JUNE 25, 2019 / DELROV TECHNOLOGIES HEADQUARTERS

"What a stale old man," Kelvin remarked as the latest interviewee departed.

Kelvin, Annalise, Ryanel and Asher — the original four — were sat on one length of a table in the board room of Delrov Technologies' New York headquarters.

"Agreed," Asher quipped. "Great qualifications, but fat use that'll do him if he sucks the life out of all my employees each time they talk to him. This company cares about more than profits."

"Oh? And I suppose 'more than profit' means 'abandoning one's job to risk one's neck in a motocross arena' to you?" Ryanel scoffed. He'd seethed for the past two weeks, and barely restrained his rage during the interviews.

Kelvin and Annalise exchanged a knowing, uncomfortable glance before the latter quickly coughed. "I'm going to get some coffee before the next candidate arrives."

"I was just thinking the same," Kelvin said. The pair were out of the room faster than either Ryanel or Asher could ask for a beverage themselves.

Which was a pity, Asher thought, because he would have rather liked a hot drink on which he could concentrate as Ryanel's fury descended upon him.

"You don't have any input on the candidates for my previous position. If you're going to reject everyone because they're stale, or under-qualified, or over-qualified, or just not quite right—" Ryanel all but spat at Asher, "—you can get the fuck out of my building."

Asher nodded, the corners of his eyes stinging for some mysterious reason.

Ryanel was correct, of course, in everything he said. Even if he didn't have to deliver it so harshly.

Asher had submitted a resignation letter in favour of returning to competitive motocross, so he didn't really have any input in hiring the new Chief Operations Officer. Ryanel, who had reluctantly become CEO after weeks of pleading, obviously had the most expertise about who would do the job he had done for nearly three years now.

Ryanel was also correct in calling out the subjective and borderline unprofessional standards Asher was holding the potential candidates to. But he couldn't refrain himself. When he imagined the person who would sit in Ryanel's burgundy leather seat and re-decorate the small, draughty office that his best friend had diligently painted when they first moved into the building, it wasn't stale old Robert.

Or whiny Mindy.

Or high-strung, impersonal Peter.

It hadn't been any of the twenty-odd other candidates that they'd screened either.

In Asher's head, no-one could ever be as capable, energetic, and intuitive as Ryanel was. No-one's eyes would light up the same way at their press releases, no-one would crack jokes as dry or timely during stifling budget reports and no-one would make his day as bearable.

In some mundane, omnipresent way, Ryanel was like the heartbeat that had driven Asher on through the years. And that was the reason he trusted Ryanel so completely with his company.

"I'm sorry. It was unfair asking this much of you," Asher murmured. Through the glass wall that connected the boardroom to the rest of the floor, he could see Annalise and Kelvin bickering over who could use the milk first. "But I know I'm leaving the company in good hands, even if I'm not acting like it. I'll stop sticking my nose in."

Ryanel nodded stiffly, his eyes lingering on Asher's face with a heart-clenching air of finality. Of goodbye. Then he flicked over the page to the next candidate's resume, and the moment was over.

Asher exhaled through the sudden tightness in his chest. It was bittersweet, leaving the organisation that started as a mere brainchild, borne of desperation and blind hope.

Somehow, over the years, Delrov Technologies had morphed into a beacon, a humming thing that provided light and guidance to the people that sought it out. The hope it ran on became less blind and more certain, but the hope it fostered shone as fiercely as ever.

They had done profound and inspiring things, the four of them, but Asher couldn't deny himself anymore. The passion he had for the racetrack had never subsided. Not since he was first put through the ringer by Herschel Donte when he was a teenager, not since his first victory on Sparrow Road and not even after being thrown off his bike by a drunk driver.

He loved Delrov Technologies, but it had always felt like a way station. A stepping stone, to greater things. 

No, not greater.

Right-er things. Things more natural and familiar. Easier-than-breathing things.

Being CEO of a philanthropic prosthetic company was very rewarding work, but it was work all the same. Racing, competing, soaring, would forever feel like coming home.

Which is why he couldn't stay — Asher owed himself that much. He had to prove to himself that he could still do the things he once could, or at least give it his best shot. He would visit often, of course, and accompany their scheduled visits to charities and hospitals.

"Will you come to watch me on Friday?" Asher asked Ryanel.

Friday was to be his re-entry into the industry. Thinking about it made him sometimes excited, sometimes fearful and sometimes anticipate. Always, however, restless.

"Please."

"I know you've always hated people worrying about you," Ryanel murmured. His gaze was trained intently on someone's cover letter, and his tone was oddly thick. "You think they look at you and see weakness. But I've never thought that you're weak, and I've always worried about you. I— I don't want to watch. I can't watch."

Asher's breath caught. "But, Tallulah's organised VIP seating for you. For you, and Dad, and Kerrish."

Kerrish had returned to New York that month, after somehow managing to complete a single law degree at six different universities across Europe and South America via exchange programmes. He was still outgoing and charming but somehow more grounded. 

He certainly wouldn't elbow any old ladies out of his way anymore.

After visiting the Delrov Technologies headquarters, Kerrish seemed to be inspired to make the same sort of positive impact with his life.

And on Friday, the gang was supposed to be reunited once more.

"Well, find someone else to take. Maybe Travis or Peyton? Or even ask Kelvin and Annalise — they're business folk but I'm sure they won't mind rubbing shoulders with petrol heads for a night."

"I will be fine. You don't need to be worried," Asher insisted. 

"Maybe I'm as pissed as I am worried," Ryanel admitted hotly. 

When he finally raised his brown eyes to Asher's, it felt like being bowled over by an ocean wave. "Because we've been scrambling these last two weeks after you handed your notice in. Did you ever consider that the only reason I came on board was because of you? Because you asked for my help three years ago. And now you're the one jumping ship, and expecting me to clean up after you."

"What? Are— Have you been unhappy here? All these years . . ." Asher's heart clenched. "Have you only stayed for me?"

"No," Ryanel spat. 

He defended himself a bit too quickly, and after that, was silent for a bit too long, that it made Asher want to cry out of guilt. "I like the work. And I like the people. But I've gotten opportunities to leave that I've declined because . . . Well, I don't know. You're leaving now, and I'll do your job, and everything will be fine. I shouldn't have said anything."

"You should have said something sooner. I can't believe you'd do something like that for me."

"That's what friends do, right?"

Something about the acidic bite to that word made Asher think of drawn curtains and late nights in bed but not sleeping — for some bizarre reason. His finger twitched, seemingly wanting to close the gap and comfort Ryanel physically.

But they were at work. And Ryanel was furious with him. And he was with Tallulah.

"I'm sorry. I haven't been the friend you deserve lately," Asher apologised, swatting away the alarming thoughts that overtook him.

Ryanel's gaze softened a fraction, and darted down to Asher's leg so rapidly it was nearly imperceptible. "People don't always get what they deserve."

"Still—"

"Go be happy, Asher," Ryanel interrupted. 

He was back to staring at the documents in front of him. The tightness in his jaw and mysteriously glassy eyes told Asher not to say anything else. 

Plus, Annalise and Kelvin had pushed open the glass door and entered the room with two coffees each — having memorised each other's preferences a long time ago — and there'd probably be an interviewee waiting in the foyer. 

Time marched on, as always.

"Go be happy," Ryanel repeated lowly. "But don't expect me to be."