Not many people are in here. Looks to be a private viewing area that opens up onto the karting track.
“Leandro fucking Silva!”
I turn at the sound of the male voice, not loving the fact that he just cursed in front of Jett.
Good-looking, brown hair, nice smile. I recognize him but can’t place him.
“Carter, how are you doing?” Leandro greets him, smiling.
They do that manly handshake-hug thing that men do.
“I’m good. How are you doing after the accident? I know this shit’s tough—”
“I’m fine,” Leandro cuts him off, the tone in his voice instantly harder.
Carter stares at him for a moment, his brow furrowed. Then, his face relaxes. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. But if you do need to talk, you know where I am. We need to get together more often anyway. And thanks for doing this today. The kids will love seeing you here.”
“No problem,” Leandro says with a dismissive wave of his hand.
I see Carter’s eyes go to me and Jett, standing behind Leandro.
“Carter, this is my friend India Harris, and her son, Jett. Jett’s a big Formula One fan. India, Jett, this is Carter Simmons.”
Carter Simmons. I knew I recognized him.
I remember his accident. Leandro and Carter used to drive for the same team, the one Leandro still drives for.
Carter had an accident in his first year. His left arm was partially severed in the accident, leaving him with limited movement in it. It was his first and last year. I remember it being a big thing in the news as he was a promising young English driver. Everyone had had high hopes for him.
Tragic that his career was cut short before it had barely begun.
“Big racing fan, huh?” Carter says to Jett. “Well, you’re with a racing legend today. That’s gotta be pretty awesome.”
“It is.” Jett grins in Leandro’s direction.
“You like to race yourself?”
“I go karting when I can.”
“You any good?”
Jett shrugs. “I’m okay.”
Carter smiles. “I have a feeling you’re probably better than okay. You should come down sometime and try the tracks out.”
“That’d be awesome.” Jett beams.
“Cool. Well, can I get you guys anything to drink?” Carter asks.
“I’d love a black coffee,” I say on a shiver.
I’m wrapped up warm in jeans, a jumper, and a warm jacket, but the chill is still creeping in.
“Black coffee. Silva, you want anything?”
“Same as India.”
“Cool. Well, why don’t you come and give me a hand in getting the drinks, Jett? Then, I can introduce you to the lads racing today.”
Jett looks at me, checking that it’s okay to go, and I give him a reassuring smile.
I watch him leave with Carter.
“You want to sit down?” Leandro gestures to some chairs near the viewing area.
“Sure.”
I walk over and take a seat, and Leandro sits in the seat beside me.
I’m so aware of him right now, and I really wish I weren’t.
“So, Jett seems to be enjoying himself so far,” Leandro says.
“He’s in his element here.” I smile.
I watch as he leans forward, putting his arms on the railing. He looks out at the karts warming up on the track. A sigh that sounds an awful lot like longing comes from him.
“You really miss it.” It’s not a question. I already know he does.
He turns his head to me, resting his cheek on his arm. “How can I miss something with a physical ache and be absolutely terrified of it at the same time?”
“Usually, the things we love most are the things that terrify us.”
He stares at me for a long moment before turning to look back out at the track.
“How did you get into racing?” I lean forward, putting my arms next to his on the railing.
“My dad was a world champion rally driver. Racing was always a given for me. I started in rally, but my interest in Formula One was always stronger. I wanted to go in that direction, and he fully supported me.”
“He must be proud of you.”
“He was.” He gives a sad smile. “He died a long time ago. Just after my first year in Formula One. Heart attack.”
My chest squeezes for him, for his loss. “I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.” He shrugs.
I wish he wouldn’t do that. Brush things off like they don’t matter.
When I look at him, he’s already staring at me.
“What?” I ask self-consciously.
“I had a question, but I’m afraid to ask. I don’t want to cross that ethical line.”
I give him a look. “I said I was sorry for that comment. But it is strictly true. Socializing with you isn’t ethical.”
“Says who?”
“The Health and Care Professions Council.”
“Ah, what do they know?” He chuckles.
Too much. They’d be frowning, waving my practice license in my face, if they could see me right now.
“So, that question?” I’m treading dangerous water here, but I feel like I owe him a little of myself. And part of me wants to tell him.
“Jett’s father…where is he?”
My body freezes stiff. I have to force myself to swallow down.
“He isn’t around.”
“Were you married?”
“That’s two questions.” I smile, so I don’t come off as a bitch.
“Fair enough.” He shrugs, not pushing it.
The fact that he does that makes me answer, “No, we weren’t married. I was young and naive. But out of that naïveté, I got the best thing in my life.”