FOR YOU

 “Why are you here?” I grit when the photo director asks us both to face the camera, shutters go off, dragging me back to years during and immediately after college when I raced competitively.

“To win, like I told you.”

Gritting my teeth, I hold the pose the director has asked to hold, arms across our chests no smiles or emotions, that I could do.

“You’re not supposed to be here. What happened to Italy?”

I know it’s the wrong thing to say the second the question is out of my mouth. I can’t take it back, and so I tip my chin at the camera, daring him to challenge me.

“A stalker or a fan, which are you, Damien Delta?”

I bite back every retort that aims to slide out of my throat. There are too many people watching, with too much at stake here. I can’t lose it on the first day here.

“Shake hands please." the director shouts at us.

What?

There’s ringing in my ears, and I’m hyper aware of every bead of sweat running down my back and face.

“Mr. Delta? Mr. Kane?”

I stare at the photo director. She gestures between us.

Has she any idea what she’s just asked of us?

Seven years of deliberately avoiding Harrison Kane, and on the first day of SLAT, I’m supposed to hold his hand for a photograph.

 My palms turn cold.

I search for Amber in the crowd of the technical team in front of us, she isn’t there, she must be with the cars like I asked her to.

Shit.

“As a fan and stalker this will be your life’s highlight, don’t you think?” Harrison’s voice is as smooth as ever. A glance at his face tells me he’s not panicking and losing his mind over there like I am.

“This wasn’t in the contract I signed.” I hiss, gaze still swinging, searching for any member of the Delta Industries. Where is everybody for fuck sake??

“What should be? A hand shake?”

He still sounds so fucking relaxed about this. Not like our entire– A shocked gasp leaves me trembling.

My eyes bug out as I stare at Harrison’s hand holding mine.

How is he…?

This is the first time we’re holding hands in seven years and… I struggle to breathe.

 “Just like this.” he says, voice confident, laced with something heavy I don’t bother to dissect.

His grip is firm. Hand large, fingers long and locked around mine.

Unlike the boy from seven years ago.

For the first time, Harrison is quiet, he allows the photo-shoot to continue without another wise crack. The second we’re done, he’s the first to disappear.

The buzz under my skin wreturns violently. I force myself to focus on the tactical meeting rather than the feeling of Harrison’s hand in mine again.

The weight of it.

The feel.

Focus.

Rafael goes over tactics with me, pulling me out of my head long enough to discuss things that pushed Harrison further, and further out of my mind.

“Training’s for two weeks. But first, they’re going to test your strengths as a team and individuals tomorrow.”

Free track.

All seventy four racers going 200mph trying to complete the course. Since I quit, my audition tapes and records was the first time I slid back into the driver’s seat of a race car. Tomorrow will be the first time I’d be racing against people for the first time in a while.

“You should rest. We have everything else covered here.” Amber assures me.

It’s just seven in the evening, I’m too wired to sleep, but I’ll pop a sleeping pill if I have to.

“You’re good on your own?” I ask her,

“They set us up nicely. I can hold my own.” she claps my shoulder, and says,

“Go. You’re the star.”

I don’t feel like a star when I slip out of the Delta tent and cast a glance at the Kane one, searching for him. When I see his blond hair bobbing with a laugh, I hurry to the room.

Locking him out is my goal.

But when I get there, I find it’s a single bed, no bunks. Just a table for one in a simple room. Of course he’d been shitting me. Apparently seven years is not enough to change his ways.

On the single bed, I lay awake as the events of the day crashes past me.

I never imagined a world where our paths would cross again. His place was inside the car, mine’s underneath.

Yet, the universe put him smack in my orbit again. While I thought it’ll go differently from how it did, it still stuns me.

He’s the same. And that irks me.

Because some part of me had expected seven years to make him unfamiliar.

It hadn’t.

My phone beeps with a message from Amber, and it’s exactly what I need to force the man out of my head. He was important seven years ago. Now? He’s just an obstacle in the way to that cup.

I wake before my alarm, and I know the day is going to be better. It’s still dark out, which means I can get a run in before everyone woke up.

I pull my door open and take a few steps back when I find him standing in front of the door, an easy smile on his face, two cups of coffee in hand.

“Jesus Christ,” I murmur, stepping out before he has the chance to step inside, when I shut the door, he has the nerve to look disappointed.

“Morning, D.”

I ignore the nickname and the fact that he lost the right to call me that.

“Why are you here?”

He glances at the door opposite mine, the one he’d been leaning on when I opened the door to mine.

“We’re neighbors now.”

The universe fucking hates me or something.  

Side stepping him, I pointedly ignore the cup he has outstretched for me. Nostrils flaring when he chooses instead to follow me.

“Stay the fuck away from me.”

“Who says I’m following you?”

I plug my ears and break into a jog, getting ahead of him as I follow a lighted path. It doesn’t take long for his heavy footsteps to follow side by side. He doesn’t stop or break stride even when I break into a run.

I’m unsure how long I run for, but his heavy footfalls remain with me every bend, every corner.

Ripping out my headphones, I halt, turning to him. His eyes widen, screeching to a halt.

“You don’t get to act like nothing happened.” I say, panting from the bubbling anger in my chest and the run. It’s much brighter now than when we started.

“Excuse me?” his brows dip in confusion and that only further enrages me.

“You don’t get to call me D, or DeeDee. You don’t get to make jokes. You don’t get to walk back into my life and pretend…”

I stop.

Dragging in a deep, choppy breath. I realize I’m about to say too much. I can’t. Too much hurts.

Feeling displaced, I blink reality back into focus as I try to pick my way back to the tent  where we’re still neighbors.

“You asked why I want to win this?” he asks quietly, too quiet, very different from the loud man he is.

My steps falter.

“I didn’t come here because I wanted the championship.”

I turn around to look at him.

“Then why?”

Harrison smiles, but this time there’s nothing playful about it.

 “You.”