Page 50 of Downforce

“Apparently.”

A clicking sound fills the room and my gaze drops, seeing the pen in his hand.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The din from the pen fills the air like the steadiness of a heartbeat, rhythmic and telling. Drake’s glaring. I don’t meet his eyes because the last thing I want to see there is the disappointment in them.

I know it’s there. I’m certain he wants to lay into me about how disgusted and disappointed he is in my career so far. How ashamed my father would be.

Drake was best friends with my father for many years. They came up through the ranks together but were fierce competitors on the track.

“How’s Harry?”

The two-word question is the one I was least expecting to fall from his mouth. My eyes widen, and now I look directly at him.

He stares back, knowing he’s touched on the one sore spot I wasn’t expecting.

“Fine.” I guess.

“When’s the last time you spoke to him?”

I swallow the thickness that suddenly fills my throat. My words stutter on my tongue because I don’t want to admit that not only am I a shite driver, but a shite friend to boot.

“A while,” I answer, evasively.

Drake nods knowingly and rises from his chair. After coming around the desk, he takes a half-seated, half-standing position on the corner of it, arms folded.

“The last I heard he was recovering well.”

If well is never having the use of your legs again, then yes, Harry’s recovering just fine.

“We all still hurt over what happened to him.”

I adjust my body in the chair, glancing to my right, out of the window of Drake’s office. It looks down onto the parking lot filled with bright, shiny Amato cars, some of which are the latest models, some are vintage. Each model represents another notch in the history of Amato’s legacy.

In the distance I can see the garage where the F1 cars and parts are kept. It includes the training facility I come to when I need to train using the simulator.

The same facility my dad trained at throughout most of his groundbreaking career.

“You don’t have the heart.”

Annalise’s words assault my consciousness, and my chest tightens to the point of pain.

“Maybe you should go see him,” Drake says.

For a second, I’m confused since my thoughts were just on my dad. But he’s not talking about Severino.

He’s referring to Harry. My once best friend who was a few years behind me in the same racing academy.

“Right,” I say. “Perhaps.”

His words drop like an anvil between us. Heavy,

“I have a session with my trainer,” I lie. A white lie. I do have a training session scheduled but until much later in the day.