Burn

Chapter 31: Apologies

MAX

If there's a constant in life, it's the media. They're everywhere and unavoidable. Over my years in Formula World, I've learned to ignore them. Focused on blocking out their noise and static.

I'd learned by jumping immediately into the fire; my first couple of years in the sport were marred by scandal, due to my former engineer and his shady method of getting information on other teams' cars.

After dealing with that, I developed an iron-clad ability to ignore the press. But now that I'm pushing a wheelchair carrying an obviously drugged Lily in front of a rural Quebec hospital, I'm rethinking my apathy.

I push her towards the SUV while one of the bodyguards attempts to block a photographer from snapping photos at close range.

The other bodyguard dashes ahead to open the car door and when we're about a foot away, Lily stands and wobbles. The doctors gave her quite a heavy sedative.

"Watch your step, Ms. Onassis," the bodyguard says, almost catching her as her knees wobble. He helps her into the car.

Meanwhile, the small cluster of reporters are shouting questions at me, things like, "What happened to Lily Onassis?" and "Did she overdose?"

That last question annoys the shit out of me, so once I see Lily is safely buckled into the backseat, I stand between the open door and the reporters.

I inhale a fortifying breath and keep my gaze on the sliding hospital doors. This way I don't have to look any of the journalists in the eye. "I brought Lily Onassis to hospital today because she had a terrible reaction to poison ivy on her legs while hiking. She was given a mild sedative due to the discomfort. She will be present at the race in Montreal later this week. Thank you."

That's all I'm going to say, but it doesn't stop the reporters from yelling more questions as I slide into the seat next to Lily. The final question I hear before the bodyguard slams the door echoes in my brain.

"Why were you the one to bring Ms. Onassis to the hospital, Max?"

The SUV pulls away, almost clipping one photographer who is pressing his lens against the window. Unfortunately, it's right when Lily topples over, practically collapsing in my lap.

"Max, baby, thank you for bringing me there. I feel so much better now. But sleepy."

She lifts her head and smiles, and even though she's drowsy and sedated, I can't help but grin back.

"Come here," I say, pulling her upright so my arm is around her shoulders.

That's when I realize that I don't care if anyone sees us together. I don't care about the public scrutiny, or Lily's father, or the media. I'm one of the biggest racing athletes in the world.

"What's the worst that can happen?" I murmur as I kiss Lily's hair, which smells like hospital.

"Blergh," she responds.

She drifts off to sleep in my arms on the long ride back to the cabin. Once we're there — and we determine that we haven't been followed by paparazzi — I carry her inside and to the bedroom.

Her eyes flutter open as I lay her on the bed. "I'm feeling better."

"I'm glad. You should rest, okay?"

"I'm sorry to ruin our time together."

I peel the sheet back and she crawls underneath, making adorable little grunting noises.

"Why are you apologizing?"

"I wanted this to be perfect. For us. You said we had a lot of time to make up for."

Her words put a little crack in my heart. Ever since last night, when I told her my feelings, I'd been wondering about her own emotions. Although the media likes to call me "The Iceman," Lily is the one who holds her emotions close to her heart.

I stretch out next to her. "We've got all the time in the world, babe. But right now you should sleep."

"Do we have all the time, though? We have to get to the race tomorrow."

With a sigh, I pull her close. Maybe someday, there will be a time where we have no place to be, and no races to win. Until then, I need to get my head on straight and focus on Montreal.