20. Marco

CHAPTER 20

MARCO

E nough.

It's enough.

Mission accomplished.

For a moment I'd thought she meant we were real now. We didn't have to fake anything because we were real.

We've got our revenge, so we can enjoy this.

And enjoy it we had, all night. This morning. My body was still singing to the tune of her touch. I couldn't lose like this, that much was true. I was honed, sharp with anger and mounting frustration. Not at Eve — she'd held up her end — but at myself. I'd let myself think somehow she'd want me. Somehow she'd need me for more than revenge.

I paced outside the drivers' rooms, through the last of the puddles. Splashed through them on purpose, spattering mud. Laughter rose from behind me, and I spun around.

"Eve! What are you doing here?"

She picked her way over, avoiding the puddles. "You ran out before I could give you this." She leaned up and kissed me. "For good luck."

My heart swelled and beat harder as her lips met mine. She pressed up against me, a perfect fit. Like her body had been made to lie against mine. Two spoons from the same set. For now, at least.

"Why were you stamping around in the puddles?" She toed at my pant leg. "You're covered in mud."

I grinned, feeling sheepish. "Blowing off steam."

"Save that for the race. I'll be waiting after."

Someone whooped from within and we both looked around, but we couldn't see anyone lurking in the windows. Still, Eve pulled back from me and took my hands in hers.

"I should get out of here. Let you get ready."

I drew her in closer. Stole one more kiss. But she was right. I needed to focus.

"I'll see you after," she said. "We'll celebrate."

Then she was gone, and I trudged back inside. Danny waylaid me halfway down the hall. He caught me in a headlock and dragged me into his room. A few other drivers were in there already, lounging around on the plush chairs.

"Hey, Greg," I said. "Hey, Sandro, Chet. Was that you guys hooting at me and my girl?"

Greg whooped again. Yeah, it'd been him. Chet rolled his eyes at me and kicked his legs up on the table.

"So, are you coming out with us after, or are you fully whipped?"

"He never comes out anymore." Danny clapped my back. "He's a ‘we' now. Domesticated."

Chet and Sandro both groaned. Sandro pushed back his hair.

"It's weird there's no middle ground when guys settle down. It's like this switch flips, and they go full boring."

Outside, a cloud passed over the sun. I narrowed my eyes at it, wary of rain. Behind me, Chet and Sandro were in full swing.

"Remember Rich Waters, used to party his ass off? He was a legend, then he met whatzername."

"Shelley," said Chet. "Or, no. Maria?"

"Whoever she was, it was bang, overnight. One night he's out partying, the next he's too tired. What do they do to us, girlfriends, wives?" Sandro shook his head. "It can't just be nagging. I'd just go out more to get away. It's gotta be, I don't know. Hey, Marco. What does Eve do?"

I shrugged off the question. "Nothing. I'm good."

"Then you're coming out later? The Viper Room?"

"No. Not tonight." I turned to go.

"See? What'd I tell you? Totally whipped."

Sandro made a whipping sound, a cheesy wah-tchhh .

"I'm not whipped. I just?—"

"What?" Sandro smirked. "Hey, when's the wedding?"

Something snapped deep inside me. I felt it go. Frustration surged through me. Anger. Resentment. She'd marry Rafael for what, for her parents? Commit to a life she didn't want? All that for him, and for me, what? What? I'd been there, supported her, made her look good. Held her when she needed it. Got her that commercial. I'd been ready to, yeah, be boring for her. To be domestic, to be a ‘we.' I'd have given things up for her, whole parts of my life, and all she could do was run off to New Zealand? Ditch me, move on like I never mattered? Like all I'd been was some tool in her toolbox?

"No wedding," I said. "We're not like that."

Sandro shot me a doubtful look. "Then what are you like?"

"We're like, uh, we…" A mean inspiration struck, a rotten impulse. I grinned like an asshole, greasy and slick. "Being with Eve, it's like eating peaches. Juicy, refreshing, a sweet summer treat. But the reason it's good is, the season is short. We'll be done in a week or two. I'll be back on the scene."

Danny whistled. "That's harsh."

Chet scowled. "You mean that?"

My foolish resentment fell in on itself. I saw myself in that moment like the guys must have seen me, puffed up and crowing like the world's biggest dick.

"We were teasing," said Sandro. "We thought you were happy."

I stood feeling stupid and small and ashamed. Hadn't I been happy? Of course I had. Eve hadn't lied to me or led me on. If I wanted more than she did, that was on me. But I'd never even had the courage to stand up and ask her.

"I have to go," I said.

"No, Marco, wait!" Danny started after me, but I strode out. I couldn't leave it even one second more. I had to get to her, tell her?—

"Where are you going?" Glen jumped out from nowhere. I tried to push past him.

"Out of my way."

"Not now you don't. The photo crew's waiting."

I stared at him. "What?"

"The behind-the-scenes spread. You signed off, remember?"

I stared at him blankly. He threw up his hands.

"For Drivers' World. Now move it, come on. We've just got time left before the race starts."

Next thing I knew, I was back in my room, posing with my books. Faking my ritual. The camera guy kept yelling relax , but all I could think of was Eve in the stands. Eve out there not knowing how I really felt. I had to get to her, lay it all out. She had to know how special she was. How she made my heart race. Even if she didn't feel how I felt, I needed her to know she had me. I was hers. I knew, as well, what I should've said to Sandro: falling in love didn't make a man boring. The boring part was the partying, the nights out, the hunt. Love was the point of it. The start, not the end.

I scanned the stands at the start of the race, but the crowd was too tight-packed. I couldn't find Eve. My heart battered hard on the cage of my ribs. She was up there. Of course she was. But where, where…

Next thing I knew, I was gripping the wheel. Racing to get to her, to our big moment. I couldn't think about winning, or anything else. Only her, only Eve at the end of the race. She was my prize now, and my destination. My world was the track, and the track was a road, and she was at the end of it. I had to get to her.

The tarmac flashed by me, the stands and the lights. The sky dimmed through all shades of late afternoon, shadows lengthening with deepening dusk. An impossible vision filled my heart and my head: the race done and won, and I leapt from my car. Eve was there waiting, bathed in starlight. I ran to her, held her, buried my face in her hair. Told her I loved her. She whispered it back. The roar of the track and the crowd fell away, leaving the two of us to seal our love with a kiss.

I almost missed the last lap, caught up in my vision. Almost kept driving and driving forever. Or until they stopped me, whichever came first. I stepped out only dimly knowing I'd won, searching already for Eve in the stands. I still couldn't find her. Had she slipped down to meet me?

Cameras flashed, bright in the twilight. Someone, maybe Danny, clapped me on the back. I grinned, raised my arms, but where was Eve? I'd come so far to get to her. Driven so fast. The lights were too bright, obscuring the stands. Maybe she'd gone on ahead to my room. A microphone thrust its blunt nose in my face.

"—quite a winning streak! What's your next challenge?"

"Ready for your rematch with Prince Rafael?"

"Any time, any place. He knows where to find me." I was babbling, making no sense. Rafael didn't have to come find me. Our next race was set in just over a week. But all I could think of was getting to Eve. Everything else was so much background noise. I peered over the cameras to scan through the stands, but she wasn't up there or down on the track. She wasn't anywhere I could make out.

"What's your strategy, Marco? To beat Rafael?"

I smiled, still searching. Manufactured a laugh. "I'd better not say," I said. "Might tip my hand."

"So it's fair to say, then, you're not confident?"

"What? No, of course I am." I pushed a boom mic aside. "Rafael's unpredictable, but that's all he's got. He leans too much on that element of surprise. I'm a better driver. It comes down to that."

"But he won your last race. He?—"

"Excuse me." I couldn't go without Eve one second longer. If she wasn't out here, she'd be in my room. She waited there sometimes when the crowds got too wild.

"Marco, wait! Did you know you set a record today? It's just been confirmed, you?—"

I squeezed through the press, shaking my head. Grinning all dazed like I couldn't quite hear them. "Sorry, I gotta — just hit up my agent. We'll set up some interviews, but I need to, uh…" I broke free and went jogging up off the track, out through the garage, straight to my room. The words were already poised on my tongue, ready to burst from me, all I needed to tell her.

Eve, I don't want you to go to New Zealand. Or go, but come back. Come back to me.

I want to be with you, Eve. With you for real.

This might've started out as a joke, but I'm serious now. About you and me. I know you must feel it. I see in your eyes…

I flung the door open. Shouted out "Eve!" But my room was dark, empty, no one in sight. I checked in the bathroom, but it was dark in there too.

"Eve?" I leaned into the hallway and peered up and down. "Danny? Hey, Danny, have you seen Eve?"

He turned and looked for her, then shook his head. "Was she meeting you here?"

"I don't know. I thought so."

"Shoot her a text, then. She can't have gone far."

I scrambled out my phone and pulled up her contact.

Hey, in my room. You ok?

The dots popped up, vanished, then popped up again. They hovered for a long time, then disappeared. I stood gaping, waiting, but no reply came.

Eve? Are you ok? I can come get you.

Her response popped up instantly, like she'd been waiting.

Peach season's over. Have fun with your friends.

"Peach season? What?" It hit me mid-text and I froze, stiff-thumbed. Like eating peaches. The season is short. Had she somehow heard that?

I didn't mean that, I wrote.

I'm stupid. I panicked.

My texts didn't go through. They hung undelivered. I called her up, frantic: straight to voicemail.

"She blocked me. She blocked me."

"Eve? Man, that sucks." Danny scratched at his chin. "But you were done, right?"

I slammed my door in his face and leaned against it. My whole face was burning, my neck and my ears, a rush of hot shame. She must've come back, to wish me luck maybe. How much had she heard? The whole conversation? I ran through the whole sorry thing in my head, me not defending her. My peach remark. One petty moment, and I'd torn us down. All we'd had or could've had, and I'd gone and fucked it.

Juicy. Refreshing.

The season is short.

I wanted to puke, knowing I'd said that. Knowing she'd heard it, how that must've hurt. Just the thought of rejection had brought out my worst side. Being slapped in the face with it, how much worse was that?

I'm sorry , I texted, but I was still blocked. As well I should be, with what I'd said.

Danny was knocking. "Hey. You all right?"

I gulped air, wiped my face. Raked my hands through my hair. I was dizzy, head spinning, knocked off my center.

"I'm good," I croaked. "Just getting showered."

"Well, we're going out after. I'm guessing you're free?"

I tried to swallow and choked. My screen had gone blurry.

"Marco? You coming?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll come." I dropped my phone face-down in my gym bag. She'd blocked me. She'd gone. I knew — I could feel it. I could speed back to catch her at our hotel, but I'd be too late. Her stuff would be gone. She'd be at the airport or on a plane, halfway to New Zealand or back to her family. Wherever I wasn't, that's where she'd be.

"That was always the plan," I told the bare walls. "She'd always have left me. At least this way?—"

But I couldn't think of a single at least . Maybe our story was bound to end up this way, her going her way, me going mine. Maybe she'd known it right from the start: I didn't deserve her. I'd let her down. But did I have to come right out and prove it?

"I'm sorry," I muttered. "You're better off without me."