Page 36 of Racing for Redemption
I bite back a retort. He’s trying to provoke me, and I won’t give him the satisfaction.
My mind is on my parents, now living in a modest house in Australia. Dad finally got to retire, and Mom has a small garden she tends to religiously; she said she’s growing a mango tree just for when I come visit and indulge in the sweetness I love. They’re happy, finally doing things for themselves after decades of putting me first. I miss them more than I can express. The way Dad’s eyes crinkle when he laughs. Mom’s terrible jokes thatsomehow always make me smile. I like to think I carry a bit of them with me.
They’re attending my first race. Six-hour car trip to Melbourne, despite me offering to pay for flight tickets. “Save your money,” Dad said. “You’ll need it.” That’s my father—always thinking ahead, always planning for contingencies. I still got them tickets, because the prices are ridiculous in the VIP area.
“Haven’t seen them in person for almost a year,” I continue. “But they’re driving for the season opener. They want to see me race in Formula 1.”
For a moment, something close to empathy flickers across Nicholas’ face. Then, it’s gone. “Fine, whatever. Family’s important. I get it.” He turns back to the camera with a practiced smile. “Can we move on? I’ve got dinner reservations at eight.”
The director nods gratefully and signals the camera operator. “Let’s try something lighter. How about dating life for an F1 driver?”
Nicholas perks up immediately. “Now, we’re talking.” He slaps my shoulder. “Foster here needs some help in that department. Too serious all the time. Right, mate?”
I force a neutral expression. “I’m focused on racing.”
“That’s exactly the problem!” Nicholas laughs. “All these gorgeous women throwing themselves at us, and you’re obsessing over tire compounds. When’s the last time you got laid? Abu Dhabi? Before that?”
The marketing intern shifts uncomfortably. She glances at the exit.
“I’m not discussing this,” I say firmly.
“Come on,” Nicholas prods. “I can set you up. I know this group of models who follow the European races. Absolute stunners. No strings attached. Just what you need to loosen up.”
I take a deep breath. “I’m not interested.”
“Not interested in women?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Not interested in treating anyone like disposable entertainment,” I correct him. “I’m more of a romantic. I love sex as much as the next guy, but I want someone to settle down with, not… whatever it is you’re talking about.”
Nicholas looks at me like I’ve asked where the button is to turn on the car's engine. “Settle down? You’re twenty-four, not forty-four.”
“Some of us think with a different head, Nicholas.”
He shakes his head, then turns to the marketing intern. “Don’t listen to him, sweetheart. He’s the boring exception. Most drivers know how to have a good time. Speaking of which, what are you doing after this shoot?” Nicholas’ smile turns predatory. He winks at her again, making a show of looking her up and down. The woman’s shoulders tense, her eyes dropping to her screen.
Without thinking, I place my hand firmly on Nicholas’ shoulder. “Hey, dude,” I say, voice low but firm. “Stop making her uncomfortable.”
He looks at me, surprised. “What? I’m just being friendly.”
“You’re looking at her as if she’s a piece of meat,” I say, keeping my voice level but firm. “Show some respect.”
Nicholas scoffs, shrugging my hand off. “Since when did you become the morality police? She probably loves the attention.”
The woman’s flushed cheeks and rigid posture tell a different story.Ah… I wanna punch him.
“Not from you, she doesn’t. She looks like she’s a call away from putting your ass in jail,” I mutter.
“Seriously,” Nicholas continues, “what’s the point of all this”—he gestures around the room—“if not to enjoy the perks? The money, the fame, the women.”
“The racing,” I say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Speed. Competition. That indescribable feeling when you nail a perfect lap, and every cell in your body is alive. To be one of the twenty people in the world who get to live this dream. To win. Not because of women, money and fame.”
“Oh fuck. When did you become such a prude? Oh wait, I know…” His voice drops to a mock whisper. “Was it around the time you were groveling to get this seat?”
A knot forms in my stomach. “What are you talking about?”
His smile turns nasty. “Word gets around, Will. I heard you begged for this drive. Really pathetic stuff. Did you come here to get into the boss’ pants? Is that your angle?”
The room goes completely still. We’re no longer being recorded.
