Throttled: Dirty Air (Book 1)(35)

“I don’t sponsor this team to see a shitty performance like that from my own son. I don’t buy your crap with the steering wheel. All the tests came back fine; nothing seemed loose.” His voice gets louder as his agitation grows. My face remains flat because I don’t feed into his anger. The fallout from his rage is a lesson I don’t wish to revisit anytime soon, at least not in this lifetime.

I look over his shoulder and catch the suite door ajar, a shocked Maya staring back at me through the crack with a hand covering her mouth. Acting like Spanish Nancy Drew piecing together what I did.

Just a bad day in racing. Steering wheel problems happen all the time.

“There was something off. Hopefully they find out what happens before the next race, that way I can get first place next time.”

“Bullshit! Don’t try to pull something over on me, acting all coy. You know I basically fund your career here. People would kill for your seat. I could replace you like that.” He snaps his fingers.

“Go ahead. I’m sure McCoy would offer me a seat in a heartbeat. That team probably pays more than Bandini does anyway. Wouldn’t you like that?”

A resounding crack fills the small room as my head snaps to the side. My dad fucking backhanded me. I try my hardest not to start something with him, my breaths becoming labored as my self-control teeters. Maya’s gasp and the whooshing sound in my ears make it difficult to make out any other noises.

I wipe away blood trickling down my mouth. It feels like I’m ten years old again, getting third place in a kart race, my dad pissed and taking his anger out on me. Looks like old tricks never die.

“Oh Father, I thought we were past this. You should put more meaning behind a hit like that; maybe age is getting to you.”

“I thought we were moving on from your shitty attitude, but I guess I was wrong. Fix yourself up. You look like a fucking mess.”

Thank fuck Maya has the foresight to disappear because my dad barrels through, ending our crappy conversation. I take a deep breath before looking into the hall, surprised yet relieved to find it empty, a nosy Maya long gone.





13





Maya


Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

I can’t get the image out of my head of Noah’s dad hitting him because how does someone hit their thirty-year-old child?

My brain runs a million miles an hour, unable to keep up with the surplus of information. The steering wheel problems, the race, his dad freaking hitting him across the face. The way Noah’s eyes looked into mine, sad and so damn lost. It gutted me to see him like that. Stripped down to nothing more than a man with weaknesses and a fractured past. Nothing like the cocky man I see daily, unaffected and disinterested in the people around him.

My family shows up in Santi’s suite five minutes after the Slades’ fight. No one notices my silence or how my leg bounces up and down while I mull over what I saw: a family dynamic no one knows about. I took an Intro to Psych course, and I know the stats about parents hitting their kids. This is not a one-time thing, a fluke because of a messed-up steering wheel or a lost race.

Noah’s dad is a messed-up man who lives through his son.

I spend time with my family before excusing myself. Santi looks at me weirdly before returning his attention to my parents, their wide smiles bright after his success today.

I go to the kitchen and grab an ice pack, the cold plastic numbing my hand as I walk up to Noah’s suite. My stomach rolls from nerves because I don’t want to overstep after his bad day. Another deep breath expands my lungs. I wait for a moment, unsure if I should knock on his door.

I dig deep and lightly rap my knuckles.

The door opens a crack. A moody Noah looks down at me, blue eyes shadowed by a Bandini hat situated low on his face, a poor attempt at hiding his reddened skin.

“Hey, I come bearing gifts.” I jiggle the ice pack. No point in hiding what I saw earlier.

Noah pushes his door open wide, and I pass through. His suite has the same layout as Santi’s with plain white walls and red accents with Bandini's logo covering one wall. He takes a seat on one of the white couches, grabbing the extended ice pack while I take up a spot on the opposite side.

“Come to admit you suck at eavesdropping?”

My cheeks flush at his tactlessness. “Well, sorry.” Might as well apologize even though they left the door open.

“And sorry you saw that. I should have closed the door, but he surprised me for the first time in a while.” Noah’s words tug at me.

His statement is a lot to unpack, and I don’t understand why he apologizes. My head pounds as I wrap my mind around Noah’s toxic history with his dad.

“You don’t need to be sorry. He’s a total ass. You warned me a while ago, but I guess I didn’t think it was that bad.”

Noah winces as he presses the ice pack against his face. “No one knows.” He lets out a deep and shaky sigh. My stomach dips with unease at his lowered defenses, a rare sighting for someone as confident and self-assured as him.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume this isn’t the first time he’s hit you.”

Noah’s blank gaze reveals enough.

“How long has he been doing this? That’s not right. It’s not how parents should be, especially at your age. You could kick his ass into next week.”