Page 65 of Away We Go

I bite my lip. “It just sometimes feels like maybe you…don’t?”

He doesn’t respond for so long that I worry I’ve offended him.Is it rude to tell a person they seem unhappy doing the one thing in life they excel at?

Though, come to think of it, Nicky excels at many things.

“I do still love racing,” he finally answers, his voice hushed. “I guess I just don’t love everything else that comes with it.”

“Like?” I prompt. From where I’m sitting, the whole thing looks so fulfilling.

“Like the politics of the sport. Do you know we’re not allowed to make any political statements or speak on ‘sensitive topics?’ We’re one of the biggest sporting organisations in the world and we choose to race in countries where basic human rights are being denied to its people. And we’re not allowed to say anything about it.”

I swallow hard at the passion in his voice. He’s obviously thought long and hard about this.

“And then there’s the constant travel. The never being in the one place long enough to enjoy it. I have a home in Monaco I barely ever see. A garden I never get to tend to. My schedule means I rarely have time enough to come home and see my family. To see you. Do you know there were three years there where I didn’t see you?”

Of course I know that. I’ve always been aware of the long periods between getting a glimpse of him in the flesh. I just hadn’t realised he’d also noticed these time gaps as well.

“My parents are getting older, and even though we don’t have the closest relationship, I wish I could spend more time with them as well.”

Nicky’s parents aren’t the sort of people one would describe as warm and fuzzy. They are both busy corporate lawyers who seemed to have little time for their only son; when he was growing up, they were more than happy to send him to stay with his best friend’s family over every school holiday break. As a teenager, he was always more reticent than Matt, the two of them having opposed, yet complementary personalities. Looking back, I think this may have been because Nicky grew up…lonely. An only child to absent parents, it made sense that he preferred being at our house as much as he did. It also makes sense that he grew up to earn a reputation for being aloof and cold, when in reality he’s just reserved.

“I get that,” I say in a soft voice. “But I’ve seen you out there, Nicky. I know how much you love racing.”

I feel the whisper of his lips over my hair and I snuggle into him further. If I could, I’d burrow right under his skin.

“I do love it. The time I feel most alive is in those moments just before ‘lights out.’ When it’s just me and the car, everything goesstill and quiet. I can feel my heart beating and it’s when I fall in love with racing all over again.”

The way he describes it? I long to feel the way he feels. It sounds incredible.

“I’ve experienced nothing like that.” I pull away to stare into his face. “You’re lucky to do a job where you get to feel like that.”

He stares back at me, his lips parted, his chest rising and falling. As I drown in his eyes, the world around me stills and I can feel the blood rushing through my veins.

Hmm, perhaps I have felt that ‘lights out’ feeling after all. Every time I’m close to him.

His arm tightens around my shoulder and the air around us shifts as he moves closer into my space. This time, I lick my lips, the universal sign waving him in for a kiss and I swear for a millisecond that he thinks about it.

“Let’s get some gelato,” he says instead of planting his lips on mine. I groan softly as he shifts away from me, once again creating distance between us.

I grit my teeth and try to smile at him. I know he’s doing the right thing, the sensible thing, in keeping an arms-length between us, especially out in public. Especially when I’m sick. But I can’t say I’m not disappointed.

“Sounds good.”

We walk back to the hotel along the river, reminiscing about the time when I was seven and he was fifteen, and he and Matt were teaching me how to ride a bike. It was a futile task my parents had long given up on, claiming I was chronically unbalanced, but one afternoon, my brother and Nicky decided to take up the mantle. After twenty minutes of sheer frustration, Matt waved the white flag of defeat, returning inside to his beloved Xbox instead, while his best friend stayed. With the utmost patience, he’d coachedme and encouraged me and then applauded me when I finally pedalled successfully down the street.

To this day, it is one of my favourite memories. Although, to this day, despite that one moment of glory, I remain unable to ride a bike.

“You still can’t ride a bike?” he repeats this disclosure back to me, his mouth forming a perturbed O shape.

I shrug. “Eh, it’s not an essential life skill.”

He shakes his head and tugs on my arm, pulling me to a small gelato cafe hidden down a tiny cobblestone-paved ally, where he orders me a strawberry ice cream in a waffle cone without asking.

The man must have a part of his brain dedicated to ‘Cherry’s favourite things.’

I don’t hate that idea.

“Thanks.”

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