Page 127 of Away We Go

Nicky is typing...

Nicky is typing...

RACE NINETEEN

Brazil

Interlagos Circuit, São Paulo

31 October – 2 November

CHAPTER 25

Cherry

I had always believed there was a limit to the amount of tears a person could shed over a twenty-four-hour period. When I was sixteen years old and my beloved grandfather passed away, I’d tested that theory. And again, at the start of this year, when Troy dumped me without warning, I’d given it a red-hot go.

During both times, I’d cried a lot. Like bucket loads. And yet, that pales in comparison to the oceans of tears I’ve shed since I walked away from Nicky.

I glance at the TV and blow my nose, watching Nicky take his spot on the top step of the podium, having just won the Brazilian Grand Prix by a full twenty seconds.

“He doesn’t even try to smile when he’s up there anymore,” Matt muses from his spot on the other side of our parents’ couch.

It’s been five weeks since I left Nicky in that hotel room in Singapore and fled back to my childhood bedroom in my parents’ house. And although my heart feels more broken with every day I’m away from him, watching him win the last three races and secure the championship title proves I made the right decision.

For Nicky, at least.

“He’s probably just exhausted,” I say, my throat sore from trying to hide my tears. After weeks of moping and sobbing, I know my family is almost fully out of sympathy to give.

“From what?” he raises his eyebrow at me. “That was a dominant win from pole to finish. Reverting to the old spec was the best decision the team could make.”

This has been the focus of much of the discussion during this triple-header. After that poor performance in Singapore, both Jack and Paul had given interviews speaking on the failed upgrades and vowing to go back to the car they had before the break. They had a two-week break between that race and the upcoming triple-header and they spent that time reverting the car back to one that could win races.

In the first race after these changes, Nicky won from P2, with Patrick taking the third spot on the podium. I watched that race with my mum at 2.00 a.m. Melbourne time, crying into my hands both at the sight of him on my TV screen and the fact that he was winning again. The next week, the team was in Mexico where the high altitude made it difficult to know how the car was going to respond. Happily,Vortex Motorsclinched a one-two victory, and Nicky took the top honours again that weekend, along with the bag of points.

I’d watched that race on my own; my parents still giving me support but no longer willing to sacrifice their sleep. In hindsight, that was probably for the best. I’d spent much of that ninety-minute race whimpering into a pillow, my heart crumbling into tiny little pieces.

And now we’re here. The end of three weekend races in a row. The Brazilian Grand Prix is one of Nicky’s favourite racetracks and having won today, it is now mathematically possible for him to takethe title at the next race. He should be beaming at me through my TV screen.

But Matt is right; he can barely muster up a smile.

“Have you spoken to him?” I ask through trembling lips.

He shakes his head. “Oh, no. Not going to happen. I’m not getting in the middle.”

I nod, blotting my swollen eyes with a tissue. “That’s fair.”

My brother gives me a long look, shuffling closer to me and pulling me into a tight hug. I lean against his shoulder and inhale a shaky breath. My lungs hurt from just the act of breathing these days.

“You’re a real mess, you know that,” he mutters.

“Yes. I am.”

He sighs, running a gentle hand over my hair, pushing back the strands stuck to my damp cheeks. “Then why are you doing this?”

We’ve been over this so many times. At this stage, I’m wondering if he has some cognitive impairment. “I’ve told you why.”

“Explain it to me again.”

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