Page 133 of Away We Go

“If you haven’t forgotten, we’ve both got inside connections with the team. We can just message someone when we get close.”

This makes sense, though I’m loathe to message Serena to ask for help. I know she was hurt when I just disappeared without saying goodbye after that race in Singapore and the last thing that I want to do is call for a favour when we’re rebuilding our friendship.

Hmm. Who else to ask? Definitely not Frieda.

“I’ll message James,” I say at last. “See what he can do.”

Matt nods. “Yeah, he’s a great guy. He’ll be able to sort us out.”

With this ‘insignificant’ problem solved in his mind, he leans his head back and closes his eyes. I watch him for a bit, envious of his ability to shut off. We’ve been travelling for over a day now and as exhausted as I am, there’s no way I’d be able to relax like that. Not with what I’ve got coming up. The stakes are too high for me.

“James just messaged. He said to text him when we’re outside the Paddock. He’ll come get us.”

Matt peels one eye open and his smile has ‘I told you so’ written all over it. “And he’ll keep it a secret?”

I show him James’ last message, complete with exclamation marks and a wink smiley face. The man is on theCher-ickyship.

“Great. Now you can relax.”

I snort. There’s no chance of that happening soon.

“This is as far as I can take you,” our taxi driver says a short time later into the silence that had descended on us. He points to the barricades up ahead with a grunt. “Stupid race takes over the whole damn city.”

Matt pays the exorbitant fare and we collect our luggage. “Which way?” he asks.

Consulting my app, I point. “The ‘dome’ will act as our guide.”

The ‘dome’ is a giant digital sphere in the middle of the track, lit up in glorious technicolour, which cycles through each of the drivers' faces, blowing them up to almost grotesque proportions.

“Let’s go.”

We follow my Map app’s directions, taking a few wrong turns, thanks to all the tall buildings messing with the GPS signal. When we near the Paddock, I message James, all the while patting my twisting and turning stomach.

“Cherry.”

Nicky’s bodyguard, and my friend, stands on the other side of the fence waiting for us when we get there.

“And Matt!”

The two men grin at each other as he lets us in through theVortex Motorsteam entrance.

“It’s good to see you. Both of you,” James says, giving my brother a manly thump on the shoulder.

I grin at him. “I’m happy to see you, too.”

The look he gives me is careful. “It’s a big day for Nicky.”

“We know,” I rush to acknowledge what he’s not saying. “We’re not here to distract him. Is there any way you can sneak us in without him knowing?”

He nods. “Yeah, I’ll take you up to the sponsor’s box. He won’t ever bother to look up there.”

Matt chuckles. “Nicky hates all that corporate nonsense.”

We follow behind James, and I stick close to my brother, keeping my head down to avoid any attention on me. If anyone was to catch wind of my presence here today, it would get back to Nicky, and that’s the last thing he needs.

When I abruptly left the team after Singapore, the media had a field day with it, saying I’d fled the country in the middle of the night (which, fair, is what I did). So many articles were written about Nicky as the jilted lover or me as the scorned broken woman, or a mixture of them both. Neither of us has issued any sort of official statement, so as far as the press and the public are concerned, our relationship is in limbo.

Again, fair. And also, true.

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