Chapter 37 - Want everything with Jason

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We’re at the Silverstone Circuit, attending the Grand Prix, currently seated in the hospitality area of a team called Saddles. Scott provides sponsorship for them, has done so for years apparently. And, because Scott is a sponsor, we get to sit in hospitality and meet with the team’s drivers. The reigning champion of the Grand Prix is one of Saddle’s drivers—Tim Ryan. I might not follow Formula One, but I know who Tim Ryan is. Everyone knows who Tim Ryan is.

Tall, blond, Irish, and ridiculously good-looking—but not as good-looking as Jason.

I know, right? I’m saying Jason is better-looking than Tim Ryan. I must have it bad. Or it’s just the plain truth. Jason is hotter and more handsome.

I’m going with the truth. Because, in my eyes, Jason is better.

He’s everything.

Tim is Formula One’s golden boy. Once upon a time, he was Formula One’s bad boy, but he’s a changed man nowadays. Married to the love of his life.

Yep, I know who Tim Ryan is.

Scott, Jason, and I are seated at a table by the window. A few other people are here, too. I have no clue who they are—other sponsors, I’m guessing. I’m staring out the window, watching as people fill up the stands.

I feel Jason’s hand curl around mine. I bring my eyes to him.

“You ready to meet Tim Ryan?” He grins.

“Yeah.” I smile. But I don’t really feel it. For some reason, I feel a little sad right now.

“Tim, Sandra,” Scott greets them, already on his feet. He kisses Sandra on the cheek and then shakes Tim’s hand. “How are you and the baby doing?” Scott asks Sandra.

My eyes follow down and see a tiny baby bump.

She’s having a baby.

Another thing I’ll never get to experience. But then, even if I were to have a full life, I wouldn’t be able to have a baby because I’m infertile. The radiation therapy from the first tumor saw to that. But I did have some of my eggs frozen. So, if I did live, then I could have a baby…

But I’m not going to live, so I need to stop thinking that way.

God, what the hell is wrong with me?

Stop the pity party, and cheer the hell up. You’re about to meet Tim Ryan.

“Really well. Thanks, Scott.” Sandra doesn’t have an English accent like Jason’s or Scott’s. Sandra’s sounds different, like there’s a hint of something else in there. She smiles at Scott, pressing her hand to her stomach and lovingly rubbing it.

Tim’s hand covers hers. She smiles up into his face.

She looks radiant. Happy. Baby glow.

Pang of envy hits me again. Harder this time.

Stop it.

“She won’t slow down though, no matter how much I tell her to,” Tim says to Scott, his Irish lilt standing out. “She’s still insisting on helping out in the garage.”

I’ve never heard the Irish accent in real life before. Got to say, it’s awesome.

“I sit on a stool and watch the guys because he won’t let me do anything else,” Sandra tells Scott, humor clear in her voice.

“My wife would’ve worked right up to the day she gave birth if I’d let her,” Scott tells Tim.

“What did your wife do?” Sandra asks.

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