holding her there. I can’t walk into the kitchen without picturing her making breakfast and wrapping my hands around her from behind, nuzzling her neck. The living room where we made love on the floor, Mallory trying to pin my hands down and teasing me into losing my mind, which was inevitable. I need to sell that stupid Harley, too. Give it to charity or something. I don’t want to see it.

  Eventually, it’ll fade away.

  I can either lay around streaming Netflix off the satellite internet and do my best to avoid old horror movies or I can pick up another house project that I’ve started but never finished. Or I can continue to sit outside at the fire pit drinking scotch all day and watch the flames dance and flicker and listen to the wood crackle.

  It’s as warm as it gets in Scotland now, when the grass is long and lush and the seabirds are busy with their hatchlings along the cliffs. Warm salty breezes pass over me and make the brush whistle. When I built this fire pit I thought I’d sit around it in weather like this, but with friends and family, a woman I hadn’t yet met who would fill this place with love and make it a home. But it’s still just me kicking around the ninety-six acres by myself.

  Isolating myself because no connection is better than an inauthentic one. Hollow is better than hurt. No words whispered in my ear is better than lies.

  I hear rocks crunching between tires and swivel to stare down the long, winding gravel drive. Pop’s old blue Mitsubishi pick up truck is ambling down the path. I don’t know why he insists on driving that damn thing, it’s beat to shit and I bought him a new one ages ago.

  I haven’t been to see him or Mum or Bram. They know I’m here, they know why — more or less — they know I flew straight home after Austria. There’s nothing else for me to do except finish up the season and then I’ll be back here for winter break. Several more months by myself.

  “Hey, Pop,” I say as he strolls past the garage and takes a seat in a wooden Adirondack chair that surrounds the oversized stone fire pit. He looks older than I remember, I wonder how many of his grey hairs I’ve contributed to his silver head in my life. Between the races, the crashes, and all the rest of my bullshit.

  He and Mum sacrificed so much for me. Even though their house is paid off and neither has to work anymore, Pop looks particularly disappointed with me today. It’s one of my greatest fears and adds to the malaise that’s overtaken me since I told Mallory I loved her and then walked out of her life.

  “Your Mum sent me,” he starts.

  I nod. That sounds about right. I don’t even know where my phone might be today and Mum’s probably worried. Because that’s what I do to my parents, make them worry and embarrass them. Let Celeritas bring shame upon them, too, when all the Scottish papers talk shit about me.

  “She wants details,” Pop says.

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” I swirl the amber liquid around in my glass tumbler.

  “You know I can’t go home empty-handed.”

  I sigh and get up, taking a few steps to the small bar area built into the stone wall surrounding the fire pit. A few feet from where Mallory threw her phone into the fire and said she knew me. “Drink?”

  “Aye.”

  I pour Pop two fingers and slouch back into my chair to stare mindlessly at the fire some more. If it has any words of wisdom for me, the fire hasn’t said shit yet. But I’m still going to stare at it.

  “It’s different this time,” he announces after taking a slug of the peaty scotch.

  “What is?”

  “It’s different from when it ended with Kate. You were mad then. You aren’t mad now.”

  He’s right, I’m hollow, but not mad. “No, I’m not mad, Pop.”

  “Why not?” Christ, this is going to turn into the Spanish Inquisition, just what I need.

  “Ah hell, I don’t know.” I huff and throw a splinter of wood from my chair into the flames. “I guess because last time it hurt my pride more than anything.”

  “And now?”

  “Now? Now there’s no one to be mad at.” Besides Digby, of course. Fuck him. But they don’t know about that. They just think I’m a shitty driver and a shitty son, both are probably true enough.

  “But yourself.”

  “Aye.”

  Pop leans forward, elbows on his chair arms. Even his eyebrows are grey now. “That’s much harder than being mad at someone else.”

  “No one to beat the shit out of, that much for sure.” Just that one assclown waiting for me to lose my mind and beat him senseless so he can take the very last thing from me and ensure I won’t drive for anyone next year, or ever again.

  “Oh, you’re beating yourself up plenty, son.”

  I shrug and continue my lifeless g
aze into the flames. “I wish I could.” That part is true enough and I ponder the physics of physically beating the hell out of myself.

  “Is it over, for sure?”

  “It’s over, Pop.”

  He sighs and sits back into the chair. “Mum won’t be happy. She liked her.”

  “You only met her once.” I know that’s a crap excuse as soon as it leaves my mouth. I’ve only known Mallory for five months and I’ve loved her for at least half of them if I’m being honest.

  “Aye, but she’s the only one we ever met. Mum was so happy she cried,” he waves his arm.

  That’s bloody perfect, now I am making Mum cry, too. Way to go, asshole. There’s apparently no depths you will not sink to. Mallory’s right, you are a monster.

  “She made you happy,” Pop continues.

  “Yeah well, apparently the feeling wasn’t mutual.” I take a long gulp of my scotch and let it burn my throat.

  “You sure?”

  “Real sure, Pop. No room for interpretation.”

  “But you love her?”

  I kill off the last swallow of drink, lean forward and set my tumbler on the ground. I put my hands on my knees, my head down, and rub my eyes and forehead. “Listen Pop, I’m sorry to disappoint you and Mum and everybody else but it’s over. She doesn’t trust me. Has never trusted me and said she will never trust me. So that’s the end of it.”

  He pauses a long moment, maybe he understands now and this conversation can stop. “Well, what are you going to do about it?” He asks.

  I raise back up and turn my head to Pop, “I just told you, she doesn’t want me. It was over the minute she started lying to me, anyway.”

  “Ah,” he nods, “she done you wrong?”

  I shrug. I don’t know how to explain this to him but for some reason, it’s important to me that he doesn’t think Mallory is like Kate. I know she isn’t. “No,” I mumble.

  “What was that?” He questions and puts a hand to his ear dramatically. Smartass.

  “There’s nothing to be done about it.” I lean back in my chair and slink down.