Wrecked (Dirty Air Series Book 3)

“It’s about damn time you showed up. I was beginning to worry you didn’t want to hang around me anymore now that you’re a hotshot racer.” Liam welcomes me to his private Vitus suite.

“Exclusive reports say you’re too busy with Miss Sophie Mitchell. Care to comment?” I hold an invisible microphone to his face.

“Ah, fuck off. The same insider told me McCoy got you a human ankle monitor. How’s it going?” He throws himself on a leather couch.

“As bothersome as the real deal.”

“And you know how an ankle monitor feels, how…?”

“Got in trouble back in the day. Imagine that.”

“I’d almost believe you, except I know your mom would kick your ass. Since she’s busy in London, you’ll have Elena to do the job for her.”

I pretend the mention of my mum doesn’t cause me discomfort. All my best mates think she lives her happy life in London, away from the media and race drama. I keep that part of myself locked up from everyone in the hopes of hiding my family’s issues. “Don’t remind me. I don’t know how I got stuck with Elena.”

“I told you to lay off the alcohol, but you didn’t listen. Elena was probably the only one crazy enough to accept a deal following your ass all year. I, for one, wouldn’t want to.”

“I regret what I did.” I settle into the couch across from him.

Liam places a pillow under his head. “Good. Use it as a reason to kick ass. By the way, nice job with your third-place qualifier. You actually have a chance to beat Noah on Sunday.”

Like a little brother, I feel a sense of pride at Liam’s praise. “Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you. Quite literally, by the way. Now with you gone, the attention is all on me, so thanks.”

“You may pretend not to give a fuck, but you seek the approval of those around you. How cute.” Liam presses a palm to his heart and bats his lashes at me.

I throw a pillow at his face. “Arsehole. We all have goals: you being the best of the rest, and me being the best.”

“Oh, how the tables have turned.”

“After placing fifth today, do you regret your choice?”

He shakes his head. “Not at all.”

I tap my fingers against my bouncing knee. “Why not?”

“Because I got to hook up with Sophie after and she did this thing with my—”

I throw another pillow at his face. “I prefer chugging champagne on podiums.”

“Spoken like someone who is one drink away from his first AA meeting.”

I flip him off. “Do you know how much I hate you?”

“If by hate you mean love, then I already know.” Liam flashes me a shit-eating grin.

“How do you know?”

“It’s a feeling I get inside, all warm and tingly. Kind of like heartburn after spicy Mexican food. And speaking of Mexican…”

I run my hand across my face. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. You may have diverted me earlier, but I see through you.” Liam makes a ridiculous I’m watching you motion with his fingers.

“There’s not much to share except I’m now under house arrest.”

He snaps his fingers together. “Like Ant-Man?”

“More like Disturbia.”

“Your common knowledge of Shia LeBeouf movies is a red flag. Actually, I take that back. You’re a red flag. A big, walking, talking, red flag.”

I smile at him. “And I’m going to wave it loud and proud.”

My phone rings twenty minutes later, interrupting my round of catch-up with Liam. I excuse myself, telling him I’ll meet up with him before the race tomorrow.

“Hey, Dad. How’s it going?” I exit Liam’s suite.

“Better than expected.”

“And Mum?”

“Hanging in there after everything. But also important, how are you doing?” My dad’s serious voice pulls a smile from me. He intimidates everyone but Mum and me, seeing as he treats us like his most cherished belongings.

If people think my crappy attitude is because of bad parents, they’re sadly mistaken. The Kingstons are all about the feels and shit, with me having weekly movie days while growing up and family pizza nights after my kart races.

I exit Vitus’s motorhome. The sun beams down on me as I lean against the side of the temporary structure, away from prying eyes. “Everything is fine and dandy.”

He chuckles. “Wow, no wonder you’re such a pro in front of the cameras. Now tell me how you really feel, minus the bullshit, please.”

I let out a loud breath. “It sucks arse being away from home. I feel guilty about competing while you’re both in London, dealing with doctors and checkups.”

“We all need to act normal for your mum’s sake. She couldn’t bear thinking you’re changing your life for her. I only ask that you keep her in mind when you think about doing stupid shit like what happened over break. It affects her the most, especially when she knows you’re hurting because of her.”

How is it possible to feel his disappointment from thousands of miles away? My hands begin to shake, and I clench them to stop the movement. “I have someone to help keep me in line, so I don’t think this issue will happen again. At least not to the level of what happened before.”

“And you think you can keep yourself together for the foreseeable future? Your mum has enough going on, and I love you, but her health is the priority right now. I can’t worry about the two of you at the same time.” My dad sighs. I imagine him squirreled away in his gym, hiding this conversation from Mum.

The sharp pain in my chest grows stronger. “Yes. I can be better. For you and her.”

“I didn’t call to give you a hard time about your mistake because I know the team will do it for me. I wanted to let you know that maybe you should give your mum a call. She’s been having a rough day and it would mean a lot to her.”

My hands tremble more as I fight to get air in my lungs. “What happened?”

“You know some days are harder than others. Your phone calls bring a smile to her face, so if you can make time in your busy schedule, I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course. I’ll give her a call as soon as I can.”

“Thanks. And congratulations on your great qualifier. We love you lots and are proud. This is going to be your year. We know it.”

“Thanks, Dad. Love you too.”

“I’ve got another call coming in. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He hangs up.

I can’t wait for my usual Sucky Sunday Special of feeling like shit after talking to my parents. The moment I hang up, I book it back to my private McCoy suite, needing a little help in the form of a pill before I call my mum.

The last person I want to see at a moment of weakness has her arse planted on one of my couches.

God, Elena can’t go, I don’t know, fix a PR crisis? I run an agitated palm through my curls.

“Hey, that was fast. I expected Liam to babysit you for at least an hour longer. I almost beat my highest score.” Elena flashes me a hesitant smile as she shows me some interior design creation from a game on her iPad. She created a huge living room with beachy decor, similar to my parents’ mansion back in London. The memory of what I’m missing out on causes a pain of something strong to shoot straight through my heart.Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

I hate Elena’s stupid, timid smile. I hate how I want to see more of it to ease the rush of emotions inside of me. My uncontrollable reaction toward her results in anger replacing anxiety. Like a tsunami, I’m on an irreversible path of destruction. “McCoy doesn’t pay Liam to take care of me, they pay you. Maybe you should concentrate on your job instead of messing around with a stupid game. If this is what you do during your free time, maybe you’re not worth the extra pay after all.”

“You don’t need to act like an asshole.” Her left eye twitches. It’s rather endearing, which adds to my frustration.

“Acting insinuates this isn’t my normal behavior. That’s where you’re wrong. This is me, and maybe you need to start wrapping your pretty little head around that. I’m not here to be your friend, love.” Something about fighting with Elena invigorates me. It’s fucked up, but the rage toward her feels better than the anxiety threatening my control.

Her left eye wages a war to remain open. “If you’re having a shitty day, don’t take it out on me. I’m only here to help you.”

“You’re only here to make money. The sacrificial martyr routine is a bit stale, especially for someone walking away with a padded bank account after all this.”

Something like guilt flashes in her eyes before she recovers. “Not everything is about money.”

“Yet you’ll be the first one to collect a monthly check from my struggles.”

She lets out a resigned sigh. “I don’t know what made you this angry. There’s nothing wrong with being anxious and irritable, but you need to get a hold of yourself. I can help you if you let me.”

“You can’t fix everything.”

“I’m not going away. So, if I can’t fix it, I’ll find someone who can.”

That’s my worry. I can’t have her getting close to me, trying to make me better. To make me want to be better.

Hope is for idiots with their futures ahead of them.

Hope is for those who wish under stars, or in a church, or in a desperate moment of need.

The hopeless don’t get those types of moments. We get a biological clock ticking above our heads, reminding us how shitty the world is.

Spoiler warning: we all die in the end. Except some of us end up there quicker than others.

I enter my room without looking back at her. The thud of the door closing fills me with dread. Alone again with my thoughts, self-hate, and never-ending worries. A dream team of the worst kind.

My breathing grows erratic as I consider the consequences of my actions. Fighting with Elena adds to my emptiness, black and endless. Sucking up her happiness fucks me up even more. I pace the small space, attempting to ease my racing heart, but failing.

My thoughts race in my head, my brain switching from one issue to the other with no reprieve. Thoughts of disappointing my dad, worrying my mum, and forcing Elena away push my mind past its breaking point. Forced breaths leave my lips as I attempt some deep breathing. All my strategies to relax fail me. The cold gray walls feel as though they’re closing in, giving me little space to breathe. Anxiety is a nasty wanker like that. It rips away my sense of an escape, growing larger by the day.

I grab my trusty pill bottle from my gym bag with shaky hands. Nothing can chase away my fears quite like my medicine. I’ve tried to take them less. I really have. Moments like these test my mental strength, and I can’t call Mum when I’m two seconds away from flipping my shit.

Relief floods my bloodstream twenty minutes later, easing my regret as I dial my mum.

I crave the numbness a Xan provides. My coping skills are shit, but name something about me that isn’t. I won’t hold my breath because they’ll be listing my flaws for a long-arse time.