Wrecked (Dirty Air Series Book 3)

When I was seven years old, my dad thrust me in front of a punching bag after I took a whack at a kid on a kart race podium. I was mad at the young wanker who made fun of my parents’ relationship. That day, my dad looked me in the eyes and told me I needed to chase away my demons. Unfortunately, after all my dad’s efforts, it looks like I decided to run beside them.

Demons come in all shapes and sizes. Anger. Anxiety. An aversion to the future. Mine tempt me to submit to Xanax in order to have some peace of mind. I’m not a drug addict. I swear it. But I’m addicted to the temporary relief a Xan provides.

I imagine heaven is a lot like my head after the pill kicks in—silent, calm, and a hell of a lot less dark.

I didn’t mean for my life to take such a drastic turn this year. As Mum’s condition becomes more pervasive and Dad grows desperate to help her, I toy with instability. I give in to my vices when the going gets tough. But with avoidance comes anxiety, like a freight train hitting me when I least expect it.

Racing keeps me sane. Some people say they don’t believe in love at first sight, but to me, that was it. I fell in love with adrenaline—a nasty lover who leaves me as quickly as she came. I chase after her in any way I can have her. Drinking, driving, fucking—all adrenaline-inducing activities to keep the edginess inside of me at bay.

“You sure made a mess of things.” Connor McCoy faces me in all his glory. Instead of having fun in Melbourne before the season starts, I get to park my arse inside of a conference room.

“I fucked up. You know it, I know it, even Elías, my new fucking teammate, knows it.”

“What you did is concerning. Fuck—” Connor closes his blue eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose “—don’t blow my trust and force me to find a different solution to manage your anxiety.” His British accent has an edge to it.

“It won’t happen again because I’ve learned my lesson. Those pills don’t pair well with alcohol, no matter what the rap songs say.” I didn’t consider the side effects of mixing the two, seeing as Xanax only recently became my newest crutch to ease my anxiety.

Connor’s jaw ticks. “Quit fucking around. There were videos of you dancing on tables, acting like a wild man, before blacking out next to a urinal.”

I withhold the urge to cringe. “I hate to say I’m not a man of class and honor in the wee morning hours.”

“Your dumbassery can compete with a Bravo reality show.”

I drop my mouth open in faux shock. “I’m almost insulted. Unlike those shows, my life has a captivating storyline.”

His grim expression sets me straight. “Be serious. I understand your reason for being upset. I’m sorry about your mum. Mine visited yours last week, and she told me it wasn’t a good one.”

“Don’t. We do not bring her up here,” I snap.

Fuck Connor’s mum for gossiping about mine. You’d think with London being a huge city, the rich would stay in their own mansions far away from one another. But nope, Connor’s mum happens to attend a weekly smutty novel club with mine.

“Fine. How about you evaluate your public image? Kids look up to you for fuck’s sake. What you’re doing isn’t doing wonders for your career, with sponsors and fans questioning your stability.”

“I guess you’re lucky that I only have one more year on my contract before it gets renewed.”

Connor tugs on his blonde hair. “No. You’re lucky I like you, despite how much of a dick you are. At least I like you enough to defend your position to the board of sponsors who dislike me as it is. I refuse to give those lazy twats what they want, so pull your shit together. With Liam gone, you’re the company’s only hope of landing on podiums.”

“I’ll try my best to be better.” I swallow back the regret. Connor didn’t need to stand up to the board, but he did so as a favor to me. And for that, I’m grateful.

“I want to make sure I’ve made my point clear.” Connor’s teddy bear stare doesn’t pack the same punch as his predecessor, Peter. But at least he’s a positive guy who sneers less, plus he puts up with my shit.

“Trust me, I got your point. Last week was a lapse in judgment.” Guilt sits heavy inside of my goddamn chest, tightening around my lungs like a boa constrictor.

“More like last week was a tough week for your family that you happened to experience firsthand. But with your mum’s condition and your unpredictability, I can’t take the risk of this happening again during the season. The press is saying you’re in a downward spiral, and we can’t have that.”

“I’ll be better and won’t make mistakes again. Call me a whiskey bottle half full kind of guy.”

Last week was rough, to put it lightly. I used alcohol to dull the torture of sitting by while Mum battles her own hell. Tremors. Mood swings. The whole fucking spectrum of symptoms put a damper on our week together.

Connor glares at me. “I’m being serious. You know there are better options out there to maintain anxiety symptoms, right?”

“Tell me, how does one say they don’t give a fuck because there’s no point?”

“Well, I see a point, so I’ve taken your problem into my own hands. Think of me as your fairy godfather.”

“I prefer Al Pacino’s version over a Disney fairy tale.”

“Well, be prepared for my offer you—quite literally—can’t refuse.”

I slowly clap my hands together a few times in the most sarcastic way possible. “Well done. Can’t wait to hear what your grand plan is.”

“Since I’m busy with all the crap Peter left behind, I hired someone special. I thought it would do you some good to have a little one-on-one PR help.”

I curse to myself as I lean my head against the back of the chair. PR teams are the worst, contributing nothing but headaches and judgments.

Connor’s perceptive eyes find mine. “I won’t share what’s going on with your mum to the PR rep because my mum would kill me. But your alcohol issues and party ways are up for grabs. Whenever you feel like being an arsehole, think of the team and your chance at a World Championship this year. Do you really want to blow it?”

“No, I don’t.” I take a deep breath as someone opens the door.

Whiskey-colored eyes stare at me, framed by thick lashes. Her thin nose tips at the end before my eyes land on her plump lips. Bee-stung doesn’t cover it. More like she ran straight into a wasp nest and her lips lost the battle, both upper and bottom about the same size. Wavy, dark hair falls around her, sitting above her breasts, swaying against her silk blouse. Her outfit emphasizes her figure, the curves of her on display, begging me to kneel in front of her like a fucking shrine.

Elena checks all my boxes. Hips I want to grip, an arse I want to watch while I fuck her from behind, and tits I wouldn’t mind kissing my way around. But with her, I don’t have the ability to think with my dick.

I somehow withhold a groan as my head lifts from the back of the chair. “Elena, fancy seeing you here.”

“Jax, can’t say I’m sorry to be back.” She takes a seat across from me and puts her small hand out. I grab onto it with one tattooed hand, black and white fake bones engulfing hers as I give her fingers a squeeze. A hum of recognition buzzes through me. Hot, burning desire makes my hand squeeze hers harder as my dick registers her presence. I frown, hating the way one touch from her throws me off.

Last time I saw Elena, Liam announced he was leaving McCoy after placing runner-up in the Championship. With his departure, I thought I was free of her. But like the moron I’ve been lately, I was oh-so wrong.

I don’t like being around Elena more than I have to. Elena has this way of looking at me like she knows there’s something off about me. Like she wants to see me. Not the guy who lands on podiums each week. Not the man with hundreds of tattoos, looking like a badass yet falling short because of poor decisions. And definitely not the guy who sleeps around to cover up the emptiness he feels each day of his life.

And if there is anything I’ve learned over the past few years while watching my mum struggle, it’s that I can’t allow myself the luxury of someone learning my secrets. To be honest, Elena couldn’t afford a piece of my mind even if she won the lottery three years in a row.

Connor claps his hands together. “I called Elena after I heard she worked with Liam and you last year. I thought it would be better to hire someone you know.”

More like someone I know I want to fuck, but A for effort. “Long time no see. Vacation over in hell?”

“Lucifer asked for you to stop by sometime soon. Says he’s got a special place ready for you.” Her accent lulls on the words, a melodic rhythm capturing my attention.

“Only if I get to drag you down there with me. After all, hell is only fun when I’m paired with the best tour guide.”

Connor claps his hands together and smiles at us. “Well, glad you two get along well, seeing as Elena will be your favorite fan this season.”

My eyes dart from Connor to Elena. “I really hope that doesn’t mean what you’re insinuating.”

Elena laughs at my gruffness, her eyes shining bright under the lights.

Connor hands Elena an F1 exclusive access pass. “Elena is going to assist you in fixing up your image. She’ll be staying with you throughout the Prix schedule to keep you in line.”

My jaw tightens to the point of popping. “And what the fuck does that entail?”

“Elena signed a contract where she’ll live with you, making sure you have McCoy’s best interests at heart. We’ll cover all her expenses because we want her to concentrate on helping you. Also, she’ll be joining you for summer break wherever you decide to stay. Seeing as last week didn’t go so well, I think it’s best to make sure someone watches you all season, break included.”

Not only do I have to hang out with this vixen but now I have to live with her? Bloody hell. If there is one thing I’m sure about, it’s how I don’t deserve this kind of karma.

“This has to be a joke. I didn’t sign up for a ball and chain.” My words come out in a half-growl.

“And I didn’t sign up for a driver with enough loose marbles to ruin a game of Mancala.” Connor throws me an agitated look.

“And what do you expect us to do? Braid each other’s hair and watch movies together?”

Connor’s eyes slide from me to Elena, shooting her a warm smile. “Ignore his temper tantrum. He’ll get used to having you around.” Fat fucking chance that happens. “I expect we’re good from here, but you can text me if you have any questions.” He looks over at me and silently mouths behave before exiting the room.

“Well, you reacted like I expected.” She crosses her legs, pulling my attention toward them. Her jeans cling to her body and emphasize everything I need to avoid.

“Looks like you got upgraded from PR rep to glorified babysitter. I’ve always wanted to live out that fantasy. Care to roleplay?”

She taps her manicured hand on her knee. “Only if you promise to go to sleep by ten o’clock.”

“It can be arranged after a good fucking.”

A healthy blush creeps into her cheeks as her eyes roam over my upper body. I sit taller, enjoying the buzz from her perusal. Similarly, the blood in my head rushes to another place. The more fun kind that wouldn’t mind making Elena blush under different circumstances.

Her eyes narrow. “Can’t you fall asleep to a Netflix show like the rest of us?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Speaking of fun, I have some rules since we will be living together.” She flips her hair over her shoulder, evading my gaze.

“I expect nothing less from you.”

She pulls out an iPad from her purse, unaware of my attraction toward her. The very one making my jeans uncomfortably tight and my breathing heavy. “You lasted three months without my help. I checked out your social media presence and it looks like we have our work cut out for us. Since your image has hit an all-time low, there’s no way but up.”

“And what exactly does that entail? Will you be my fake girlfriend? I love that type of story.”

She rolls her eyes. “Not even a girlfriend can save you from your reputation. I’ve been planning different outings and experiences to make your persona so clean, you’ll rival a Disney Channel star.”

I raise a brow. “Before the drugs and alcohol?”

Elena laughs. I hate the way it sounds—soft, carefree, untainted by anguish. While I struggle with hidden jadedness and pessimism, she radiates hopefulness and warmth. I’m tempted to test how long it takes to pop her bubble of positivity.

“Sure. But before we get started, I need you to tell me about what happened during your one-night stand with a club urinal.”

A throaty laugh escapes my mouth. The sound is foreign, especially after my week from hell. “Well, when a man and a woman love each other very much…”

She throws a pen at me. It bounces off my chest before rolling back toward her.

I rub my chest. “Violence is never the answer.”

“Says the guy who recently broke a paparazzo’s camera worth two thousand euros.”

“Okay, violence is usually not the answer, but the reporter’s racist undertones set me off. Hey, from a PR perspective, at least I paid for a new one.”

“Throwing a thousand euros in his face doesn’t count.”

“Yet he bent over quicker than my last fuck to grab the bills.”

She scowls at me. “So, the club story?”

If she isn’t letting me off easy today, I can’t wait to see how the rest of the season will go. “Over break, I made a stupid decision when I drank and took an anti-anxiety med in the same night. Honest truth. So, it’s safe to say the night didn’t turn out like I wanted it to.”

Her eyes soften, losing the hardness she had moments before. “I didn’t know you needed medication to control your anxiety.”

I shrug. “Not many people do.”

“Have you tried to talk with a psychologist to help manage your anxiety symptoms? Or have you reconsidered your current medication?”

“No because that would involve talking, and I absolutely, under no circumstances, like talking about my feelings. Fuck that, so don’t bother trying. I have a US medical doctor on retainer who does the job just fine.” I tap my fingers against the table.

She stares at me. It’s unsettling how much I pay attention to the gold flecks in her brown eyes. Absolutely positively un-fucking-settling.

“You need to be honest with me. Is there anything else I need to be on the lookout for besides bouts of anxiety?”

Her words activate the ominous timer in my head. I push away the swell of anxiety building up inside of me, not keen on freaking out in front of her. “Nope. Just my usual stint with a bottle of Jack. We’re mutually exclusive, so please don’t get any ideas.”

She gives me a half-assed eye roll and a shake of her head, diverting her attention back to her iPad. “Speaking of alcohol… I may not be part of the babysitter’s club, but I still have some rules.”

“My favorite part of rules is finding a way to break them.”

“Jax…”

The sound of my name leaving her lips sends a rush of energy through me. Her eyes burn, tempting me to push for more of a reaction from her.

Stop being a total wanker. “Okay, fine. Let me hear how you want to suck the fun out of this season.” A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips as she nervously twirls her Apple pencil. At least I make her as uneasy as she makes me.

“First, you need to lay off the alcohol. I’m not telling you to stop completely, but practice self-control. I can’t pull you out of a random bathroom, let alone help you walk back to our hotel room.”

Why does my dick throb in my jeans at the thought of us sharing a hotel room? That’s rather…unusual. The idea of sharing a space with a woman in the past would’ve had me laughing to the point of tears. But with Elena, I find it enticing, the forbiddance of our situation like an aphrodisiac of the worst kind.

Gritting my teeth together, I nod. “Fair enough. I don’t want to drink like I did over break either.” Sometimes I can’t help it, and alcohol clouds my brain enough to offer me a temporary reprieve. But for my chance at the Championship, I’ll try to battle my problems in a different way during this season.

Try being the keyword.

“Second, you need to be honest with me. If something goes wrong, I want to know so I can help you. If I find out the next day in the papers, then it’s too late and I’ll be pissed.”

“Fine.” I nod my head at her second rule because a raging Elena sounds almost as fun as crashing my car during the first lap of a Prix.

“Next—”

“Fuck me. How many rules do you have typed up?” I cross my arms against my chest. Her eyes linger on my forearms before snapping back to my face, catching my devious smile.

She blushes as she tucks a loose wave of hair behind her ear. “Only a few more. If we both go back to the suite at night, that’s it. No leaving. I want to trust you, which means you can’t go sneaking off to do God knows what.”

“God may not know but the Devil sure approves.” My smile grows wider as her fidgety hands return to nervously twirling her pencil.

“Right…well either way, no sneaking off. This job means a ton to me and I need to be able to trust you. They’re paying me a lot of money to help you.” Her eyes dart off to the side.

“Well, love, at least the paycheck at the end of all this will keep you around. Don’t pretend you don’t get off on helping out wankers like me who are more fucked up than Donald Trump’s White House.”

“No. I get off on helping people reach their fullest potential. And I see what you can be if you move past this terrible public persona.”

“Don’t strain your eyes too hard. You may not like what you find after all.”

“I don’t need to like you to do my job.”

Well shit, she has me there.

Elena taps away on her tablet. “Last thing. I’m going to be following you pretty much everywhere. It’s a part of my contract.” She bites her lip, revealing the edge of her white teeth.

It’s concerning how she gives me a semi with a glance and a bite of her lip. My cock doesn’t understand why Elena is bad news. The worst fucking news, like worse than Prince Harry leaving the royal family, and that shit was catastrophic.

Dear cock, please meet the rock and the hard place you’ll be stuck between this season.

“Does that mean we share a bedroom? I’ve always wanted a human pillow to cuddle with.”

She lets out a mock gasp. “Would you look at that? Bedrooms are not included. Really, I plan on keeping it PG-13 between us so…”

“I hear PG-13 movies have sexy scenes now…” I let out a low whistle.

“Oh my God. Nothing like that will happen between us.”

The way her eyes light up as she laughs worries me because I’m tempted to make her do it again. I remain silent, trying to wrap my head around having to spend months with someone like her.

Google, how does one say I’m fucked in Spanish?

She shuts her iPad case closed. “Seriously, Connor didn’t include an interoffice relationship clause, but it’s kind of a given why we’re not pursuing that option.”

Of course, Connor didn’t include something like that. He wants to stake his claim on a hot piece of ass. F1 has few and far females working in the industry because women avoid our hostile workplace cloaked in sexism and manipulation.

Despite Connor not including a clause, I need to remember to keep my distance from her. No matter what, she and I can’t happen. It’s the reason I resent being around her more than necessary. She causes reactions I’m not accustomed to, ones I don’t want to explore no matter how much I like her brand of attitude.

I don’t get that kind of story.

While my friends are fit for an ending straight out of the latest cheesy rom-com, I’m better suited for the Game of Thrones’ Night’s Watch—isolated until the day I die.