Pole Position

by Karen Botha

  Speaking of which, my very own cantankerous driver arrives. Still buried in the anonymity of his helmet, he arrives just as Keegan took too much time protesting and not enough listening. His engine blows the same way as Elliott’s. More extreme cursing emanates from Trevor’s end of the pit wall and this time he’s joined by Luke. I rip off my headset. I don’t need to hear this; instead, at least now I can focus on my gorgeous, dejected Elliott and that wayward young son of his.

  Elliott stands quietly next to me, his attention on the stats displaying on our screens. He shakes his head, wrapping his arm around my waist as he leans into me. “Guess that’s something we need to look at then.”

  I tap the side of his helmet with my hand. “Tomorrow. Take that off.”

  He does as I ask, allowing me to pull him in so his head rests against my beating heart. I rake my fingers through his whimsical curls and rest my chin. He smells of the fresh interior of his head protector, having not stayed in the car long enough to get much of his usual sweat going.

  “You OK?” I ask.

  He nods into me, knocking my hip with his helmet as he snakes his other arm around my waist. When he pulls away, his eyes are light, innocent, and full of love.

  “Come on. We’re done here now. Let’s go and sort out Axel,” I whisper, stroking a thumb down the stubble of his jaw.

  Elliott

  In the car on the way to the foreign police station that is holding Axel, Kyle fills me in on his conversation with Chase.

  “I believe him, El. I think this is someone trying to teach him a lesson for being combative with the reporters.”

  I sigh and I see the understanding in Kyle’s eyes when he continues. “Let’s see what the lawyer has to say when we get there before we get our hopes up, but I don’t see this progressing if it’s not the victim who’s making the charge.”

  “You’d better text Chase and let him know to make his own way down here.” I flatten a crease on his shorts with my index finger.

  He lays his hand over mine, pressing my palm into his solid, carved thigh. It flexes as he flexes his ankle under the foot-well of the front seat to access his cell from his pocket.

  “Thanks for sorting all of this out this morning.” Despite the heat, I rub the goosebumps on my arm. “You have enough to do with this being your first race in charge. It means a lot that you wanted to keep my mind clear to race.” I abandon my shiver as he glances up from his phone to smile with warm eyes. I squeeze my fingers tight on his leg, enjoying the benefits of his hard work in the gym.

  He reaches around and places his index finger under my chin, lifting my jaw until our eyes meet. My stomach back flips as my heart races faster than it did while I was charging around the track. We’ve been so busy that I’ve forgotten to truly see him. His beautiful warm eyes melt my tension, cutting through to the core of what is important. This. Us. Being here for each other.

  “When would I ever do anything else? Whatever I can do to help you, I always will. It’s the least I can do.”

  I smell soap as he leans in and places his lips against mine. They’re soft, barely brushing mine, but the warmth that runs from them eases away all my tension. I close my eyes and sigh into his open mouth, allowing time to stall between us so we hang suspended in an elongated moment.

  When our lips part, I place my head on his broad shoulder, feel the sinews of his wide neck tense as he leans to rest his cheek against my hair. His stubble catches so he has to smooth down my curls with his hand in a tender gesture, which hooks the tension in the air and transposes it into the security of knowing I am loved.

  He leaves his palm resting against me for a second before turning to plant his kiss against my head, leaving his lips to linger as he inhales through his nose. I hear the slow, regular beating of his heart and there is no place I would want to be than here with him. Even in these moments, we are as one. These moments act as a glue to bind us together stronger.

  “You ever wonder if we’ll catch a break?” he whispers.

  His breath is warm against my head. “We caught our break the day we met, and the whirlwind took us off in a direction over which we had no control.”

  I feel his lips move and when he speaks I know he’s smiling from his tone. “Yeah, and now we’re going through all of that upheaval again with the addition of a new family member.”

  “I never asked how you felt about him. I know we can’t do much about him. He’s here to stay. But, it’s not like we planned to have kids. We only ever talked about it once, and that was a fleeting conversation.” I lift my head so that I can see his eyes when he replies.

  “It was a shock, especially with the way he’d behaved toward you, toward us. But, by then, there was no point over-thinking anything, he was here. And that was that. He’s actually a nice kid under all the dirt-bag shit he likes to act out.” He strokes my hand. “He loves you, Elliott. He idolizes you.”

  I hoped that’s what I saw in him, but I didn’t want to allow myself to believe. But when Kyle makes that statement, it’s like a light goes on in my heart. One that I’ve been keeping hidden under the covers at night is suddenly allowed to burn bright. “Well, we can’t let him down. We’d better hurry and get him released from that hellhole he’s gotten himself locked in. Speed up, driver.” I grin, and I swear Kyle’s emotional side is rubbing off on me because my eyes well up. I look out of the window, watching the cars as our driver does a serious bit of overtaking that could put me to shame.

  Kyle

  When we arrive at the station, there’s no one around. We ring a bell, but it’s still twenty minutes before anyone passes by. And that’s twenty minutes seated in a hot, stuffy box that has paint peeling off the walls and more than the odd bug crawling over the floor. Unable to move on the off chance someone may actually turn up and do their job, we’re held hostage.

  A bead of sweat forms on Elliott’s forehead. “You OK there?”

  “It’s hotter than sitting on top of the engine in here.” He stands up, shakes out his legs and paces his frustration out.

  “They’re probably dealing with Axel now. That’s why they’re not answering our ring.” I have my doubts, but I can see the irritation at not knowing what’s happening gnawing at him.

  He approaches the desk and slams his palm down on the bell again. “Maybe they didn’t hear it the first time.”

  I make the one step that it takes to be by his side and I lay my arm across his shoulder. “Hey, we can’t control this. Don’t let it stress you out. It won’t help.”

  His voice is a growl when he replies. “I know, but this process of being helpless and us having no choice but to just wait is driving me insane.”

  There’s movement at the back of the desk, a shadow forms and then disappears behind the opaque door. Instinctively we pull apart as Elliott jams on the bell again. Sweat stings my eyes, and I wipe my head on the top of my sleeve before someone comes and catches me.

  The police officer ambles out and must sense that we’re here for Axel, as he doesn’t speak. He just stares. His eyes are hard and cold, and I swear he’s missing something in his soul.

  “I’m Elliott Judd, I’ve come to...” He looks at me, a question in his eyes. What are we here to do?

  “We’re here to speak with the lawyer for Axel Grant,” I step in.

  We stand tall at that desk like two blokes who came down to the station together rather than partners who share every aspect of our life. We’re in a foreign country, and although we’re confident in who we are, in a situation like this where prejudices can play a part in a young man’s freedom, we make certain to keep at least a few inches between us.

  I can’t remember a time when we’ve ever done this in the past, and it’s not something we’ve ever talked about. But here we are, unscripted, but instinct coordinating our actions.

  The police officer makes a few gruff comments, then trundles behind his counter again before disappearing into the back. Hopefully he'll return with Clifford’s lo
cal representative.

  “Chase will be here before we’ve had a chance to even speak with anyone,” Elliott grumbles.

  Half an hour later, he rematerializes with a man of about forty wearing chinos with a white shirt tucked in. His hair is dark, long on top and salt and peppered to the sides. And he reeks of money.

  Elliott and I exchange a quick glance. This guy is good.

  He holds out his hand, and Elliott takes it in a firm handshake. “Franco Suarez, pleased to be of your acquaintance.”

  When he smiles, his teeth gleam, whitened beyond any recognition of what is natural. “And you, thank you for coming out on a Sunday to help with our... situation,” Elliott smiles back, his teeth not quite as bright.

  “Please come with me.” He takes us to the front of the building onto the busy street, but the air, even though it’s still warm, is a welcome relief from the stuffy waiting room.

  “It’s better to speak out here, away.” He waves a hand toward the inside of the station we’ve just left, with a tilt of his head.

  Elliott and I both nod as though speaking outside a police station about police business to avoid angry police officers is as second nature to us as taking a pee.

  He continues to talk before we have a chance to say anything. “There are no formal charges, or none that will stick, I think you say. But they are not inclined to release Mr. Grant yet. I believe someone is paying them.”

  My heart sinks. I hadn’t considered this. “Does that mean that the charges will progress?”

  He nods. “Possibly. But money talks out here so there is always that option.” His eyebrows dance, and I’m assuming he’s talking about us making our own, higher bribe.

  Elliott looks at me and a moment of understanding passes between us. “I hate the idea of paying for people to do their job correctly, but if that’s the only option?” He shrugs his shoulders like he’s backed into a corner, but Elliott won’t be bullied into something he doesn’t agree with on principle.

  I check my phone, which vibrates, with my brain still very much engaged with the silent conversation between Elliott and me. “Chase will be here soon. Let’s see if we can get this sorted out when he turns up and confirms that he’s not pressing charges. Do you think that will work?” I ask Franco.

  “Perhaps. We could use it, but it depends who has been given the money. If it’s someone high up, then even this may not be enough.”

  “Is he likely to be formally prosecuted?” Elliott asks. He's checking because his natural instinct is to further resist lining the pockets of corrupt officials. Elliott won't want to encourage behavior that lands some other unfortunate soul in a similar situation in the future. He's happy for his headstrong son to receive a sharp kick up his backside, but he doesn't want to risk any more than that going down.

  “If the victim is not pressing charges, then this situation should only be nasty enough to give the young man a fright.”

  “I think he’s had that already,” Elliott sighs.

  “Let’s go and grab a drink and wait for Chase to arrive,” I suggest, placing my arm gently on Elliott’s elbow.

  He nods, while Franco agrees. “Excellent idea. I’ll go back inside and continue to put on some pressure. Please call me when your friend arrives.” He hands me his business card.

  Elliott

  I never again thought that Chase would be my savior, but when he walks through the door to the noisy bar we’re holed up in, I’ve never been more pleased to see him.

  It’s a little awkward as he draws closer. I’m unsure how to greet him after all the bad blood that’s passed between us. I hold out my hand in the end, and he doesn’t hesitate before shaking it.

  “Did you find the place easy enough?” I check while Kyle is already on the phone to Franco.

  “He’s ready for us now. He’ll meet us outside.” Elliott disconnects the call.

  Chase has confirmed to Franco that he is not pressing charges, and we’re taken inside to wait for only ten minutes this time until we’re allowed in to see the police officer processing Axel’s case.

  The appropriate introductions are made, with Franco being overly nice to someone who is on the take. The one we assume to be the corrupt officer is not especially bothered about being polite to Franco. This is a lesson in diplomacy that I never expected to need.

  Eventually, we get to the part where we explain why Chase is here.

  “I am the victim in this case. I am the person who had the altercation with Axel Grant, and I categorically do not want to press charges. I do not know where these accusations have come from, but they did not start with me. They need to be dropped with immediate effect.”

  Franco then takes over speaking at a pace in his mother tongue with much frantic gesticulating of hands. Their voices crescendo to a high whine, and I can’t stand this tension any longer. Despite my best efforts, I have to peek at Kyle. I know what’s coming, but even in the circumstances, the pull of our shared humor is overpowering.

  He’s been waiting for the exact same thing, and as soon as I dare to sneak a glance in his direction, his eyes swivel in their sockets to meet mine without his head moving. It’s almost impossible not to snicker like two schoolboys, as inappropriate laughter surges from my chest. I manage to catch it in the back of my throat, faking a cough. Kyle rolls his eyes, which twinkle with mischief, while Chase barely notices, so engrossed is he in the fiasco playing out in front of us.

  I know it’s wrong. I know this is a serious situation, and I know it’s my son who we are trying to get out of the shit, but sometimes, really? The best part about having Kyle with me is that together we can work through anything. And that includes lightening the shitty mood that could descend on us with all these heightened emotions at play.

  I have half a mind to tell them to just take the cash and let him out. Let’s break free from this claustrophobia and game playing. But the other, more sensible half holds tight until we have no other option.

  I nudge Chase. “Do you think it would help if you sign a statement?”

  He shrugs. “I’d rather not have a record of this mess. I hope you’re happy.”

  “Huh? That I’m happy? What have I done?”

  “You starting this whole company without a clue what you’re doing. Incidents like this were bound to happen. It’s OK when you keep them to yourself, but when you start dragging others into it...”

  I’m about to reply, but the arguing, which has reached shouting level, ceases, and Franco turns to us. “Axel will be released with immediate effect.” He shoots a serious glare at the constable.

  “We are sorry for any miscommunication.”

  I shoot Chase one final, questioning look before standing and following the rest of the troop back to sit down in that oppressive waiting room again.

  “How did you manage it?”

  “I threatened to expose him to his wife for an affair he is having.”

  “Oh?” Kyle looks at me at exactly the same time I widen my eyes at him.

  “It was a lucky guess.” Franco’s smile is wry.

  Kyle

  Life settles down again after Axel is released. He’s learned a lesson about keeping his thoughts to himself, which will do him well in his professional life. He also appears to have made some serious enemies in the press, which, considering his career path, is not ideal. But people move on, so hopefully whoever caused this stink will just disappear into the background over time.

  What’s more important than the repercussions of the ruckus with the law is that it’s brought us together as a family. Elliott and I gained another level of understanding about how our relationship can endure, and we’ve both become even closer to Axel, who is now spending more time with us in the evenings.

  Before all of this, he always had a barrier up. He wanted to get close to us, but then he’d retreat as soon as his defenses came down too far and he risked being hurt by us. I'm starting to believe that we're through the worst and that we can do even better th
an just making this family thing work. We are starting to enjoy it.

  By us being there for him when he got himself in trouble, we proved that we’re family. He’s around the house a lot more, but being on tour is the awkward part now because people still don’t know he’s Elliott’s son, so we’re constantly trying to maintain the appearance of distance.

  “Have you thought about telling everyone who you guys are to each other again?” I ask one night over one of the many mid-race-season chicken salads we consume.

  “No. Why do they need to know?” The glare Axel throws me is enough to tell me exactly what he thinks of my question.

  Elliott, on the other side, sends me a different look. One for him that says the pressure would absolutely be off if he were able to just come clean about our newfound family. He continues to eat his lettuce, and so I step up for him. “It’s just that it would be nice to not have to hide you. You’re not a dirty little secret. We enjoy being part of your family. It’s nice.”

  “Ah, I see.” He nods his head knowingly.

  Clearly fucking not though because a tension hovers overhead like a misty cloud, and I have no idea what I just said. Elliott stops chewing, sensing it too. “What do you see?” I ask, slowly, my voice laced with caution.

  “I see what’s going on here.” Axel has also stopped eating his dinner and is staring at me with wounded eyes. His skin is rapidly turning from pale to puce.

  Here we go. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Axel, because I was just talking about us telling the world that we’re a family and then you get your knickers in a twist about what? I have no idea.”

  “About you wanting to use me as one of your many PR stunts. That’s why you brought this up, Kyle, isn’t it? Rather than him.” He spits the word, and I feel Elliott recoil as though he’s been sucker punched.