Page 54 of Handle with Care
“You sold it?”
He nods, shoulders sagging a little. “It’s complicated.”
I reach out to touch his arm. “I’m happy to listen if you want to tell me about it. Only if you want, of course.”
Will’s gaze flickers up, something raw in his expression. “I didn’t want all the attention. And I didn’t want to be known as Mr. McLaren either.”
“Fuck. Will. I’m such an ass. I’m so sorry?—”
“It’s not only the museum. Or what you said,” he says in a rush. “I never wanted the car to begin with. It’s very nice, but…”
“You—what?” I blink, uncertain. It’s now or never. “I mean, I have many questions. Like how you got a McLaren in the first place.”
He winces, then nods slowly, almost as if to himself. “My father wanted me to have it.”
“Your father?”
“It was his idea. But my car. He bought it for me.”
I let out a low whistle. “So, the rumors are true: you really are that posh, then.”
He makes a sound of protest, opening his mouth and shutting it again. “Well.”
“Don’t worry, it’s only me putting my foot in my mouth again. Honestly. You don’t need to tell me anything you don’t want. But if you do, I promise I won’t say a word to anyone.”
“I… I feel I should be honest too.”
“You’re not obligated to because I told you about my mom. I wanted to tell you.”
“I know.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. He looks anywhere but at me. “It’s not easy to talk about. Everything’s tangled together. The car, my father, the accident.” He pauses for a long time and then speaks again, right when I’m about to tell him not to worry about it. “My father bought me the McLaren to tempt me to drive again. Even though I wasn’t driving when the accident happened. He was. Except he was mostly okay, and I lost my leg, along with my future plans. I mean, I’m lucky I didn’t lose my life at seventeen. I nearly did.”
“Fuck. Will…”
He stares at the wall behind me, shivering. “It was a tough recovery. I struggled. I guess in some ways, I still do. My dad figured what every young man wants is a McLaren, I guess. Some flash sports car, at least. But it really isn’t me. I get heneeds to do something with his guilt. And my parents have had a high burden on them since because of me and everything I needed after. But… I wasn’t the one who hit a pole. It’s lucky we didn’t hit anyone else. It could have been worse. A lot worse. But obviously, my life changed.”
I chew my lip, my heart aching for him. “I can’t even begin to imagine…”
“Everything stopped. I… told you I was an athlete. Once. In football, chosen as a promising pick for a leading club in England, destined for big things, they said. Playing football was my passion then. Except, obviously, I couldn’t do that. I was lucky to walk. Every summer, when the anniversary comes around, it’s rough. And it’s this week, so I can’t help but think about it.”
“Will—”
He cuts me off. “No. So while my friends did a gap year traveling or started uni, I learned to walk again. Went to rehab. Finished my school by distance. And then got into Cambridge for economics. I wanted to stay closer to home than LSE, even though I could have gone there too. Even though London isn’t far.”
“That’s a very different path than sports, I’ve got to say.”
He flicks an eyebrow up. “Is that so strange?”
“It’s not strange,” I assure him. “Just not the usual combo.”
Will shrugs. “It made my parents happy to see me focus on something again. Except I refused to drive, and they were always picking me up, or I was taking taxis. My dad kept trying to get me to drive. When I was twenty, he bought me the McLaren. Which mostly sat parked at home, even with the modifications so I could drive it, like the hand clutch. I was too embarrassed to take it to uni. I drove it more lately, getting in to work. Because public transport isn’t easy for me.”
“Holy shit, I’m such an asshole for making you take the tube that time?—”
He waves me off. “You didn’t know. And I didn’t want to explain then. It was fine, better than I made it out to be in my head.”
Will twists his mug in his hands, searching my eyes. There’s something far away in his. “Since I’ve told you this much, I may as well tell you the rest. I felt totally lost at the end of uni. Gray offered for me to come work with him, but I didn’t want to—yes, because of cronyism, because people would think I didn’t deserve the chance, when there are so many people eager to work at a gallery. Qualified people. We had family friends at the museum, and they told me to apply for the internship. And, well, I suspect my father talked to them, probably with a donation in hand, knowing him, though he hasn’t confessed. And here I am.” This time, the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “So, you’re right that I don’t deserve to be there.”
“Will… please. You deserve to be there. You’ve worked so hard, learning so much. Reading all those books. Being so organized. You deserve it.”
