Page 136 of Red Flag
“Then talk to me when you’re ready,” I said, peeling his arms off me and walking out without looking back. I went straight to thePrixtonpit box.
Chapter 29
Nix’s bike was taken out by a crash that weekend in France. He’d grumbled but gone back to the pit box and swooped upAlv’sson on the back of his bike before doing a lap.
The media had gone crazy. He’d signed his fine with a grin on his face.
Like everything was fine with him.
My contract withPrixtonwouldn’t start until the beginning of the next season. Not that it meant much. I’d still have to see him next year.
The only time we’d interacted was atAlv’sfuneral. Despite trying to avoid him, we ended up in the pew together and — under his suit jacket — he held my hand as tears filled his eyes.
But, back out in the sunshine, we’d ignored each other again. He had a new manager. I spoke to Nix through him.
So I did my job. I prepared forLuca’scharity boxing match, arranged interviews, held press releases, and coordinated questions from journalists before the races—not just forCiclatiorPrixtonbut for all ofStormSprint. I threw myself into my job to distract myself from the upcoming trial.
And I didn’t need to babysit NixonArmas. I hadn’t for sometime.
Despite breaking theStormSprintrules and losing yet more points, Nix had nothing but positive articles. People were emotional for him and the loss of his friend.
It was when I was scrolling on my laptop that the text notification came through to my screen.
Nazmin: I can’t call right now but have you seen this?
The next text she sent was a link. It showed up with a photo of me andVinnyat an after party, his arm around my shoulders as we both smiled for the camera on a low velvet sofa, a drink in both our hands. But you couldn’t tell it was me; my face was blurred.
Before.
It was published 23 minutes ago.
Late Disgraced Tennis Star Vinny Garvs Accused of Rape.
My heart sprang up into my mouth, it’s beating pulsating in my throat, nearly making me throw up with every beat.
I couldn’t do this.
In my hotel room, I pushed back the chair and simply stared, knowing that when I clicked on the article, everything would change.
It was silly. I knew it as my hand hovered, reaching out. It was already out there for the world to see.
For me to see.
Nazmin’stexts were coming up underneath, but I paid them no attention.
I just looked at the picture of him. He always had an unapologetic toothy grin. He had always been relaxed about touching me. His hand cupped my shoulder. I could almost feel the warmth, the pressure of his disturbing touch through my pyjamas.
He’d been a friend. When I was in denial the weeks and months after, I’d still classed him as that.
Until I’d seen the photo that had leaked. We’d had sex. Sex had happened. That was clear.
There was proof.
But in the panic, in the refusal to accept what I knew, I’d let him sleep on my sofa when his wife kicked him out. I didn’t have the guts to recommend him a hotel.
He’d been my friend. Friends looked out for each other.
And when he made a move on me, half-drunk, I’d pushed him off and he’d let me be.
