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“You eat like a constipated frog,” I say, drawing a chuckle from him. “So you’ve spent your entire career with him, respect him, and genuinely like the man. He’s treated you well, I presume, right?” Jake nods. “Why do you want to go out on your own? That’s a lot of capital and risk for one man to assume. You can spend the rest of your career with BPR and grow even richer.”
Jake looks down at our shared dessert and then back at me. His expression is unusually solemn. “I have less than you might think. Do you know how my father died?”
His father, John Knowles, died years ago. Jake mentions him even less than he does the rest of his family. I swallow, unsure what to say, sensing our conversation is about to take a serious turn. “It was a heart attack.”
“I was a surprise baby. My parents married after they found out.” My eyes grow big with surprise, but Jake doesn’t notice and says, “He was a car mechanic during the day and worked at a gas station for extra cash during the night. There was me, Mom, and three sisters to care for, so we always needed more money.”
The dessert dries in my mouth. The difference in our backgrounds is stark. How many times have I mentioned my childhood and all the privileges that came with it? “He sounds like a good man.”
“He was the best. They were twenty years old when I was born. Can you imagine being parents that young? I can’t. Anyway, there was a race the night I signed with BPR. I wontoo, won easily. My whole family promised to be there but never showed up.” Jake wipes at his chin with the back of his hand. He absently picks up his fork and sets it right back down again. “They never showed, and I was angry. It was a big win, and a contract was signed. That’s a huge deal, right? It was the first step in my career, and they didn’t care enough to keep their promise.”
My stomach twists because I know where his story is leading. “You don’t need to tell me, Jake. You don’t owe me your secrets.”
“It’s not a matter of owing, Princess. I want you to know about me. Anyway, he had a heart attack. Who has a heart attack at thirty-six?” Jake shakes his head like he’s annoyed at his father, the heart attack, or maybe both. “They asked a neighbor to watch my sisters and took off to the hospital, thinking it couldn’t be serious. I didn’t find out until after he died because he didn’t want me to know. He didn’t want me to worry when it probably wasn’t serious. I’m winning, and he’s dying. I was angry, too, and planning speeches in my head when they finally showed up so they would feel bad. How twisted is that?”
I’m not sure how to respond. Pity would annoy him, and an apology would be hollow. “That’s why you want more,” I say, finally realizing. “You want to give back to show how much his sacrifices meant.”
“Yeah, something like that.” Jake finally takes a bite, and his solemnity disappears. “Bert was incredibly supportive during that time. He was there for all of my family. I guess that’s why I never left. This tiramisu is amazing, isn’t it?”
“It’s good there’s so much. This way, we can feel extra selfish for not sharing any of it,” I say, picking up on his deliberate change in conversation. Finally, I announce, “My stomach will explode if I eat any more.”
There was so much dessert we barely put a dent in it. Theimage of Jake begging some overworked baker to whip up a giant tiramisu without notice is endearing. He probably did it in person, giving an infamous smile while flashing his baby blues. She probably melted and worked overnight to finish the job, but that part is less endearing.
And I’m cynical.
“I’ll clean up,” he says.
“Not by yourself, you won’t.”
“Who hurt you?” Jake asks. He turns his back to me and speaks quietly enough that I barely hear him over the sink’s running water. “I want you to tell me.”
I don’t want to tell him, especially the name. Jake has enough challenges this season; adding more conflict between him and a teammate would make it much worse. I don’t want anyone to know, not ever.
“There were two. The first one was long ago, and we weren’t serious. He asked for an introduction to my father, and I refused. He called me a snobby bitch, and I dumped him.”
The first one was easy. It was a one-off.
“And the second?” Jake asks.
Shame fills me at the memory. I worked hard to forget it ever happened, and now it keeps hitting me in the face, and I feel dirty again because this is the one that hurt. One mistake isn’t anything; everyone falls into at least one bad relationship, right?
“It was two years ago, and he was more talented. There were rumors we planned to take on another driver, and he asked me to help him. By then, we were already in serious negotiations with Julian, which I tried to tell him. This time, I was called a selfish bitch and got dumped. We signed Julian, and he had to find another way into the Cup Series.”
“Is that the entire story?” The way Jake asks tells me heknows there’s more.
“I promised myself that I’d never tell anyone.”
“Sometimes, sharing a secret makes them less of a burden. You might find telling me lessens his power over you,” he says.
I doubt that. “We were in bed together, and he said some cruel things. I didn’t look in mirrors for a long time because I was afraid everything he said was true.”
Joey Fisher was always ready with a compliment. He used to say I had a perfect body, like Marilyn Monroe in her prime, and I lapped it up. It took one insult from him to shatter my self-confidence and see him for the little boy he was. There were more, but I was already numb, and after the first one, there was nothing I could do but wait for it to be over.
I wipe my eyes. “Words hold power over you, don’t they? Well, that was the last time we spoke, and I’ve mostly managed to forget he exists.”
Water from the wet dish in my hands drips onto the tile floor. I don’t even remember picking it up.
Jake pulls the plate from my grasp to set it on the drying rack. “Sarah.”
