At the restaurant, I spent more time watching people kiss Russell’s ass than eating. Ethan tried talking to me a few times, but I kept it short. Ale noticed but said nothing. Unlike me, he was a people person. He laughed, charmed, and networked while I counted the minutes until I could get out—even though Russell’s house didn’t feel like home.
“I’ll get some air,” I told Ale during the lull between main course and dessert.
He nodded, already back in conversation with the team’s PR guy, while I slipped out of the dining hall.
Three men lingered in the foyer. I spotted Ethan instantly—blond hair, red-and-gold uniform. He stood with his back to me, and I hesitated. Maybe Ale was right. Maybe I should make an effort. Dad would’ve. Racing was about individual results, but getting along with my teammate couldn’t hurt.
I took a step toward him.
“Everyone gushes about the rookie,” Ethan said, stopping me cold. “But that’s only because of his father. The son still has to prove himself. I watched some videos. He isn’t ready.”
Weight pressed down on my chest and legs.
The rookie.Of course. But if I was nothing, why did I threaten him at all? A seasoned racer four years older shouldn’t be worried about me.
“His father was excellent,” an older guy in a navy sweater added. “But that fall… rookie mistake, if you ask me. Some blamed the bike, but no. As a mechanic, I can tell you—it was on him.”
“I’d never lose the rear like that,” Ethan said.
Another man clicked his tongue. “Anyone can highside. Remember last season?”
The rest blurred into static. My pulse thundered in my ears. Dad, a rookie mistake? They had no clue what they were talking about.
I spun on my heel and rushed back to the table before Ethan or the others noticed me.
“That was fast.” Ale studied me as I dropped into the chair beside him. “You’re pale. Everything all right?”
I swallowed, the overheard words still wrecking me. “Just tired.”
A waiter slid dessert in front of me. I forked a piece of chocolate cake, but as soon as it hit my tongue, an image of Kaia with her birthday cake filled my mind. This dinner was bullshit. I’d rather be home with her.
As if sensing I’d been thinking about his daughter, Russell met my gaze from across the room for the first time. He’d kept his distance, and I was more than okay with that. I didn’t need anyone knowing he was my mother’s boyfriend—though I wasn’t naïve enough to believe it would stay a secret for long.
When dinner ended, I said goodbye to him and the rest of the team’s management before following Ale to his car.
The drive was silent, which would’ve been fine if my brain hadn’t used the quiet to replay Ethan’s words about Dad.
As we neared Russell’s neighborhood, Ale drummed his fingers on the wheel. “You sure nothing happened? You’ve barely said a word.”
He knew me too well. And while we usually talked about everything racing-related, I’d only ever mentioned Dad’s accident in passing. Ale never pushed, probably sensing it was a raw subject.
Invisible bands of iron tightened across my ribs. I cleared my throat. “I overheard Ethan and some guys talking about my father. They said his accident was a rookie mistake.”
Ale scoffed. “Oh yeah? Brooks would know. He totaled two bikes last season.”
“They’re right.” I stared at the traffic beyond the windshield. “I know it, you know it, and apparently everyone else does too.”
Ale shrugged. “So what? Rookie mistake or not, your father was the best. No racer’s ever achieved as much, as fast. They run their mouths because they’re jealous.”
“What if something was wrong with the bike?” The words slipped out before I could swallow them—the suspicion I’d never voiced until now. Anyone could make a mistake, but Dad had been one of the most sensible people I knew, on and off the track.
Ale slowed at Russell’s gate and cut the engine. “They’d have known. His mechanic, at the very least.”
He was right. Still, what I’d overheard had shaken loose the doubts I’d buried after the funeral. That was the last time I saw Miguel, Dad’s mechanic. He’d been Dad’s closest friend, the nearest thing I had to an uncle—but after Dad died, he pulled away, stopped answering my calls. Maybe he’d thought it was weird to talk to his friend’s kid. But I wasn’t a kid anymore. Maybe I should try again.
“Ash.”
Ale’s sympathetic gaze landed on me. I shifted my focus to the seat belt clasp. “Estoy bien.”
