“Must be weird, dying like that, and then being brought back to life,” he muses, chewing on his straw. “When you died, did you see a white light and stuff, like people say?”
“No light.” I shake my head. “Honestly, I don’t remember anything about it. Just the crash and then nothing until I woke up in the hospital.”
There’s a short pause and then he asks, “Do you think you’ll ever race again?”
I take a drink before answering him, “I want to race again. And I’m trying to get to that point.”
“I really hope you do. I missed watching you race on TV this last season.”
“Well, hopefully, you’ll watch me next year, and this time, in the stands at Silverstone.”
“That’d be amazing.” He smiles.
“What are you boys talking about?” India asks, arriving back at the table.
“About me going karting. Leandro said he’d help me get into it, as long as it was okay with you.”
India shoots me a look. I see the motherly worry in her eyes.
“It’s safe, low speeds,” I assure her.
“You really want to get into karting?” she asks Jett.
“Yeah, I think I really do.” He smiles at her.
“I’m not saying no, but it’s an expensive sport, Jett. You need to be serious about it.”
“It’s not that expensive, and it’s not like I want you to buy me a kart. I’ll just rent one.”
Is money a problem for India? She has a good job, but London is an expensive place to live, and she is a lone parent.
She stares at him for a long moment. I can see her mind working. It makes me want to help her, take care of her.
“Okay, we’ll figure it out. But no taking up any of Leandro’s time. He’s a busy man.”
Guess that’s me being dismissed from helping.
India and her fucking rules of ethics are pissing me off. I’m getting whiplash from her today. One minute, she’s okay with things, and the next, she’s backing right off.
It’s like one step forward and two massive steps back with her.
An idea sparks to mind.
Well, I might not be able to help Jett with karting, but there is one thing I can do for him.
“ARE YOU OKAY?” I glance at Leandro.
He blows out a staggered breath through clenched teeth. “Yes…no…yes.”
“You don’t have to do this. Not yet. Not if it feels too soon.”
He looks at me. “Time is creeping up on me. It’s the middle of December now. I need to be back in the cockpit in a few weeks, a month max, or I’ll never race again. I have to be able to drive a standard car before getting into a race car. I’m sick of being a mental cripple, India. I have to do this.” He gives me a stare that screams desperation and determination.
The desperation concerns me. “I just don’t want you to rush yourself, Leandro, and set yourself back weeks. You’ve been making excellent progress.”
“And that progress needs to speed up now—rapidly. It’s now or never, India.”
“Okay.” I nod, accepting his wishes. “Just take deep breaths. Might feel the need to rush, but you don’t need to rush this particular moment. And remember, I’m here with you. You’re not alone.”
He gives me an appreciative soft smile, and then he fixes his eyes on his hands gripping the steering wheel.
We’re in my car, which I got back fixed and working better than before, even though it cost me a pretty penny. Leandro is adamant about wanting to drive it. As he was my last appointment of the day, I drove us to a large car park that I knew would be quiet at this time of day. I thought it would be safer here, in case he froze up at the wheel.
“I can do this.”
“You can do this,” I assure him. “You’ve driven cars that go speeds I can’t even imagine. You lived through a crash that could have been fatal. You’re a survivor. You can do this.”
I touch his arm to reassure him, ignoring the pang of energy I feel at the contact with him.
“I can do this,” he repeats.
Eyes focused on the windshield, he grits his teeth and blows out a breath between them. Then, he slips the gearstick into first, and we start to slowly move forward.
I don’t say anything. I just leave him to it. He knows I’m here, if he needs me, but this is something he needs to do himself.
Then, he’s moving a bit faster, moving up through the gears. I intently watch him, seeing the tension leaving his body.
“You’re doing it,” I say softly.
“I’m doing it.” I can hear the tremor of relief in his voice.
“How are you feeling?”