Page 8 of Risk

“I feel like an idiot, and I don’t think this is going to get me back to racing. Now or ever again.” His fingers tightened on the steering wheel until they were white.

“Callum,” I said in my best calming voice, “This may seem like an inconsequential step, but believe me, you’re doing better than you think. Do you know how long it takes some people to seek help? Some never do, so for you to contact my office right after—”

“Don’t make me out to be something I’m not. I didn’t call you. It was the team. They said you were the best in the city, and if I wanted any chance in racing in the next race, I had to at least attempt therapy.”

“Well, you came, and that’s all that matters,” I countered.

“No, what matters is me getting back out on the track.”

“And we’ll get you there. I’m not sure if it will be by your next race, but don’t give up hope.”

“Hope. It’s such a funny thing. One second you’re flying high, and the next, it’s snatched from you, and you’ll do almost anything to get it back.”

“How do you feel about starting the car and driving a couple of blocks?”

“Like I don’t want to freak out while I’m driving.”

“Okay, that’s normal, but do you want to try? I promise that at any second if you start to feel like you might panic, you can pull over, and I’ll take over from there.”

“God, I feel like a pussy.” He placed the keys in the ignition but didn’t start the car. “I shouldn’t need you to save me.”

I turned to face him fully. “It’s okay to need help every once in a while. There’s nothing weak about that.”

“Maybe not for you, but for me…” He stared straight ahead without finishing his sentence.

“It’s a big deal for you. I understand, and it is for a lot of people. Do you think I like asking my colleagues if they could take my clients this week while I work with you?”

His eyes cut to me before he turned the key and started the car. “I’m guessing not.”

“No, because they’re my patients, and I worry about their wellbeing. I have a few who don’t open up to anyone else but me.”

“Will you worry about me once I leave Spain?” he asked, pulling away from the curb.

I had a feeling it helped if we talked to keep his mind off what was really happening.

“I will until I see you’ve successfully raced,” I admitted.

A car swerved in front of us and then took a sharp right turn. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but I did notice more sweat on his forehead immediately after.

“Are you okay?”

“To tell you the truth, no. I know that I have better reflexes than most, and we wouldn’t have hit that car, but for a split second, I was brought back to the wreck and smoke.”

“But you’re not there, Callum. Take a deep breath and look at what’s around you. Look at the blue sky and the buildings we’re passing. You’re safe. You’re here in the car with me.”

When I saw what I was saying was working, I kept talking. He drove around for thirty minutes before he pulled over on the side of the road by a hotel and turned off the engine.

Turning in his seat, he looked to me with a stunned look on his handsome face. “How did that work?”

“Because you let it work.”

“When you started talking, I tuned into you. I took in my surroundings, and almost all of my symptoms faded away. They were still there, but manageable with your brand of distraction.”

“So, you knew I was rambling and asking silly questions to keep your head in the here and now?” I giggled like a schoolgirl and wanted to roll my eyes at myself. Most of the time, Callum hadn’t answered my questions as he kept his focus on the road; a few times he’d glanced over at me, probably thinking I was crazy, and only a couple of times did he answer me. The point wasn’t to learn his deepest, darkest secrets—or anything really, for that matter—but to keep his mind off the fact that he was driving, might have a panic attack, and crash I noticed what worked best and kept my line of questioning to that.

And ithadworked.

“Does this mean I’m cured? I can race, and I’ll be fine?” His face lit up, and I hated to burst his bubble, but I had no other choice.

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