“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dad is back. “Alejandro called and said that Mel is very upset, crying her eyes out.” I open my eyes and stare up at him with a wry smile. Of course, the golden boy would call Daddy.
“Good.” I won’t feel guilty. I won’t feel sorry. And I won’t feel bad. Let her suffer like I’m suffering.
“You’re drunk?” He figures it out but still sounds surprised. “You have a qualifying session tomorrow.” I know. But I don’t care. “You’re breaking your rules?”
“Fuck … the … rules,” I stutter.
Dad takes a deep breath, lets it out as a long sigh, and runs his fingers through his hair before he drops onto the chair next to mine.
“Son,” he starts, “I know this is a shock.” He wavers for a moment. “Hell, I was shocked too. So was your mom. To find out I have a son I never even knew existed.” He grabs the bottle of whiskey from my hand and takes a shot. He still thinks I’m upset about the whole having-a-brother thing. But it’s not that. I don’t mind the brother … I’m upset because of what he did. He broke the rules.
“But it is what it is.” He sips again. “I only wish Christina would have told me.”
“Why? Would you have married her and not Mom?” I’m spiteful. Stupid. Drunk.
“No, I would still have married your mom. She’s the love of my life. But I would have worked something out and be there for him at least.” The love of his life.
“Dad,” he looks at me surprised by the sudden change in voice. “What would you do if Mom chose someone else?” He frowns.
“I would have thought for her as hard as I could. Because she’s worth it.” I stare up at the stars. Mel is worth it too. I grab back the bottle and finish it. Dad gets up to fetch a new one. He also brings back two quilts and covers me with one, keeping the other for himself.
My lids are heavy and I close my eyes, thinking of Mel.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
She’s thumping away with a hammer to my head. And smiling while doing it. She’s killing me. It’s excruciating. A throbbing pain.
I open one eye and scrunch it against the bright light of the sun.
THUD. THUD. It comes from the door.
There’s no Mel. Only a dream.
“Damion! Open the fucking door!” Mark’s voice drills straight into my aching head. So he’s the one trying to kill me, not her. I slowly sit up straight. Dad moans on the chair next to me and blocks his eyes with his hands.
“What’s going on?” he mumbles, also sitting up, rubbing his temples. “My head feels as if it’s going to burst.” I look at the empty bottles on the ground. A little too much alcohol I would say.
It seems he kept the pity party going even after I passed out. Although, I was two bottles ahead. I look around for my phone to check the time. It’s not where I left it.
“GRIMM!” Mark is getting anxious. Why doesn’t he just come in? He’s got a fucking keycard.
I winch with every agonizing step to the door.
“What the hell?” he shouts and I want to close my ears. He seems pissed as he looks from me to my dad. The old man is standing next to me with a droopy face. I smirk, even though there’s nothing remotely funny about any of this.
“Where’s your key?”
“I don’t know. It’s just gone.” That’s a first. With his OCD he never loses anything. “And security shows someone used it early this morning to get in here.” He scans around the house as if expecting to find whomever still here.
“Video showed someone in a black hoodie – looks like a girl.”
“There’s no one here,” I say. Or hell, I hope not. I glare upstairs as if I can see through the walls into my room. It would not be the first time a groupie snuck into my bed.
“Strange,” Dad also looks around a bit worried.
“You better get your ass in a shower. We’re leaving in ten.” As I dawdle up the stairs I hear him swearing on his way to the kitchen, taking the smell of bacon coming from the paper bags in his hands, with him. He goes on about how he needs to change the locks again, stupid assholes, and wrong choices.
My tummy contracts. I sure made some of those last night. But it’s her fault, not mine.
At least there’s no one in my bed. Or under it. And the closet is clean too.
The cold shower helps to wake up my brain – but does nothing for the pain. I swallow down some aspirin to clear the ache in my head at least, and get dressed.
Feeling slightly better I stray to the kitchen. Mark brought breakfast burritos, with bacon and egg and the hot sauce I like. I gulp down two and a coffee without actually listening to a word he says.
“Can someone phone me … I’ve lost my phone.” Dad calls my number. I walk around the house listening to hear it ringing. I eventually find it on a table on the far side of the terrace. Where I haven’t been last night. Or maybe I have.
“Let’s get going.” I’m eager to get on the track. To get on my bike. Out there, I can escape my demons. At least for a little while.
We board the Reaper van – Sean, me, and Dad, with Mark, our data technicians, and crew chiefs. The others follow in two additional vans. Approximately 30 individuals accompany us on our travels around the world. We also board the truck with the bikes (six at a time) and the marked vans wherever we go in our private plane. The rest are at headquarters.
“I know you’ve already got the championship in the bag, but let’s go out with a bang,” Mark says to me. “Sean, you need 23 points to beat Graham, and he’s not here. If you take a win here, you’ll move into second place. A podium finish will put you ahead of Zaine in third overall.” Sean nods. He needs to do his best in the qualifiers. At this moment I don’t give a shit … I just want to race.
I’m going too fast, but I need the speed. I need the thrill. The danger. Anything to get that darn photo out of my mind. But it seems to be engraved there forever – Alejandro holding Mel in his arms, tight, their heads locked together. Thank goodness you can’t see his tongue in her mouth.
I speed up, trying to lose Zaine who has been towing me, and tear down the track at a mindboggling 200 miles/hour when my front wheel misbehaves throwing me off balance and off the track, hurdling uncontrollably towards a looming wall.
It’s a nerve-wracking experience.
My bike collides forcefully with the wall launching me into a wild mid-air somersault before crashing hard. The intensity sends me tumbling along the wall and slamming into the back barrier.
I get up, assessing my body for injuries. I’m a little bruised, but okay. My bike however is done.
I look around and see the Honda bike lying on the gravel. My breath hitches. For a split second last year’s accident rushes through my mind. I remove my helmet and frantically look around for a body. But Zaine is upright. He seems to be okay.
He takes off his helmet and throws it onto the ground. Pissed. Great.
We walk towards each other.