Revived
Page 33
I know Leandro and Carrick are friends, but I can still see their competitive rivalry on the track.
I’m just keeping my fingers crossed for Leandro, hoping he pulls it out of the bag and achieves at least second place. But I know with him, nothing short of first will be good enough.
Jett is having the time of his life this weekend, and I can see it on his face now, how much he enjoys Formula 1.
“You want that to be you one day?” I ask him over the sounds of the crowd. “Because if you do,” I continue as he turns to look at me, “I just want you to know that I’d support you all the way.”
“Who wouldn’t want to be a Formula One driver?” He grins.
“Me.” I laugh.
“It’s an expensive sport though, Mum.” He looks back out as the cars whiz by on the track.
“I’d make it work.”
“Like, really expensive,” he presses.
“If it was what you really wanted, then I’d find a way.”
“I’ll see how I get on with karting. I haven’t even entered a competition yet. Just learning at the moment.”
“I know, but I just want you to know that if it’s what you see yourself doing in the future, then I’ll support you.”
“I already know that, Mum.” He leans over and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Last couple of laps now,” he informs me.
“And how’s Leandro doing now?” I ask.
“Looking like third place.” He grimaces.
After the last lap, the flag comes down, and Leandro takes third place.
Seeing him up there on the big screen, climbing out of his car and looking frustrated, makes me wish I were there to console him.
“Sucks,” Jett comments. “But he wasn’t on top form today. You could tell from his driving.”
“Yeah,” I agree even though I have no clue what I’m agreeing to.
“So, what’s the plan?” he asks me. “Are we seeing Leandro before we leave?”
I shake my head. Leandro didn’t ask to see us before we went back home. “He’ll be busy, I imagine, doing press stuff.”
“So, we’re heading home then?”
“Yeah.”
We already checked out of the hotel earlier, and our bags are in the car. So, it’s out to the car and home.
With a despondent feeling in my gut—not knowing when I’ll see Leandro again, if ever—Jett and I make our way out to the car park.
“When I come in here and you’re nursing a bottle of wine, I know it’s not good.” Kit sits across from me, takes the bottle of red, and swigs from it.
“It’s my first glass, and I’m only halfway through. I wouldn’t call it nursing.”
“You’ve got a face like a smacked arse. After a weekend at Silverstone, I expected more of a happy face. Jett’s done nothing but talk about it since you got back.”
“He had a great time.”
“He did. Told me all about your dinner date with Leandro.”
“Hardly a date. Jett was with us. Speaking of, where is he?”
“In his room, on the phone. I think it’s with a girl.”
“What? He has a girlfriend?” I sit up straighter.
Kit shrugs. “He hasn’t said, but I’m sensing all the trademarks of a budding romance.”
“What trademarks?”
“He’s been talking about one girl in particular a lot lately—Anna.”
“How do I miss this stuff?” I face-plant the table, feeling like the worst mother in the world.
“You don’t miss anything. You’re his mother. He’s not going to talk about girls with you.”
“I guess,” I utter, my words muffled by the table.
“So, what’s going on with you and Silva then?” Kit asks.
I lift my head and shrug. “Honestly, I don’t know. We haven’t seen or spoken to one another in seven months.”
Kit knows all about the night—not the gritty details, of course. Just that we slept together, and then I kicked him out.
“Then, he’s there, waiting for us after we get out of the Formula One talk thingy. Invites us to dinner. Kisses me in the elevator. Tells me it isn’t over. Has breakfast with us the next morning, like nothing happened, and then…nada.”
“Hang on. Back up. He kissed you?”
“Yep.” I take a large swig of wine. “Jett was messing around, getting ready, and I went down to meet Leandro, so we wouldn’t be late. He was in the elevator, and I got in. He kissed me, like toe-curling-rip-our-clothes-off kiss. Then, I stopped it because we were in an elevator, and I didn’t want Jett to wonder where we were. Then, Leandro said, and I quote, ‘This isn’t over, not by a fucking long shot. I intend to finish that kiss.’ Then, nothing since.”
Kit is looking at me with a grimace. “That was way too much information for me to hear about my sister.”
“Sorry.” I wince, knowing how much I get grossed out hearing about his love life.
“So, Silva hasn’t made a move since then?”
“Nope.”
“He’s waiting you out.”
“Huh?”
“The last time you guys were together, before this kiss, you pushed him away and stayed away for seven months. He’s the one who initiated contact with you via the Prix tickets. Then, he kissed you again. He’s waiting for you to make the next move. He wants to know that it’s not all one-sided.”
I ponder that for a minute with another mouthful of wine. “You really think so?”
“Yep. Look, do you love this guy?”
That catches me off guard.
Do I love Leandro?
I’ve thought about this a lot, more so these last few days, and I’m pretty sure I do. Only…saying it aloud will make it real. And really, if I’m going to admit it to anyone, it should be Leandro.
Lifting my shoulders, I shrug.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Look, I haven’t seen you this way about anyone—ever. And I get your hang-ups, Indy, and I wouldn’t say to do anything that would jeopardize your career. You know that. But I think you’re safe here. It’s been seven months since you last treated him. You’re clearly in love with this guy. I want you to be happy. You haven’t been happy for seven months. Since he came back into your life, you’ve been happy.”
“I have been happy.”
“Bullshit. Sure, you’re happy when you’re with Jett and me. But there’s something missing for you, and that something is clearly him. On that note, after just sounding like a fucking advice columnist, I’m going to go get my man card back. I’m going to drink beer and watch the racing highlights, seeing as though I didn’t get to watch it at Silverstone,” he says pointedly.
I stick my tongue out at him.
Thirty years old, and my brother can still reduce me to a teenager.
He stands, not before taking another swig from my wine bottle.
“Kit…” I stop him with my words. “What do you think I should do?”
“I think you should man the fuck up and talk to him. Tell him how you feel.”
“You mean, woman up,” I call after him.
I’m just keeping my fingers crossed for Leandro, hoping he pulls it out of the bag and achieves at least second place. But I know with him, nothing short of first will be good enough.
Jett is having the time of his life this weekend, and I can see it on his face now, how much he enjoys Formula 1.
“You want that to be you one day?” I ask him over the sounds of the crowd. “Because if you do,” I continue as he turns to look at me, “I just want you to know that I’d support you all the way.”
“Who wouldn’t want to be a Formula One driver?” He grins.
“Me.” I laugh.
“It’s an expensive sport though, Mum.” He looks back out as the cars whiz by on the track.
“I’d make it work.”
“Like, really expensive,” he presses.
“If it was what you really wanted, then I’d find a way.”
“I’ll see how I get on with karting. I haven’t even entered a competition yet. Just learning at the moment.”
“I know, but I just want you to know that if it’s what you see yourself doing in the future, then I’ll support you.”
“I already know that, Mum.” He leans over and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Last couple of laps now,” he informs me.
“And how’s Leandro doing now?” I ask.
“Looking like third place.” He grimaces.
After the last lap, the flag comes down, and Leandro takes third place.
Seeing him up there on the big screen, climbing out of his car and looking frustrated, makes me wish I were there to console him.
“Sucks,” Jett comments. “But he wasn’t on top form today. You could tell from his driving.”
“Yeah,” I agree even though I have no clue what I’m agreeing to.
“So, what’s the plan?” he asks me. “Are we seeing Leandro before we leave?”
I shake my head. Leandro didn’t ask to see us before we went back home. “He’ll be busy, I imagine, doing press stuff.”
“So, we’re heading home then?”
“Yeah.”
We already checked out of the hotel earlier, and our bags are in the car. So, it’s out to the car and home.
With a despondent feeling in my gut—not knowing when I’ll see Leandro again, if ever—Jett and I make our way out to the car park.
“When I come in here and you’re nursing a bottle of wine, I know it’s not good.” Kit sits across from me, takes the bottle of red, and swigs from it.
“It’s my first glass, and I’m only halfway through. I wouldn’t call it nursing.”
“You’ve got a face like a smacked arse. After a weekend at Silverstone, I expected more of a happy face. Jett’s done nothing but talk about it since you got back.”
“He had a great time.”
“He did. Told me all about your dinner date with Leandro.”
“Hardly a date. Jett was with us. Speaking of, where is he?”
“In his room, on the phone. I think it’s with a girl.”
“What? He has a girlfriend?” I sit up straighter.
Kit shrugs. “He hasn’t said, but I’m sensing all the trademarks of a budding romance.”
“What trademarks?”
“He’s been talking about one girl in particular a lot lately—Anna.”
“How do I miss this stuff?” I face-plant the table, feeling like the worst mother in the world.
“You don’t miss anything. You’re his mother. He’s not going to talk about girls with you.”
“I guess,” I utter, my words muffled by the table.
“So, what’s going on with you and Silva then?” Kit asks.
I lift my head and shrug. “Honestly, I don’t know. We haven’t seen or spoken to one another in seven months.”
Kit knows all about the night—not the gritty details, of course. Just that we slept together, and then I kicked him out.
“Then, he’s there, waiting for us after we get out of the Formula One talk thingy. Invites us to dinner. Kisses me in the elevator. Tells me it isn’t over. Has breakfast with us the next morning, like nothing happened, and then…nada.”
“Hang on. Back up. He kissed you?”
“Yep.” I take a large swig of wine. “Jett was messing around, getting ready, and I went down to meet Leandro, so we wouldn’t be late. He was in the elevator, and I got in. He kissed me, like toe-curling-rip-our-clothes-off kiss. Then, I stopped it because we were in an elevator, and I didn’t want Jett to wonder where we were. Then, Leandro said, and I quote, ‘This isn’t over, not by a fucking long shot. I intend to finish that kiss.’ Then, nothing since.”
Kit is looking at me with a grimace. “That was way too much information for me to hear about my sister.”
“Sorry.” I wince, knowing how much I get grossed out hearing about his love life.
“So, Silva hasn’t made a move since then?”
“Nope.”
“He’s waiting you out.”
“Huh?”
“The last time you guys were together, before this kiss, you pushed him away and stayed away for seven months. He’s the one who initiated contact with you via the Prix tickets. Then, he kissed you again. He’s waiting for you to make the next move. He wants to know that it’s not all one-sided.”
I ponder that for a minute with another mouthful of wine. “You really think so?”
“Yep. Look, do you love this guy?”
That catches me off guard.
Do I love Leandro?
I’ve thought about this a lot, more so these last few days, and I’m pretty sure I do. Only…saying it aloud will make it real. And really, if I’m going to admit it to anyone, it should be Leandro.
Lifting my shoulders, I shrug.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Look, I haven’t seen you this way about anyone—ever. And I get your hang-ups, Indy, and I wouldn’t say to do anything that would jeopardize your career. You know that. But I think you’re safe here. It’s been seven months since you last treated him. You’re clearly in love with this guy. I want you to be happy. You haven’t been happy for seven months. Since he came back into your life, you’ve been happy.”
“I have been happy.”
“Bullshit. Sure, you’re happy when you’re with Jett and me. But there’s something missing for you, and that something is clearly him. On that note, after just sounding like a fucking advice columnist, I’m going to go get my man card back. I’m going to drink beer and watch the racing highlights, seeing as though I didn’t get to watch it at Silverstone,” he says pointedly.
I stick my tongue out at him.
Thirty years old, and my brother can still reduce me to a teenager.
He stands, not before taking another swig from my wine bottle.
“Kit…” I stop him with my words. “What do you think I should do?”
“I think you should man the fuck up and talk to him. Tell him how you feel.”
“You mean, woman up,” I call after him.
