Counterpoints Book 3 Read online

  Table of Contents

  Counterpoints

  Editing by Gem Louise Evans

  To my readers, you are sensational

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  THE END

  Counterpoints

  Book 3

  By Laura Rossi

  Editing by Gem Louise Evans

  Cover by Talia’s Book Covers

  To my readers, you are sensational

  And for Jules Bianchi (1989-2015)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  © 2017 Laura Rossi

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  Prologue

  Berlin 1992

  Water, water everywhere, Christopher thought, his big green eyes wide in surprise.

  It was the first time, he couldn’t hear the sound of the cars passing by, the engines’ roars muffled by the heavy rain. It had started raining in the morning and it hadn’t stopped ever since.

  He walked to the front of the boxes, stuck a hand out and stared as the water slammed on his small palm, hard and fast.

  The tarmac was wet through, puddles were forming on the box lane but still no announcement had been made from the race marshals. The race was still on, the drivers were still pushing hard, driving through the rainstorm.

  They are blind-driving, Christopher realized as a green car drove through the box lane and stopped in front of his team of mechanics. Very quickly the car was eased back inside the box. The driver was retiring the car.

  He watched the man climb out, shaking his head, his helmet completely fogged up, his tracksuit soaked.

  They are driving and they cannot see.

  Two cars sped by then and Christopher followed their slipstream, as they went through the straight and into the curb side by side, water splashing everywhere, fighting for their place in the race – neither of them stepping down but pushing hard to beat the other.

  He knew what it was like to drive and not see a single thing. Christopher had had his helmet covered in water, his tracksuit soaked to the point his arms had felt heavy. It was one of those things his father had told him to get used to.

  “Racing means taking risks. It means making the difference. What makes you faster, stronger than another driver isn’t just the car. It’s your head. You shouldn’t care if it’s sunny or raining. Not even if it’s snowing. You change the asset of the car, you choose different tires, but racing is racing ever the same. You fight till the very end, no retreat” James had told him on more than one occasion, when he had taken Christopher on his go kart. “You know this track by heart. I want you to drive with low visibility. You won’t be able to see the whole curb, but you will be able to sense it. You know the track, you know your car. Focus on the tarmac and feel your limits, push when you feel safer, brake when you are unsure”

  Christopher remembered that first lap, the memory was embedded in his mind.

  He had cried under that helmet, he had cried under the rain that first time but he hadn’t stopped driving. He had taken it slow at times- when he could see absolutely nothing- but he had kept going, hearing James shouting, as he sped by.

  “Don’t be scared” he had shouted and waived at him, lap after lap. “Don’t be scared”

  “I don’t understand. Why are they not suspending the race for adverse weather conditions?” Christopher turned to the sound of his mother’s voice and stared at her worried face, as she spoke with the team manager in the boxes.

  The race marshals were discussing it and a decision would be made soon, the team manager reassured Carmen.

  It was only a matter of minutes before two cars drove back in the box lane, abandoning the race. Only fifteen cars were still out, fighting in the darkness, as the rain slowed down and almost stopped, only to fall down hard again a moment later.

  Christopher took a few steps back and looked up to the screen. His mother’s thin, soft hands were on his cheeks instantly.

  Carmen smiled a little, looking down at him and then her eyes were back on the screen.

  The framing stayed on the black and white car leading the race, until it changed brusquely and the camera rested on a set of broken red barriers.

  There had been an accident.

  The camera zoomed in and showed a car, smashed against the inside of a curb, its front part completely bent inside out and broken.

  The impact had been so ferocious and violent, that it was impossible to even read the number that had once been painted on the front.

  The camera moved around the car, through the heavy rain and Christopher stared blankly at the screen, as race marshals started running fast towards it.

  There was no one near the accident scene and the driver was still trapped, inside the car.

  “Oh my God” Carmen’s hand slipped off Christopher’s cheek, as she let out a terrifying scream and covered her mouth in despair.

  The camera focused on the driver’s helmet, as it dangled to the side, the driver’s body lifeless, his arms sprawled out of the car. The helmet was black and red.

  It was James.

  He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t responding to the paramedics and the front of his tracksuit was covered in blood.

  As they eased him out of the car, Carmen’s screams in the background, Christopher stared eyes wide at the people surrounding his father. One of the paramedics shook his head, desperately looking for his pulse. Another one raised his arms up to his face.

  Don’t be scared, Christopher thought, grabbing his mother’s skirt. Don’t be scared.

  Chapter 1

  The hospital waiting room was packed.

  Isabella looked around feeling nauseous, desperate for some sort of distraction, as a strong smell of disinfectant plunged into her nose.

  She got up and paced the room, back and forth, up and down, for what felt like an hour.

  She learned every little detail of the flooring, every little inch of the white paint on the walls. Worried faces came and went, stretchers were carried through double doors in the E.R.

  Still no news of Christopher.

  Isabella let out a deep breath – she hadn’t even realized she had been holding- and checked her watch, then her phone. She looked outside the window and then her eyes were back on the emergency and accidents door every time it opened, hoping for even the slightest bit of information. Hoping to be taken out of her misery.

  It was a constant coming and going of doctors and nurses. Everyone around her spoke German and each time someone in scrubs entered the room, her heart would miss a beat.

  She would extend her hearing, hoping to grasp at least Christopher’s name.

  That would have meant something, at least that someone had news.

  Nothing.

  I spoke to him, he is alive, Isabella reminded herself- in a desperate attempt to calm her nerves.

  Sh
e pushed her hair back, placing it behind her ears- closing her eyes as she did- reliving the moment Christopher had been pulled up on the ambulance, her lips pressed on his hand.

  Was he moving his arms, his legs?

  She touched her forehead and closed her eyes shut, trying to recall if Christopher had moved at all on the stretcher. She just couldn’t remember.

  Why can’t I remember if he was moving?

  Both hands covered her face then and she let them be her hiding place for a few instants, as tears silently ran down her cheeks.

  I am going to throw up, she thought feeling her stomach clench.

  The long wait was eating her up from the inside, slowly and relentlessly.

  Where is Hillary? Isabella wondered.

  Her manager had texted her a while ago. Hillary was in one of the MB cars on her way to the hospital, together with Mr. Johnson – the MB chief executive wanted to see for himself how Christopher was doing.

  As she slumped on one of the plastic chairs again, wiping her rigged cheeks with the back of her hand, Isabella watched images of the accident go by on the small flat TV in the waiting room.

  Christopher’s picture appeared on the top right side of the screen and the lump in Isabella’s throat seemed to grow wider.

  More footage showed Christopher on the stretcher, paramedics easing him on the ambulance and this young woman leaning down to kiss his hand.

  Me, Isabella looked down at her hands and shook off the thought.

  What does it matter?

  It didn’t. Absolutely nothing mattered more than seeing Christopher, seeing that he was fine.

  Why didn’t I kiss him more? Why didn’t I fight my way into that ambulance?

  At some point, the news report had shown images of journalists standing outside the hospital. The news of him being there had spread quickly.

  Why is it taking so long? What are they doing to him?

  Isabella let out another deep breath.

  She had tried- god only knew how many times she had tried- to ask the receptionist for any sort of information, but she had been told to take a seat, over and over again, and wait for the doctor to come.

  How can I sit still? HOW?

  Isabella looked up at the screen again and watched the results of the race go by.

  The race had been suspended due to adverse weather conditions. According to the chart, Chiellini drivers won first and second place, while Performance racing driver Thomas classified third.

  Noah had been in seventh position, when race marshals had decided to end the race.

  “Hey, how is he?” Hillary dashed towards Isabella, as she stormed into the waiting room. Aaron Johnson followed, his face glum and pale. He stood beside them in silence, letting his phone ring, his attention on Isabella for news.

  She stood up and shook her head, not trusting herself to speak for a moment. She managed a smile, feeling Hillary’s hands take hold of hers.

  “Doctors haven’t come out yet. I have no news. They told me to wait here…” her voice came out broken.

  It was normal, standard procedure- Hillary reassured her. Doctors were probably running all the tests. They would let them know of Christopher’s conditions, as soon as all the results were back from the lab.

  “But did he say something to you? Was he… talking? Moving?” Hillary said the words quickly, like it was some sort of a crime to even doubt that Christopher was okay.

  He was okay, he had to be okay.

  This was Christopher they were talking about. He was born with a wheel glued to his hands, he was a pro.

  It wasn’t his first crash and it wouldn’t be his last.

  Racing was like fighting, the same rules applied- Hillary knew that. If falling correctly was just as important as hitting during combat, crashing safely was as vital as driving fast in car racing. And Christopher knew exactly how to crash and walk away unscathed.

  All three of them took a seat then and Isabella simply nodded.

  Hillary is probably right, Isabella thought.

  She knew how things worked. Doctors only came out when they were absolutely sure about their diagnosis.

  The door of the emergency room flapped open once again and in walked a woman with ginger hair, tied up in a ponytail and green scrubs. She walked up to the receptionist and started talking, without making any eye contact with people in the waiting room.

  “Alfred is still flying to Paris for a business trip, I don’t think he even saw the accident. I texted him” Hillary checked her phone, giving in to the constant beeping sound in her pocket. “Christopher’s mother is at the airport in Madrid, trying to get here”

  Oh my god Carmen, Isabella thought and a shiver ran down her spine.

  She pictured Christopher’s mother waiting on a standby list, desperate to get to Berlin to see her son, her only son, the angst torturing her slowly.

  “Excuse me” the woman in scrubs addressed them.

  Isabella stood up from her chair instantly “Are you Miss Bresciani, Mr. Taylor’s girlfriend?”

  Isabella swallowed hard and looked sideways, while Mr. Johnson and Hillary exchanged glances, and then back at the doctor.

  “Yes” she said. “That’s me”

  It was the first time that anyone had called her that and it took Isabella half a second to gulp it down.

  Christopher Taylor’s girlfriend, it replayed in her head while her cheeks turned bright red.

  It sounded amazing.

  Cover is off, she thought, her face softening, as she met Hillary’s dark brown eyes.

  If rushing to see Christopher after the accident- running side by side with him to the ambulance- hadn’t given her away already, this was it. This moment here. The ultimate proof.

  “You can see him now” said the doctor in English and signaled to follow her through the doors. “But please, not all at once”

  Hillary and Mr. Johnson nodded. “Of course” her boss said, her face unreadable.

  Isabella nodded again- her mouth dry- and walked next to what she discovered by the name tag was an orthopedist.

  “How is he?” Isabella found the courage to ask, once inside the long white corridor.

  “He’s okay” she smiled reassuringly “He has pain all over his chest but we ran tests. His CAT scan was negative, no broken bones, no internal bleeding, despite the speed and the strong impact with the barriers”

  “Can he… move?” she asked, her voice shaky.

  “Yes. He’s fine” the doctor nodded and watched Isabella let out a deep breath.

  She needed to see him, touch him, hear him speak. Her hands began to shake, as they approached his room.

  “Can he leave the hospital now?”

  “Not yet. We are keeping him twenty-four hours, as a precaution. He did hit his head a little, so it’s best if he rests some more” the doctor said. “This way”

  They walked through another door and Isabella’s eyes lit up instantly.

  Christopher was sitting up, no needles in his arms this time, free and untied to the bed.

  A big bruise under his eye, almost covered his entire left cheek. His upper lip was scratched and his hair was spiky and messy.

  And he was just perfect, Isabella reckoned.

  My Christopher.

  He smiled wide when he saw Isabella walk in the room.

  “Ciao, signorina” he said and took her in his arms, welcoming the warm feeling of her lips on his.

  She kissed him gently, her hand reached up for his cheek carefully, too scared of causing him any more pain.

  Was he in pain?

  She searched his face a moment and drank in the sight of him.

  He looked fine, he was really going to be okay.

  His deep green eyes were staring at her intensely, taking away all the angst and worry that had been devouring her moments before.

  He took her by the shoulders and kissed her again, passionately this time, while his hands moved up to cup her face.

  I am here
, I am okay, it was like he was trying to say to her.

  Isabella’s body began to shake under his touch.

  The blood was back in her veins.

  She could breathe in, really breathe in now and not gasp like she had been doing over the last hour, like there was no air in her lungs. He was safe.

  And he is moving.

  “Hi” she finally said and looked into his eyes once again “Doctor said you are good” she went on after a few instants, realizing the doctor had moved to the corner of the room to speak to one of the nurses.

  Walking in, she hadn’t even noticed other people in the room, her eyes had been all for Christopher.

  “It takes more than that to get rid of me, luv” he grinned.

  “Doctor also said I am your girlfriend” Isabella smiled, with her eyes, her lips, her voice.

  “I know how much you like ‘secret lover’ but I didn’t think it was appropriate” he took her hand and let her sit on the bed next to him.

  Ha, well so much for the ‘secret’ lover, Isabella thought recalling Hillary and Mr. Johnson’s faces back in the waiting room.

  She reached for his face and stroked his cheek, enjoying the roughness of his scruff and then brushed gently against the small but deep scratch near his mouth.

  “I’m sorry, I keep touching you. I guess I just want to know that you are okay” Isabella smiled a little.

  “Don’t stop touching, please” he smirked and reached for her hand.

  “Does it hurt?” she asked.

  “Nah” he shook his head slowly. “It will scar though…” he mumbled.

  “It’s just a scar” Isabella lifted her shoulders only to let them drop again, carelessly.

  She searched his face again. He wasn’t smiling- his lips sealed in a straight line- and Isabella examined up close the black bruise under his eye.

  Quick, make him laugh. Make him feel better.

  “The girls are going to go crazy once they see the scar. Christopher Taylor, the ultimate bad boy”

  He chuckled and held on tight to Isabella’s hand, the one she had placed on his cheek. Then he leaned in and turned to kiss the inside of it, his lips moving slowly in her palm, sending sparks all over her hand and up her arm.