Chapter 12: Knock Knock

[Nick's POV]

Sometimes, Rock Bottom has a comfy mattress and complimentary slippers. I'm sprawled across my hotel bed in Shanghai, staring at water stains on the ceiling that look vaguely like China, the country where my relationship died and was buried in the same weekend.

The Shanghai skyline glitters through floor-to-ceiling windows, all neon promise and sleek ambition. It should be beautiful, but all I can think is how I'm eighteen floors up and the windows don't open. Not that I'd jump.

My phone feels heavy in my hand as I scroll through my contacts. There's really only one person to call when your world collapses, even if that person is a continent away and has always been better than you at everything.

I tap Melissa's name and wait, each ring stretching into eternity.

"Nick? Hey." My sister's voice fills the room, tinny through the speaker but achingly familiar.

"Hey, Melissa," I reply, surprised by how steady I sound for someone who's been crying on and off for hours.

There's a pause, the silence carrying years of complicated history between us. Despite being a really hard sister to deal with, since she's moved to Formula E, she's not arrogant anymore. A complete shadow of herself. The cutthroat competitor who used to mock my gaming career has been replaced by someone regretful, someone unsure of herself.

"You sound weird," she says finally. "What's wrong?"

I swallow hard, fingers picking at a loose thread on the hotel comforter. "Blair dumped me. Right before the race today."

"Oh, Nick." Her voice softens with genuine concern. "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, well." I roll onto my side, watching the city lights blur through unshed tears. "Apparently, I was 'in the way' of her brilliant career."

Melissa sighs, and I can almost see her running a hand through her practical brown bob. "That's such bullshit. You've been nothing but supportive."

Something about her immediate defense of me makes my throat tighten. "Thanks."

A muffled voice speaks in the background on her end. Melissa covers the phone, her response indistinct before she returns. "Sorry, that was my engineer. We're testing tomorrow."

"How's Formula E treating you?" I ask, desperate to talk about anything other than my shattered heart.

"Pretty good," Melissa says, her tone brightening slightly. "The competition's fierce, but I'm hanging in there at second in the championship. Early days, though. Plenty of races left to blow it."

There's that self-deprecating humor that's become her trademark since moving to the electric series. Before I can respond, three sharp knocks on my hotel room door cut through our conversation.

"Someone's at my door," I mutter, pushing myself up from the mattress with effort. My body feels like it's aged a decade since this morning.

"Want me to stay on the line?" Melissa asks.

"Nah, it's probably just hotel staff. I'll call you back." I end the call and shuffle toward the door, not bothering to check my reflection in the mirror. Whoever's knocking can deal with my puffy eyes and disheveled appearance.

I swing the door open without checking the peephole, a mistake I realize immediately when I find myself face-to-face with Ivy Hunt.

"Jesus Christ!" I stumble backward, nearly tripping over my own feet. "What are you doing here?"

Ivy stands in the hallway, transformed from the racing goddess I last saw. Her black and purple hair is pulled into a messy bun, and she's wearing gray sweatpants and a loose Zenith team hoodie. She looks younger though the intensity in those purple eyes remains undimmed.

"Hello to you too," she says, pushing past me into the room without waiting for an invitation. "Nice place. Smaller than mine."

I stare at her in disbelief as she casually examines my room, picking up the remote control and tossing it back onto the bed like she's considering whether to turn on the TV.

"How the hell did you find me?" I ask, my voice cracking slightly. My heart pounds against my ribs as memories of what happened in that trailer flood back.

Ivy turns to face me, her purple eyes gleaming with amusement. "Zenith paid for your hotel and plane tickets. It took Bridgette less than ten minutes to figure out you hadn't left China yet." She shrugs, dropping onto the edge of my bed like she belongs there. "You're still on the company dime, Nick."

I cross my arms defensively, keeping my distance. "Look, I already told you, Blair and I aren't together anymore. It's over."

"I know," she says, her expression softening slightly. "I saw her on the podium. She told me."

An uncomfortable silence stretches between us.

"Congratulations on winning, by the way," I mutter, not quite meeting her eyes. "I heard it was... dominant."

"It was," she says simply, not an ounce of false modesty. "I've never driven like that before."

She pats the bed beside her, an invitation I'm not sure I should accept. After a moment's hesitation, I sit down, leaving enough space between us that we couldn't touch even if we both reached out.

"Why are you here, Ivy?" I ask, staring at the floor rather than at her. "If you're worried I'm going to tell anyone about what happened in the trailer…"

"I'm not worried about that," she interrupts, her voice surprisingly gentle. "I wouldn't care if you did, actually. No one would believe you, and even if they did it might be awkward to explain how you went from victim to enthusiastic participant."

My cheeks burn at the memory. "Then what do you want?"

Ivy suddenly slides across the bed toward me. Before I can react, her arms wrap around my shoulders, pulling me against her with surprising gentleness.

"Be mine, Nick," she whispers, her breath warm against my ear. "I want you."

The words hang in the air between us, shocking in their directness. I feel her fingers threading through my hair, her body radiating heat against mine. For a brief, disorienting moment, I'm tempted to surrender to the comfort she's offering.

Instead, I place my hands on her shoulders and firmly push her away.

"No thanks," I say, my voice steadier than I expected.

Ivy freezes, her purple eyes widening with genuine confusion. For once, the three-time world champion looks completely blindsided.

"Why not?" she asks, her voice shifting from confident to uncertain in those two simple words. There's a note of panic underneath her question like she's never considered rejection as a possibility.

I stare at her in disbelief. "Are you serious right now? You tried to rape me earlier today in that trailer. Fuck you mean 'why not'?"

Her face contorts through several emotions, shock, anger, then something that looks almost like shame.

"That's... that's not what happened," she stammers, running a hand through her messy bun. "You were into it. You said…"

"I know what I said," I cut her off. "And yeah, I did end up participating. But how it started? You tackled me. You tied me up. You tore my clothes off while I was screamed for help." I stand up, needing physical distance between us. "Just because I eventually gave in doesn't make how it started okay."

Ivy stands too, her posture suddenly defensive. "You're making it sound worse than it was."

"You're fucking cooked, dude," I say, incredulous at her attempt to rewrite what happened. "Completely delusional."

Ivy's expression shifts, her eyes darting around the room before landing back on me. "No, no, it wasn't like that at all," she insists, her voice taking on an almost pleading quality. "I was going to rape you purely to fuck up Blair's race. It wasn't personal at all."

I stare at her, processing the insanity of what she just said. A small, disbelieving laugh escapes my lips despite everything.

"That's your defense? That you were only sexually assaulting me to mess with someone else?" I sigh deeply, running my hands through my hair. "Look, I'm going home, alright? Or maybe I'll tour with my sister for a while. Just... away from all this."

Ivy crosses her arms, her head tilting slightly as she studies me. "Your sister's Formula E team doesn't have enough money to support you if you're not essential personnel," she says matter-of-factly. "And do you really want to go live with one of your recently divorced parents?"

My eyes widen, the words hitting me with complete surprise. "My parents got a divorce?"

The shock must be written all over my face because Ivy's expression immediately softens. "You didn't know?"

I sink back onto the bed, my legs suddenly unable to support my weight. "When? How do you even know this?"

The room spins around me. I leap to my feet, panic clawing its way up my throat. "When did this happen?"

"About six weeks ago," Ivy says, watching me carefully. "I had Bridgette pull your background. It was in the report."

"Six weeks ago?" I wheeze, my lungs suddenly forgetting how to function properly. "How the fuck didn't I know about this?"

Ivy's purple eyes track me with something almost like concern. "You didn't check in with your family while following Blair around the world?"

"My dad never tells me shit!" I explode, pacing now, hands pulling at my hair. "He's always threatening to leave, always saying he's done with my mom's controlling bullshit. I didn't think he'd actually follow through this time! He's probably traveling the country alone now like he said he always wanted too."

The truth of it hits me like a physical blow. All those unanswered texts, the vague responses when I asked how things were at home. I'd been so wrapped up in Blair's world that I'd missed my own family imploding.

"So, what are your options?" Ivy asks, her voice oddly gentle. "Go back and live with your mom, or..." her lips curl into a smile that's half predatory, half hopeful, "become mine."

I sink onto the bed, mental math spinning through my head. My streaming income, my savings account, the cost of living literally anywhere that isn't my parents' house or under someone else's thumb. The numbers don't add up.

"My savings won't last more than two months tops," I mutter, more to myself than to Ivy. "Not with rent..."

Something snaps inside me. I lunge forward, grabbing Ivy by her collar, yanking her close enough that I can see the golden flecks in her purple irises. Her eyes widen in surprise, but she doesn't pull away.

"I'm not living with my mom again," I growl, my voice low and desperate. "It's not happening. You gotta help me out."

For a moment, Ivy just stares at me, those purple eyes searching mine. Then her face splits into the most genuine smile I've seen from her like I've just handed her the world championship on a silver platter.

"Nick Woods," she says, gently removing my hands from her collar but not letting go of them. "I thought you'd never ask."

The way she says my name sends an electric current down my spine. It's possessive, triumphant, and weirdly tender all at once.

"I'm not saying I'll be your... whatever," I clarify quickly, pulling my hands from hers. "I just need somewhere to stay until I figure things out."

Ivy's smile doesn't falter. If anything, it grows more confident. "Of course."

I run my hands through my hair, trying to make sense of this bizarre situation. One minute I'm mourning my relationship, the next I'm negotiating living arrangements with the woman who assaulted me this morning.

"What exactly is it you want from me, Ivy?" I ask, my voice catching slightly. "Because I need to understand what I'm getting into here."

She sits beside me on the bed again, close enough that I can smell her expensive shampoo.

"I don't know exactly," she admits, looking down at her hands. "A lot of things, I guess." When she raises her gaze to meet mine again, there's an intensity there that makes my breath catch. "But mostly, I want your passion, Nick. What happened between us before my race... it changed everything."

She reaches out, her fingers hovering just shy of touching my face. "When I was on that track today, I felt unstoppable. Like we'd created some kind of... connection that made me better than I've ever been."

"Are you saying our... encounter... is why you won?" I ask, not quite believing what I'm hearing.

"I'm saying it transformed me," she replies, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've never driven like that before. Never felt so... complete. You completed me."

I stare at her, my mind racing to process what she's saying. The most dominant driver in F1 is claiming I somehow gave her supernatural racing abilities through sex. It's absurd, delusional, and yet, the way she's looking at me with those intense purple eyes makes me wonder if she actually believes it.

"So you want me to fuck you before your races," I say bluntly, cutting through all the mystical nonsense.

In one fluid motion, Ivy grabs my wrists and pulls me down onto the bed beside her. I land with an ungraceful thump as she leans over me, her face inches from mine, those purple-highlighted strands of hair falling around us like a curtain.

"You're my other half, Nick," she whispers, her voice trembling with an emotion I've never heard from her before. "Without you, I don't think I can be whole again."

I sigh, annoyed at how melodramatic this all sounds.

"I want my own hotel rooms when we travel," I say, trying to establish some boundaries in this bizarre arrangement.

Ivy tilts her head, confusion flickering across her features. "What for?"

"Won't you need your own anyway?" I counter, trying to sound reasonable.

She laughs, a sound that's both musical and slightly unhinged. "You think I'll let you sleep away from me? Nick, you're coming with me everywhere from now on."

The possessiveness in her voice should terrify me. Instead, I find myself weighing options like I'm choosing between takeout menus. Live with my bitchy, judgmental mother who'll question every life choice I've ever made or become the mystical sex companion to a possibly unhinged Formula 1 champion.

I sigh deeply, thinking how this arrangement, as crazy as it sounds, is still better than returning to my mother's house.

"Alright," I concede, the word feeling like I've just signed some Faustian bargain.

Ivy's face lights up with triumph. She leans down and captures my lips in a kiss that feels like surrender and bliss simultaneously. Her mouth is hungry, dominating, claiming me as thoroughly as she claimed the top step of the podium today.

When she finally pulls back, her purple eyes are glowing with satisfaction. "You won't regret this," she promises, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw.

"Sure."