Wrecked (Dirty Air Series Book 3)

by Lauren Asher

  I eye her skeptically as I enter my room. An Easter bunny suit scares the shit out of me, with huge eyes and a neon green vest covered in fluorescent eggs.

  “Surprise! An Easter egg hunt!” She claps her hands together exaggeratedly.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. A suit? Seriously?”

  “I know. Isn’t it cool? You have no idea how hard it was to find one of those on such short notice.” She leans against my dresser.

  “Why can’t I dress like a normal person?”

  “Because you’re hosting the event and kids want a real Easter bunny.”

  “Bunnies don’t even lay eggs. This is stupid as fuck.”

  She shrugs, ignoring my turmoil. “Stupid but effective. We’re raising money to fund local playgrounds in Barcelona’s most underserved areas.”

  Damn, I nearly give into her stupid bunny suit request based on the way her eyes light up at the idea of donating money to children in need.

  Nearly being the essential word.

  “I’m not wearing that. I refuse.” I shake my head.

  She wobbles her lip on command and clasps her hands together in mock prayer. “Please? Think of the little kids. They’ll want to take pictures with a real bunny and have fun. Plus, the parents are donating lots of money to find eggs on the racetrack with you.”

  “What do I get out of this?”

  “Besides fundraising for kids from impoverished neighborhoods who deserve new, safe playground equipment?”

  When she puts it that way, I sound like the biggest dick. But the bunny suit is horrendous, and one whiff in its direction tells me it smells offensive. “I get to cash in on one favor from you.”

  “What kind of favor?” Elena’s eyes widen.

  “Not the sexual kind based on the look of horror in your eyes. Anything is on the table, as long as it isn’t illegal.”

  “Fine. Nothing illegal, nothing sexual, and nothing that can make me lose my job.” She holds her hand out to me.

  I grasp it, enjoying the feel of her hand in mine. “Deal.”

  “I’ll be damned. This is the best shit I’ve seen in…well…forever...” Liam flicks one of the eggs on my hideous vest.

  “Don’t tell Sophie that.” Noah punches Liam’s shoulder.

  “Not another word about this from you guys.” I glare at them despite the lack of visibility from the large headpiece.

  “I’ll be sure to hire you for my kid’s birthday one day. How much do you charge an hour?” Noah tugs on one of my ears.

  “I’m retiring after this. If you want to book me, I hope you’re okay with your kiddos learning every foul word in the dictionary.”

  “If my kid learns bad words from you, I didn’t do my job as a father.” Noah smiles at me.

  “Look at you, having a steady girlfriend and talking about kids. Does Maya hold your balls hostage for collateral?”

  “Asshole.” Noah scowls at me.

  “Oh look, Elena’s bringing over another kid. Check out that little sucker holding on to her hand. I think he’s in love.” Liam bats his lashes in a dramatic way that makes me want to smack the back of his head.

  Elena looks down at the kid with the most genuine smile. I’m stuck staring like a creep, enjoying how she beams at the kid before offering him a full-size candy bar. The way my chest clenches as she brushes away a tear from his face stirs up a mix of emotions nearly knocking me back a foot. Yearning sticks out to me most.

  Elena walks up to us, stopping my inner dilemma. “Hi, everyone. This is my new friend Rafael. Some kids took all his eggs when he dropped his basket by accident, so I told him he could meet the best racers instead of collecting candy.”

  Jesus Christ. Kids can be brutal.

  Liam kneels down in front of Rafael. “Who’s your favorite racer? If it’s me, I have extra candy for you.”

  Rafael shakes his head, making all of us laugh as he points at Noah.

  “Of course. Everyone loves the famous Noah Slade,” I grumble low, the suit muffling my voice.

  “Don’t be jealous. With the way you’re driving this season, who knows what will happen next.” Noah squats in front of Rafael. He grabs his own hat off his head and signs it before placing it on Rafael’s tiny head.

  Elena points at my headpiece. “You can take that off already. I honestly only expected you to wear it for the photo op.”

  “And you planned on telling me this when?”

  She lets out the loudest laugh. “As soon as the egg hunt started. But once you kept it on without complaining, I couldn’t resist. I meant it when I said it was nearly impossible for me to find one of those at the last moment.”

  “Damn, she got you good.” Liam gives Elena a high five.

  “Payback for weeks of attitude.” She shrugs her shoulders.

  “You’re such a—” I start.

  “Kid!” Noah interrupts us.

  Liam eyes me as he signs Rafael’s shirt. “You can only blame yourself for being such a temperamental jerk.”

  “That’s fine. I got a favor out of this one.” I smile wickedly at Elena once I tug off the bunny head.

  Her mouth falls open as she gazes at my friends. “It’s nothing bad or anything!”

  Rafael smiles at me and gives my leg a hug. I awkwardly pat his head, unsure how to act around kids.

  Liam shakes his head at Elena. “We’re not the type to judge.”

  “Yeah, and to be honest, we’re more afraid of Jax corrupting you.” Noah’s eyes slide from me to Elena.

  Elena throws her head back and laughs. I can’t take my eyes off her, no matter how much I want to. Though I want to hang around her more, I can’t. Even something like today has pushed me closer than I should be with her.

  When push comes to shove, I’m the first one to hit the road running. And I’m the type who doesn’t look back.

  13

  Jax

  “I’m not talking to a shrink.” I shut the door to Connor’s office and take a seat across from him.

  “Yes, you are. It’s in your contract.”

  “Where? Please show me because the last time I checked, psych sessions weren’t in the fine print.”

  “It’s under the clause saying you’ll do whatever the fuck I want, whenever the fuck I want it. Section 3B if you want to get specific.” He turns his laptop toward me, showing me the highlighted section.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

  “It’s a new company policy. Athletes speak to a psychologist once a week for an hour. Anything said between the two of you remains confidential.”

  I clench my fists. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “It’s not a personal attack. It’s healthy, and I hope other teams copy us. You guys deal with high speeds, collisions, stress, and a ton of other things. I’d rather have mentally sound athletes driving our cars. And don’t pretend you haven’t had other shit eating away at you.”

  “That’s different. It has nothing to do with my driving skills.”

  Connor scoffs. “Oh, sod off. Of course, it does. You taking a Xanax the day of a race says otherwise.”

  “That’s not because of racing and you know that. It’s tough to be around tons of people. I feel like I’m constantly on, exhausting myself by trying not to say the wrong thing or act the wrong way.”

  He shuts his laptop, giving me his full attention. “Exactly my point. Everyone can use someone to talk to, including you. I want my drivers to be in top condition this season.”

  “So Elías has to do this too?”

  “I can’t say who sees a psychologist, but I’m saying you will be doing it.”

  “What if I don’t say anything during the session?”

  He lifts one shoulder. “Then don’t. It’s your hour to waste however you want it. If you’re done, I need to make a call. And don’t be late for your first session.” He dismisses me with a nod toward his door.

  I grumble a goodbye as I make my way t
oward the office of Dr. Schwartz, McCoy’s newest addition to my personal hell.

  I knock on his door. He opens it, letting me into his office with a couch, low lighting, and a candle smelling like I walked onto the set of The Great British Baking Show. How fucking Zen of him.

  “Welcome, Jax. It’s nice to meet you.” Dr. Schwartz takes a seat across from me. His brown eyes scream calm and welcoming while mine say I’d rather be fucked up the arse with a chainsaw than be here.

  Graphic yet oddly imaginative.

  “Well, Dr. Schwartz, I hear I’m stuck visiting you every week for the rest of the season.”

  He runs a hand through his brown hair before he adjusts his thick glasses. “Please call me Tom. And yes, I’ve been told we will meet once a week, but I’ll be on call if you need me for more sessions.” His words carry a Southern drawl.

  “Doubtful.”

  He chuckles. “Most athletes are resistant to work with a psychologist in the beginning. At first, it can be intimidating opening up to someone, especially for those who are in the spotlight all the time. It’s understandable how you want to keep your private life private.”

  “What would you know about athletes?”

  “I’m a sports psychologist, which means I specialize in high-profile clients who deal with stressors not typical of a normal person. I’ve worked with the NFL and NBA. Although I’m new to F1, I can assure you I’ll be tuning in on Sundays now.”

  Well, it seems like Tom has some credentials to his name. “Fabulous.”

  “So, why do you think you’re here?” He clasps his hands together.

  “Because Connor is in the mood to get his arse kicked.”

  Tom raises a brow.

  I continue. “And in case you aren’t aware, I don’t want to be here. This is the biggest waste of an hour when I have limited time as it is.”

  “Noted. I only hope with time, you grow to enjoy our sessions together. My job is to help make your time with F1 easier rather than harder.” His smile reaches his eyes.

  “My life would be easier if I didn’t have to be forced to do this every week.”

  Tom leans forward in his chair, his gaze easing my discomfort. “I understand it’s not exactly what you want. No one likes to be forced into anything, especially something requiring you to express private thoughts with a stranger. If you don’t mind me asking, what about this process feels forced to you?”

  “Connor made me come. Literally. It’s in my contract.” I tug on my hair.

  “Although it’s a part of your contract, whatever you want to talk about is up to you. Is there anything at all that you would want to get out of coming to these weekly sessions?”

  “Besides surviving an hour under your microscope?”

  Tom chuckles. “I’m here for whatever you need. My job isn’t to assess you, but rather assist you through the process of coping with major stressors—both on the track and in your life.”

  “Sounds dandy.” Sounds like a nightmare, but Tom isn’t on a need to know basis.

  “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to set some goals for treatment. It’s something I do with all my clients.”

  “Easy. Goal 1: survive this season. Goal 2: kick everyone else’s arse. Goal 3: win another World Championship.”

  He tilts his head. “Are all of your goals related to F1?”

  “Is there something wrong with that?”

  “No, it’s typical of athletes. You might find yourself having your goals change once you attend more sessions and grow more comfortable with me.”

  “Swell.” I lean my head against the couch as I begin to count ceiling tiles.

  “This is your hour to do whatever you want and say whatever you feel, Jax. Take advantage or stay silent.”

  “You won’t force me to talk?” I cross my arms.

  “I’ll probably ask you some questions, but you have the right to refuse them. Like I said, this is your hour to make of it what you may.”

  “Then, I prefer silence, thank you very much.”

  “Very well.” Tom keeps to his word, staying quiet for the remainder of our time.

  Somehow an hour goes by faster than expected, with me counting ceiling tiles to pass the time.

  “Same time next week?” Tom offers me his palm as I exit the room.

  I take it and give it a good shake. “Sure. Not like I have a choice.”

  “We all have choices in life. You made a choice not to speak, like I made a choice to stay quiet. The mistake people make is thinking they don’t have any other options. There are always alternatives, they’re just not always the easiest.”

  I try to keep myself busy the night before the Spanish GP’s practice rounds. The attempts include working out, cooking dinner in a small kitchen unfit for anything not straight out of the freezer section, and watching an episode of a TV show my mum recommended. Clearly the last attempt was a stupid decision, seeing as Elena parked herself on the small couch next to me, claiming she loves the show. There goes my attempt to stay away from her.

  I see what you did there, Mum.

  Throughout the night, I attempt to ignore Elena’s glances my way. The way she bites on her lower lip tells me she tries equally as hard as me to focus on the show. My hope for her to not speak fades away as she opens her mouth, releasing the bottom lip she bit raw.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Her melodic voice pulls for my attention.

  “No. I want to see what happens next.” Netflix betrays me, asking if I want to continue watching.

  The universe truly hates me. It’s official.

  “Come on. What’s the harm in one question?” She turns toward me.

  “Coming from the person who makes a living off asking hard questions? Everything. Plus, I want to know if they find another clue to the treasure.”

  “Are you scared?” she teases.

  I let out a forced laugh. “Of?”

  “Answering a question or two.”

  I lift a brow. “So now it’s two questions?”

  She shoots me a beaming smile. “I’m bargaining.”

  “I haven’t even agreed to one, let alone two.”

  “What would make you agree?”

  “If you get to ask questions, then I do too.” Yup. There goes my plan to avoid Elena at all costs.

  “You always make everything so complicated.” She shakes her head. “But okay.”

  “All right. Hit me with your first question.”

  She tucks her legs under her. Her attempt at getting comfortable only means trouble. “What’s your biggest regret?”

  Her question sparks my curiosity but not enough to make me answer that question right away.

  “Can’t you hit me with easier questions to get to know me? Like what’s my favorite color?”

  Her eyes narrow. “That’s easy. Green.”

  My face must scream what the fuck because she lets out a breathy laugh. Elena gives me a look that would make other men kneel before her and beg for her time. But I’m not anything like other men. Too jaded, too disheartened, too damn self-deprecating.

  “Aw, you expected me to guess black. I’m insulted how little you think of my skills. Your toothbrush and your water bottle are green. You may only wear black, but I’m onto you.”

  I hide my smile behind my hand. “Lucky guess. Name one of my favorite movies.”

  “Jurassic Park.”

  Well, shit. Either she stole my phone or she knows her stuff.

  “How did you guess that one?” I choke on the words.

  “People say the best way to know the enemy is by conducting thorough observations.”

  “You’re absolutely crazy.” And I absolutely like it.

  She makes a funny face I end up laughing at. “I’m obviously joking. Your only shirt with color is a black T-shirt with the park’s logo. And if you’re ever going to wear color besides your uniform, it’s bound to be something you love.” She bites her bottom lip—a nasty habit I wish I could do to her instead.


  “Now a hard one before I answer your original question. You must prove yourself worthy of deep ones.” I lean in close and eliminate the space between us on the small couch. My lips linger near the shell of her ear, whispering words, not caring for the repercussions of my actions. “What’s my favorite sex position?” My lips brush against the soft skin, my teeth grazing her before I pull away.

  She trembles on command. I love it. I hate it. But most of all, I want more of it.

  “I think you like doggy style because you don’t have to face the person. Mindless, tight, and gets you off just fine.” Her eyes darken as they land on my lips.

  Fuck. She keeps me on my toes.

  I fake indifference, scooting away despite craving her closeness. “No comment.”

  She lets out another laugh. Damn her for looking fucking endearing. “I’ll take that as a yes. So, once again, what’s your biggest regret?” Her bright eyes fill me with some sense of warmth I can’t pin down.

  “Being a dick to my mum when I was a teenager.”

  She tilts her head at me. “I didn’t expect that one at all. Why?”

  “Because she didn’t deserve my attitude. I wish I enjoyed the time we had more, instead of acting like an arsehole.”

  “I’m a little scared to know how a younger Jax behaved if this is how you act now.”

  “I was a brat. Now, it’s different. I only want to make my parents happy.” I sigh. “My turn. Tell me why you like playing that interior design game on your iPad?”

  “I’m saving up money to buy a decent apartment, so I want to practice my designing skills. I know you think it’s silly, but I’m not too bad. Plus, who doesn’t like working with fake money?”

  “Where do you plan on moving?”

  “I have a flat in Monaco, but I’m searching for a better one there. When I moved to Europe two years ago to start my job, I was low on funds, so my apartment isn’t the best. That and supporting my grandma has put a damper on the kind of apartment I could afford.” She looks away, tucking her hair behind her ear.

  “Does your grandma live with you?”