Ale crossed his ankles. “I doubt my father ever imagined his son would graduate college, travel the world, and build the business of his dreams. He worked grueling factory shifts his whole life, making just enough to keep us fed and a roof overhead. He did his best with what he had. But that didn’t mean his son couldn’t do more.”
Classic Ale—always trying to push me forward, even with the ground crumbling under my feet. “Let’s see if I’m even allowed to race after today.”
On Ale’s giant flat screen, Roy carved through the sharpest turn of the circuit like it was nothing. His timing had to be better than mine. I could learn from him, for sure. But right now, my head wasn’t in it.
Ale’s phone rang. “Alejandro,” he answered, pacing as Dawson muted the TV.
“Okay,” he said. “Understood.”
He hung up, tossed the phone onto the couch, and groaned.
My stomach clenched. “Was that Russell? What did he say?”
“A broken nose, two ribs, and a concussion.”
Fuck. Ethan would be out for months. I clenched my fists. “And?”
“Ethan’s agent and lawyer want a meeting Monday. Guess they’re after something.”
Of course. Ethan had leverage now, and he’d milk it.Damn it.Monday wouldn’t bring anything good.
“There’s a tiny silver lining.” Ale’s mouth twisted. “Russell wants you to race this weekend. And in his words—you better win.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Kaia
Isat in bed, staring at the red heart Ash had sent twenty minutes ago. He said he was okay if I was—but I wasn’t.
Sharon and I had been on our way to the studio when Dad called her. She’d answered on speaker, and it was too late to hide the words:Asher beat up another racer. Ever since, I hadn’t been able to stop worrying.
Asher had never lost his temper with me. Violence wasn’t him. What had pushed him that far?
The silence since then hadn’t helped. I tossed my phone aside and got up. If nobody would tell me, I’d find out myself—even if it meant lying to make his mother talk.
As I stepped into the dark hallway, Dad’s voice carried from his office. I crept closer and stopped at the slightly open door. Sharon sat in front of his desk while he paced behind it.
“So, what do they want?” she asked.
“Guess we’ll know on Monday.” My father halted. “God, this mess is the last thing I needed.”
She pressed her hands to her temples. “Do you think Asher’s in serious trouble?”
Dad scoffed. “Of course he is. He broke Ethan’s ribs and gave him a concussion. He’s lucky Ethan’s a good guy who didn’t want the police involved.” He circled his desk and dropped into his chair. “I thought Asher had grown up, but I was wrong. He still goes looking for trouble, still acts on impulse.”
Heat flared through my veins. Asher didn’t look for trouble—he wasn’t violent. Not with me. He would never risk his career by hitting his teammate for nothing. Ethan must’ve done something.
“Guess it’s my fault,” Sharon said. “I should’ve made sure he talked to someone after Sergio died.”
Or maybe her son had needed his mother. But she’d never admit that, just like my father never did.
Dad huffed, shoving a stack of papers aside. A few pages slid to the floor, but he didn’t pick them up. “Don’t blame yourself. I found the best therapist for Kaia, and it’s like I did nothing. Asher’s twenty-one—old enough to control his temper. You can’t excuse his actions with his father’s death forever.”
She rubbed her forehead. “You’re right, honey.”
You’re right, honey?My chest cinched. How could she make assumptions without even talking to Asher? What if Ethan provoked him?
Sharon stood and pushed her chair in. “I’ll go get ready for bed. Don’t stay up late.”
