Relief loosened my chest enough for a full breath. “So you think he’ll still let me race?”
Ale shrugged. “Unless I’m wrong, and he’d rather lose money. Still possible—especially if Ethan presses charges and makes it public.”
“He might,” Dawson said. “Nobody but us knows it was to defend a girl’s honor. To everyone else, Asher just lost his temper.”
“I don’t care.” I adjusted the ice pack against my cheek and took a sip of water.
Ale finished his whiskey. His gaze locked with mine—no judgment there, but the worry was plain. “But you should care, mi niño. Bad publicity could tank your career. If you want to move to another team one day, your record matters.”
Fuck. He was right. If the press caught wind of this, nothing would save me. Dad never would’ve gotten into a fight—his image was spotless. I was risking his legacy as much as mine. My stomach churned. “So what do you suggest?”
“There’s not much to do yet. Not until Russell updates us. The fact he didn’t call the police is a good sign. Let’s hope Ethan’s okay.”
The last of my adrenaline drained, leaving nothing but fatigue. It was late, but I couldn’t go home.
Fuck. I’d promised Kaia we’d watch a movie. I grabbed my phone. A few unread texts waited.
Mi niña:Ash, my father said you attacked Ethan. Are you okay?
Mi niña:Don’t worry about anything, just come home. Please.
Guilt gnawed at me. She had an important exam tomorrow, and I was making her worry.
Me:I’m at Ale’s. I’ll be here for a while. Go to bed, mi niña. You need to rest before the PSAT.
Her reply came instantly.
Mi niña:You didn’t say if you were okay.
Me:I am if you are.
She sent me a heart. I answered with one of mine and set the phone aside.
Beside me, Dawson typed into his phone too.
“Texting your girlfriend?” I teased. The air in the room was so thick with tension I had to cut it before we suffocated.
His face reddened. “It was Maricarmen.”
I straightened. “Grandma? You guys keep in touch?”
“Of course. We’re friends. She asked about you, but I didn’t say anything. Better not to worry her yet.”
Their friendship made sense. She’d taught Dawson Spanish when he lived in El Puerto, and they shared the bond of losing their spouses.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “I hope Ethan’s fine.”
The roar of an engine drifted from the TV. “Roy Myers in Ventnor, Australia,” Ale said when he caught me looking. “Rerun of last weekend’s RevGlobe Grand Prix. That guy’s fucking invincible.”
“Vortex is the best team,” I said. “They’ve got the money, the custom bikes.”
“And he makes them richer.”
Vortex and Forward Racing lived in different universes. Forward Racing was small and local. Vortex was international—representing the country and getting compensated accordingly.
“I think we’ve got a few things to learn from them,” Ale said.
“Yeah.” I gave a short laugh. “That’s like my dad’s last team in Spain—only here. He waited years to get the invite.”
