Wrecked (Dirty Air Series Book 3)

“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?”This content is © NôvelDrama.Org.

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 toward 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?”

She shakes her head. “No. She lives in a facility for patients with Alzheimer’s Disease. I recently had her moved to a new one that’s meant for long-term patients.” She looks away. “It’s the reason I accepted this job. Her care, my school loans, and affording to actually live adds up.”

“Those places aren’t cheap. What about your parents helping her?”

Elena slips on an unreadable mask which I recognize all too well. “It’s my job.”

“You’re kind of young to shoulder that kind of responsibility.”

“Not everyone can grow up with the Kingston name, getting everything they want with a snap of their fingers.” She lets out a resigned sigh.

Elena would’ve been better off shoving an icicle through my heart. Her judgment irritates me, bringing my biggest concern back to the surface.

“Contrary to your opinion of my family, being a Kingston can’t get you everything,” I lash out, thinking of my mum. Money will never buy back the years of her life she’s bound to lose, no matter how much my dad wishes. He’d give away all his money to have more time with her, minus the pain.

Thinking of my mum taints my mood, pushing me to end this exchange. “I think I’ve had enough talking for today.” I rise from the couch.

“Jax, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was rude and judgmental.” She jumps from her spot on the couch and walks up to me, placing her palm on my chest. Her touch soothes the anger she helped bring about in the first place.

I attempt to step away, but she moves toward me again. “Fine. Whatever.”

Fuck this shit. I don’t need Elena bringing me the same level of calm as a Xan.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. You have the world at your feet, yet you throw it away with poor decisions. I wasn’t thinking.”

“That’s how it is between us. A couple of conversations without us bickering won’t change that.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“What I want is for you to get a fucking hint and leave me alone.”

Her shoulders drop. I shouldn’t be such a dick, but I can’t stop it. There’s no point to us getting close. She’s working while I’m surviving the season. I almost forgot for a moment, but she brought me back to reality.

“You know, you spend way more energy pushing people away than trying to get to know them. One day you’ll realize what a mistake you’ve made, and I’ll be there for you once you do.” Her lips tug into a wobbly smile. One I hate to see in the first place, not because it isn’t beautiful, but because it’s too fucking perfect.

Like everything about her. Too focused, too put-together, too damn unattainable. I hate her for it. I hate her for barreling into my life and showing me what it’s like to want something different for once.

But most of all, I hate her for coming into my space, for making me pathetic, for simply believing me.

And hate makes me angry.

So fucking angry.