Page 87 of Away We Go

“Well, for what it’s worth, he’s not been fine.”

We look towards theVortex Motorsgarage where Nicky is most likely working on his race strategy with Paul.

“He won last week,” I argue. After the disaster in Canada, Nicky bounced back with an emphatic win that silenced all his armchair critics.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

I shake my head. “Nate, he asked for space.”

“He did thatforyou.”

Grrr.I know this; it’s what makes it all so much harder. Nicky is doing this for me, and it’s making memiserable.

“Yeah.”

I look towards the team garage again, sucking in a breath when my eyes lock with Nicky’s. He’s in a deep discussion with Jack, but his gaze is on me. On Nate and me.

“The poor guy,” Nate sighs next to me, looking at Nicky with a grimace. “Just go easy on him.”

My mouth drops open.What’s he talking about? Me go easy on Nicky? Nicky, who is making all the decisions? I have to go easy on him?

I spew this sentiment at him between bursts of angry snorts and he chuckles in response.

“You can’t see it now, Cherry. But with that man, you have all the power.”

He jumps up and offers me his hand. I grumble as he pulls me up and into a brief hug, hating that he got the last word in this silly exchange and that his last word was all kinds of stupid.

“Thanks, Cherie,” he whispers into my ear, halting my internal, angry monologue.

“Anytime,” I tell him. “And be careful out there today. Get your head on right.”

Nate nods and walks back towards his garage with his shoulders slumped, his usual swagger missing.

“I have a bad feeling about today,” I mutter under my breath as I make my way back to Serena.

“Is he okay?” she asks when I get to her.

I look at the seat beside her, my usual seat, and frown. It’s no longer empty and what’s worse is it’s now occupied by Frieda. The woman who seems permanently displeased around and by me, and who brings all of my self-doubts and insecurities to the surface.

“Yes,” I reply, taking the only vacant seat left, on the other side of Frieda.

“Sorry,” Serena mouths behind Frieda’s back.

I shrug. It’s not her fault.

My knee bounces as I unpack my camera bag, focussing on the job I’m here to do and not whatever it is Nicky’s publicist is here to say to me. I’m fairly sure she’s been on board with the plan for me to stay away from Nicky—it was probably her idea in the first place—so whatever she has to discuss isn’t something I likely want to hear.

“How are you getting along, Cherry?” Frieda asks after five painfully long minutes.

“I’m fine. My face is better now.”

Her icy blue eyes trace over my face and I fight not to squirm under her scrutiny.

“Hmm, and what a face it is.”

Is that a compliment?It was delivered almost as an insult.

I flick my gaze to Serena, who shrugs.

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