Lennox
My elbows are out as I push past media crew and support staff and the crowd of people who stuffed the conference room for Mallory’s bombshell. As soon as the video started rolling, a herd started amassing in the room. Everyone from team bosses to cleaning crews are packed in like sardines. I’m clearing a path and dragging her behind me. It’s a fucking frenzy.
I push the conference room doors open with my shoulder and break into the hallway. I feel Mallory’s hand jerked out of mine and look back. A journalist I don’t recognize has her arm and there’s a giant camera in her face. “Back off!” I roar and shove him away from her.
“Go, go!” She scurries to my side and we take off again. We jog through the building being chased by a flock of cameras and take the first exit door we come across. Outside there are more cameramen waiting and I search up and down the paved path behind the track buildings but there’s nowhere to go to get away from them. The motorhome is absolutely out of the question now.
“Hey!” I hear Jack yell behind us. He, Matty, and Aria have pushed through the crowd and are jogging toward us outside. What the hell is Aria doing here?
“Do you have my keys?” I yell to Jack as the trio hustles to catch up.
Jack digs into his pants pocket, “Does Raggedy Anne have a cotton crotch?”
He hands me the keys and I pull Mallory to continue our escape but she tugs back, “No, I can’t leave Aria.”
“Girl, go!” Aria is between Jack and Matty and slips her arms around both of their waists smiling like the Cheshire Cat.
“Take care of her,” I tell them both, nodding to Aria, and grab Mallory’s hand.
We need to get the hell out of here. There are reporters and cameras everywhere, circling us like buzzards. They’re trying to tug on both of us to ask questions. I make long strides through the track and into the parking garage when I feel her arm pulling on mine to match pace with my long legs. “Keep up or I’ll pick you up,” I tell Mallory as plow through the crowds. If someone else grabs her or she gets hurt in this mob we’re going to have another scene.
By the time I hand her into my car there are only six or eight cameramen filming us but Mallory is out of breath and shaking. “Are you ok?” I speed out of the parking lot.
She takes several deep breaths with her eyes closed, “Yes. Holy shit, holy shit,” she pants.
I have no idea where I’m going or what just happened but I need to get us away from the track first, away from the crowds, the news teams. My hotel won’t be safe from them now. Silverstone is in the middle of bumfuck nowhere England and soon there’s nothing but cows and crops on both sides of the road. Mallory is silent beside me but I know she’s freaked out.
“Where are you going?” She finally asks me.
“I don’t know, just, away from this,” I wave with my arms to convey the gravity of everything we need to escape right now.
“Just pull over somewhere, I’ll call Max to come get me.” She pulls out her phone and her hands are shaking.
“What? No. Mallory, we need to talk.” I put my hand over hers on the phone but she pulls it away. Now that she’s had a spell to calm down, she’s pissed. I spot a dirt road up ahead and pull off and far enough down the road to be out of sight from the main road. There’s nothing around us but orchards of some kind of fruit trees.
I pull to the side with branches hanging over the car and kill th
e engine. Mallory is looking at her knees and gripping her phone. I run my hands through my hair and try to focus. I don’t even know where to start. This is absolute insanity and thoughts sprint across my mind faster than I can keep up with, but no. That’s not what’s important.
Unclipping my seatbelt so I can sit sideways to see her, all I want to do is drag her into my arms and make sure she’s ok. “There’s so much I need to say to you but I’m not sure where to start,” I admit.
“Same,” she nods and stares out the windshield.
“Do you mind if I go first?”
“Since when do you ask?” She’s defensive and won’t look at me.
I wish I could deliver an impassioned speech on her like she gave to that conference room of reporters, but I’ve always been better about showing her how I feel rather than tell her.
And that shit stops now.
“I meant what I said in Austria. I love you. I know I fucked up. I swear to you there’s only been you since the day I met you and I think you know that. I know you don’t trust me, though, and I’ll do whatever…”
She shakes her head and interrupts me, “That’s not it anymore.”
“What is it, then? Tell me and I’ll fix whatever it is.”
“You can’t fix this,” a tear runs down her eye.