Page 38 of Formula Chance

I shake my head, trying to find my breath, my voice. “Nothing. Just a nightmare. I’m fine.”

She doesn’t buy it. Of course, she doesn’t. She goes to her knees, the sheet falling down as she turns to face me, but I can’t even appreciate her naked form. “Talk to me,” she says gently.

A hand on my thigh.

I want to shrug her off, to tell her I’m fine and go back to sleep. But the rawness of the dream clings to me, suffocating. I glance at her, the lines of worry etched across her face, and something in me cracks.

“It was the crash.” I inadvertently trace the scars over the back of one hand.

“Do you dream about it often?” she asks quietly.

“Sometimes,” I admit gruffly.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Her tone is hesitant, offering me an out if this is too uncomfortable.

I seize on it, because while I don’t ever mind talking about the crash and I’ve already told her most of the details, I’m not about to tell her she had a starring role in this one.

I shake my head again, offering her a lame smile. “It doesn’t matter,” I assure her. “It happens on occasion. Not a big deal.”

“Nash.” Her voice is firm but tender. “It does matter. You’ve been through something unimaginable. It’s normal to still have nightmares, but maybe talking about it will help.”

I don’t respond, my gaze fixed on the wall across from me.

“You’re sweating,” she murmurs, her fingers brushing along my temple. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” I lie, rolling away from her and off the bed. “I’m going to get some water. Do you want anything?”

“I’m good,” she murmurs and settles back against the headboard, drawing the sheets over her body.

In the kitchen, I pull a glass from her cupboard, fill it with tap water and down it. I take a few deep breaths, something I was taught early on in therapy when I was suffering a lot of anxiety and guilt. I can feel my heartbeat returning to normal.

Why the fuck was Bex in the dream? Why was she the one dying? I’m sure there’s some symbolic meaning behind it all, but I find myself not really wanting to know the answer. Things are… complicated. We crossed a line last night and I’m not sure where that leaves us. I only know I don’t want things to be complicated.

Just as I know that I’m not going to push Bex away now that we’ve… come together? Reconciled? Fucked?

“Christ,” I mutter. I don’t even know what the hell we are.

I rinse the glass, put it in the sink and return to her bedroom. She’s staring at the ceiling, her gaze coming to me when I enter.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, and that’s the truth. I feel better now that the last dregs of the nightmare have floated away.

I slide back into the bed and we both roll to our sides, facing each other. “Sorry if I scared you.”

“You didn’t. I just hate that you’re having nightmares.”

“They’re not that often. You should have seen me right after the crash. I’m guessing maybe I’ve got some nerves with the Melbourne race coming up.”

She nods. “That seems natural. How do you feel about getting on the test track day after tomorrow?”

I blink, the question pulling me out of my own head. “What?”

“The test track,” she repeats. “Are you nervous about it?”

It’s right around the corner. The day I’ll finally get in the Titans car. We’re heading to Silvercrest, the circuit Global Prix track here in England.

I exhale slowly, her question giving me something to focus on. “A little,” I admit. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in a proper formula car. The simulator’s one thing, but the actual car…” I trail off, shrugging. “It’s different.”

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