“You can’t blame him for that.”
“I know.”
“My mum’s the same,” I tell him. “Since my dad…she’s a bit overprotective at times.”
“How’s she coping with you being away, traveling the world?”
“She’s slowly getting better about it.” I laugh lightly.
“How about you dating me—a driver? How does she feel about that?”
He’s never really asked about my mum’s opinion about him before. I’m guessing seeing his dad tonight has sparked that.
“She’s happy, if I’m happy.”
Honestly, she hasn’t said much when I tell her things about Carrick and me. I think a lot of that has to do with his reputation. And a part of what he does for a living, too.
“And are you?”
I smile wide. “Very.”
He leans in and kisses me. “Me, too. Like I’ve never been before.”
Taking a hold of his hand that’s over my shoulder, I lift it to my lips, pressing a kiss to it. I snuggle into his side.
As we walk on, I hear the soft sound of Ed Sheeran’s “Thinking Out Loud” start to play from the speakers outside a restaurant just across the street where people are sitting out front, dining in the beautiful evening.
“I love this song,” I murmur.
Bringing me to a stop, Carrick says, “Dance with me?”
I glance around. “Uh, here?”
“Yeah, here. I want to dance with my girl under the stars.” He gestures to the bright night sky.
Then, he twirls me in his arms, so I’m facing him. Moving his arm from my shoulder to my waist, his free hand takes my hand.
“You want to dance right here in the street, next to a litter bin?” I toss a glance in the bin’s direction.
He slides a glance at it, a grin sliding onto his face. “You can’t deny the romance of what a bin can bring to a situation.”
“Oh, yeah, all that dirty litter…so sexy.” I start laughing, loving the feel of his own laughter against me.
“Shut up, and dance with me. You’re killing the moment.”
“Okay,” I acquiesce, letting him move us to the music. But I’m feeling self-conscious and a little silly. I cast a glance at the restaurant across the way. “People are staring,” I whisper.
“So, let them stare. I don’t care because I’m not looking at them. I’m only looking at you.”
That brings my eyes to his. He’s looking at me like he always does—with such intensity that I feel it deep inside my heart, curling around the place where he’s already deeply embedded.
“What if someone recognizes you?” I ask just to try to keep myself grounded and not lose myself in him completely.
But then he goes and says, “Then, they’ll see me dancing with my girl, whom I’m crazy about.” He stops dancing, his eyes serious. “And I am, babe, completely fucking head over heels crazy about you.”
Any sense of grounding I had floats up to the stars along with my heart. Leaning in, I rest my forehead against his, closing my eyes against the depth of emotions I’m feeling. “I’m crazy about you, too.”
And I stay there dancing with him on that street in Budapest until the song fades, knowing that the time I have with him is quickly running out and not knowing how to stop it from happening.
I PRESS MY FINGERTIPS to the cool glass as I stare out of the window, looking out at the illuminated Marina Bay Street Circuit that Carrick will be racing on tomorrow.
It’s late. Carrick’s in bed sleeping, and I’m scared.
My fears have been growing exponentially with each race. For the days running up to each one, I struggle to sleep. My mind is all over the place. And I feel like I don’t get a break from the worry because the races come around so quick.
I’m exhausted, drained, and so very confused.
And here, in Singapore, I’m feeling the worst I ever have. I’m really struggling, and I don’t know if it’s because tomorrow’s race is at night—nine p.m., in fact. It’s not that Singapore has a bad track. It’s just darkness, even though illuminated, hinders visibility.
With the thought of Carrick climbing into his car and going out on the track tomorrow night…I feel sick to my stomach.
Carrick knows that, since we got together, I worry about the races. He knows I’m worried about this one. He just doesn’t know the extent.
He doesn’t know about the panic attacks.
And I don’t want to talk to him in detail about them or my fears because there’s nothing he can do or say to make me feel better. The only way I would feel better was if he weren’t racing, and that’s never going to happen.