Page 6 of You Wish
His grandparents’ house, located in Pine Village, a small rural community at the base of a range of majestic mountains, was the first of two places in Jake’s world that wasn’t dripping with responsibility or competitive shit. Their ranch, which was on a Christmas tree farm, didn’t have room for stress or anxiety. It was about family and fulfilling people’s Christmas wishes. Then there was chopping trees with an ax. Manly shit.
The other place was with his buddies, even when they did make a fool out of him on and off the track. Which was why Jake felt himself relax when he saw his two best bros seated on director chairs, shoving each other and arguing about—Jake assumed—who was the best driver.
“You made it,” said Henry, the youngest and most responsible of the trio.
“We thought you were weeping like a baby in the bathroom,” Enzo said, his Italian accent making the “th” sound like a “d”. There was a distinct pattern and intonation to his words, most of them ending with an extra vowel, that made him a world class ladies’ man.
“Weep this,” Jake said, holding up a hand to the camera to hide his finger, which was flipping Enzo the bird.
“You want to talk about how you handed me another podium?” Henry asked.
“Mics,” Enzo said, pointing to the thousand and one cameras and mics around the room.
Jake set his helmet on the shelf and, picking up a towel, slid onto his chair. He ran the cloth down his face to wipe away the residual sweat left over from driving seventy-two laps at over two hundred miles per hour. He sighed.
What a fucking disappointment.
He had two weeks to get his shit together if he were to take first at the upcoming Abu Dhabi race.
The three winners watched the highlights of the race, making comments on their strategy and where they came up short or succeeded. All the things the fans live for. Jake did his five-minute sentence in the room and then stood. They only had a few minutes to take the podium, and he had to hit the head.
He was two steps out the door when Henry stopped and turned to face the rest of them.
“Back to you going wide, what the hell happened? And don’t you dare say?—”
“The yips.” Jake shook his head. “The media is right. I’ve got the fucking yips.”
“You don’t have the yips,” Henry said, his British accent making him sound like an expert on everything from global warming to how to bake a souffle. “It’s just a little performance anxiety.”
“Does this performance anxiety follow you to the bedroom?” Enzo, his former best friend, asked.
“Fuck you.”
“You’re not my usual type.”
“Seriously, what happened?” Henry asked.
“I had a momentary lapse in focus.”
“The only kind of thing that could cost you a guaranteed win would be a woman,” Henry said. “Trust me I know.”
“It’s not a woman.”
It wasthewoman. The one who ran over his heart, put it in reverse, and ran over it again—until all that was left was roadkill.
“Liar. It’s that woman you saw at Henry and Jane’s wedding,” Enzo said, referring to Henry’s little sister who recently tied the knot at a lavish wedding in London. The same wedding where he bumped into Georgia.
“We met back in college,” he’d said.
“It was a long time ago,” she had said that day at the wedding.
Casual as can be. As if they’d been nothing more than passing acquaintances. When in reality, they’d been lovers and, he’d thought, soul mates. When he’d been with her, he felt as if he belonged. As if he’d found his person and was no longer going through life alone.
Another thing he’d been wrong about. Well, he wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. Once burned and all that.
“I thought you’d said Georgia was just an old flame.” Henry laughed as if he knew something Jake didn’t. Asshole. “Guess it’s still flickering.”
Flicker didn’t even begin to explain what had been going on in his chest last week. Not that he was going to tell that to Curly and Moe. Instead, he remained mum on the topic.
