Immediately after we were at dinner with Jett, Leandro saw us back to our room like a perfect gentleman. Then, we had breakfast with him on Saturday morning.
But we didn’t see Leandro at all after that, except for when he was in his car on the track, qualifying. He qualified lower, at sixth, which was surprising for him—not that I know much about Formula 1, except for that it’s long but kind of exciting. But I’ve been trying to keep up, and Jett’s been guiding me through.
I could imagine that Leandro wasn’t happy about qualifying so low.
Even still, it was a real privilege to watch him out there, knowing that I had a helping hand in getting him back in a car. I’m trying not to think too hard on the fact that I used to be his therapist because it reminds me that, no matter how I feel for him, in so many ways, we are impossible.
Even still, that kiss has been driving me to distraction. I want more. I want him.
The rational side of my brain isn’t in play at the moment. Every time I have a rational thought about what a bad idea pursuing anything with him is, memories of that kiss come back, running through my head like his hands did over my skin, and I’m right back to being irrational, wanting him.
Saturday night, Jett and I had plans, and Leandro was at some sponsor function, so we didn’t see him then.
Now, it’s Sunday, and we’re in the stands, watching the race. The atmosphere is amazing.
Leandro is in the top three. Apparently, he and this other driver, Hernandez, are fighting for second place, with Carrick Ryan holding first place.
I know Leandro and Carrick are friends, but I can still see their competitive rivalry on the track.
I’m just keeping my fingers crossed for Leandro, hoping he pulls it out of the bag and achieves at least second place. But I know with him, nothing short of first will be good enough.
Jett is having the time of his life this weekend, and I can see it on his face now, how much he enjoys Formula 1.
“You want that to be you one day?” I ask him over the sounds of the crowd. “Because if you do,” I continue as he turns to look at me, “I just want you to know that I’d support you all the way.”
“Who wouldn’t want to be a Formula One driver?” He grins.
“Me.” I laugh.
“It’s an expensive sport though, Mum.” He looks back out as the cars whiz by on the track.
“I’d make it work.”
“Like, really expensive,” he presses.
“If it was what you really wanted, then I’d find a way.”
“I’ll see how I get on with karting. I haven’t even entered a competition yet. Just learning at the moment.”
“I know, but I just want you to know that if it’s what you see yourself doing in the future, then I’ll support you.”
“I already know that, Mum.” He leans over and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Last couple of laps now,” he informs me.
“And how’s Leandro doing now?” I ask.
“Looking like third place.” He grimaces.
After the last lap, the flag comes down, and Leandro takes third place.
Seeing him up there on the big screen, climbing out of his car and looking frustrated, makes me wish I were there to console him.
“Sucks,” Jett comments. “But he wasn’t on top form today. You could tell from his driving.”
“Yeah,” I agree even though I have no clue what I’m agreeing to.
“So, what’s the plan?” he asks me. “Are we seeing Leandro before we leave?”
I shake my head. Leandro didn’t ask to see us before we went back home. “He’ll be busy, I imagine, doing press stuff.”
“So, we’re heading home then?”
“Yeah.”
We already checked out of the hotel earlier, and our bags are in the car. So, it’s out to the car and home.
With a despondent feeling in my gut—not knowing when I’ll see Leandro again, if ever—Jett and I make our way out to the car park.
“When I come in here and you’re nursing a bottle of wine, I know it’s not good.” Kit sits across from me, takes the bottle of red, and swigs from it.
“It’s my first glass, and I’m only halfway through. I wouldn’t call it nursing.”
“You’ve got a face like a smacked arse. After a weekend at Silverstone, I expected more of a happy face. Jett’s done nothing but talk about it since you got back.”
“He had a great time.”
“He did. Told me all about your dinner date with Leandro.”
“Hardly a date. Jett was with us. Speaking of, where is he?”
“In his room, on the phone. I think it’s with a girl.”
“What? He has a girlfriend?” I sit up straighter.
Kit shrugs. “He hasn’t said, but I’m sensing all the trademarks of a budding romance.”
“What trademarks?”
“He’s been talking about one girl in particular a lot lately—Anna.”
“How do I miss this stuff?” I face-plant the table, feeling like the worst mother in the world.
“You don’t miss anything. You’re his mother. He’s not going to talk about girls with you.”
“I guess,” I utter, my words muffled by the table.
“So, what’s going on with you and Silva then?” Kit asks.
I lift my head and shrug. “Honestly, I don’t know. We haven’t seen or spoken to one another in seven months.”
Kit knows all about the night—not the gritty details, of course. Just that we slept together, and then I kicked him out.