RED LINE [3]

21:00

Madeline Osbourne:

Jack's hand was on my back as I stepped out of the car, the cameras swarmed us as I covered my eyes, hospital band still on my wrist.

I was on leave, back in the UK at my dad's house, the front gates were unable to open with the number of paparazzi swarming the entrance – the security team were doing their best to hold them at bay, but they were persistent, throwing ridicule questions at me.

"Maddy, when are you going to be back on the track?"

"Miss Osbourne, how is the lawsuit against Talia Thayer going?"

"Maddy are you and Jack dating?"

I watch as Jack's jaw tenses under the sound of the pressing questions, him and the security team pushing them aside as I'm escorted through the gates, walking up the tree lined driveway.

His hand doesn't leave my back until we're through the front foor of my family home, letting out a ragged breath.

Waking up in the hospital after the crash had triggered an unusual amount of anxiety I had yet to experience before, sending me spiralling into a panic at every thought of a social situation – my arm being casted and my face scratched up wasn't a good look to see in the mirror most mornings, let alone along the headlines of sporting articles.

This wasn't what I needed for my first season.

"When is Madeline going to be here?" I was pushed into my bedroom, Jack closing the door softly and pulling the curtains, not before looking outside down the drive.

A murmur of yelling comes as Jack groans, snapping the curtains closed and turning my lamps on.

He hadn't left my side – he was there when I woke up, his eyes sagging and his face pale when I tried to speak for the first time in a few days, Madeline was nowhere to be seen.

The past few weeks I found myself leaning closer to him, even before the crash, allowing my fingers to grace his under the table, looking for him in packed rooms. He showed up to the track most mornings with coffee or some sort of breakfast pastry for me – it was sweet.

Something I hadn't experience yet.

"I'm not sure," he sighs, sitting down on the end of the bed, his head in his hands as I pull the duvet up around me, breathing in the comforting smell of my home's washing detergent, "are you alright?" I spoke gently, not wanting to provoke an outburst from him.

Jack was sensitive, but didn't like to show it, meaning whenever he had these hollow moments, I found myself biting my lip as I asked him the simple question that was if he was okay. Half the time I would receive a mumble of an answer, brushing me off, other times it would cause an outrage in emotion.

"I'm just tired," he replied, for the first time, actually a valuable answer. He falls back onto the bed, the hem of his shirt rising up his torso as he covers his eyes with his forearm.

Biting the inside of my cheek I lean forward so my face was above his, upside down, "thank you for looking after me," I almost whispered.

He moves his forearm, resting it now on the bridge of his nose as he looks up at me, his eyebrows furrowing slightly while his lashes flutter open, "I wasn't just going to leave you Maddy," he almost scoffs, sitting up again, almost bumping heads I move back to lean against the headboard.

He stands from the bed, reaching his arms above his head as he flexes, "what sort of friend would I be if I just left?"

Friends.