Wrecked (Dirty Air 3)

“He might.” Her lips press together in a thin line. “But I think the second question you should ask yourself is, ‘What if he accepts you, screwed up future and all, because he couldn’t imagine a world without you in it?’”

And like that, Vera and I stare out into the ocean, both in our own worlds.

I come to the realization that not every love story is written the same way. From the start, Jax and I were never meant for any basic ending with the boy chasing the girl into the sunset. In our story, I’m the one who needs to embrace the dark to pull him out and save him. F

rom our past. For our future. And most of all, for the love I know is stronger than any shitty diagnosis or anxiety.

I don’t need a happy ending. I need our ending. The one that might be messy and imperfect, but exclusively ours.

And it’s about damn time I go and fight for what I know is rightfully mine.

50

Jax

I always thought I was a miserable, insufferable bastard before Elena. But life without Elena? It’s like living in the eye of a hurricane. It’s calm, quiet, but you’re painfully aware of destruction looming nearby.

Liam frowns at me from across my suite. “You look like shit. I wouldn’t have guessed you placed P1 for tomorrow’s race based on how depressed you’ve been.”

“I might not look it, but I’m thrilled for the season to be over tomorrow. I’m ready for a break.”

“For a break or for a binger?”

Besides my one moment of weakness the night of the Singapore Grand Prix, I haven’t touched a lick of alcohol since I broke up with Elena. Not even Jack can cure the Elena-sized hole in my chest, no matter how much I wish it did.

And you bet your arse I wish it did.

“A break. I want to spend time with my parents.” And I want to heal. I can’t do that when I’m living under Connor’s microscope and F1’s excessive demands.

“Will your new babysitter join you?”

Sam, my latest ankle monitor and constant reminder of how much I ruined my life, hangs out on the couches outside of my suite, giving me privacy for once all day.

“No. Connor trusts me to behave this time.” Probably because I won’t be a burden anymore.

“That’s shocking. I thought he’d be the first one to want you supervised after last time.”

“He doesn’t have a reason to worry anymore. I’m done with F1 after tomorrow.”

Liam stares at me with wide eyes. “What? Not a funny joke, asshole.”

“I’m not joking.”

“You’re quitting? What the fuck has gotten into you?” He scowls.

“I haven’t been fully honest with you.” I look away.

“No shit.”

I take the deepest breath, hoping it gives me additional courage. These are the moments I wish I had a Xan. I let it all out, telling Liam about everything since my parents told me Mum had Huntington’s. The pills, the alcohol, the constant anxiety crippling me to the point of barely living. By the end of my story, we’re both silent and processing. Liam gets up from the other couch and sits next to me. He looks stunned.

“I’m all for our bromance, but I don’t need your tears.” I elbow him in the ribs.

Liam wraps his arm around my shoulder and tugs me into him in the manliest hug I’ve experienced. “You’re a stupid asshole for keeping this all to yourself. I would’ve been there for you if you had only asked.”

“I didn’t want to be a bother to anyone. Plus, you have Sophie now, and Noah has Maya.”

“We’d be the shittiest friends if we ignored you for our girlfriends when you needed us the most. And let’s be real, if there’s anything about me and Noah you’d expect, it’s that we never half-ass anything, friendships included.” He smacks me on the back and lets go. “You don’t need to face any of this alone. If you want to quit racing, we’ll stand by you the whole time. You deserve to do what makes you happy.”