‘Why did you snap at me?’ she asked, crossing her arms, her vulnerability shielded behind her resolve.
Because you matter too much. Because you see through the masks I’ve worn for years, and I don’t like it.He didn’t say that, of course. Instead he shrugged, his hands slipping into his pockets. She studied him for a moment, her gaze piercing, and Taz realised he was holding his breath.
Finally, she sighed, setting her cup on the counter. ‘You’re a mess, Taz De Rossi,’ she muttered, but there was no heat in her words.
His lips quirked. ‘I’ve been called worse.’
Her mouth softened, and for the first time all day, he felt the knot in his chest loosen. He wasn’t out of the woods, not by a long shot, but at least he wasn’t wandering in the dark alone.
Tired, he walked over to the fridge, pulled out a bottle of water and cracked the top.
‘You’re way too nice, Mils,’ he said, resting the bottle on his forehead. He rolled it across his forehead, hoping the cool plastic would ease his headache. Words he didn’t expect to utter left his mouth. ‘Remember I asked you whether Ben had said anything to you about Alex?’
What was he doing? Why was he reopening this door, edging it open a crack? ‘We didn’t speak about Alex, Taz,’ Millie replied. ‘Our conversations didn’t include a lot of racing talk. What I knew about Alex was what I read online.’
Drivers were normally chatty, sometimes gossipy, guys. Did Ben not talk about Alex because he knew who he really was, and how he spent his free time, when he wasn’t with Meredith or out in public? Had Ben known about the drugs and the young girls? If he did, why didn’t he say anything?
As soon as the thought formed, he had his answer. Because nobody would’ve believed him. Alex was the favourite son of the team’s owner. If he’d criticised Alex, Ben would’ve sounded like he was whining or making trouble and it was a case of sour grapes.
There was no universe in which Ben could criticise Alex and come out with his good reputation intact.
He lifted the water bottle, drank half its contents and forced his eyes to meet Millie’s. He’d tell her the bare minimum, enough for her to understand. ‘I don’t talk about Alex because…’ Shit, this was hard.
He sighed, swallowed and sighed again. ‘Alex wasn’t the person everyone thought he was.’
She looked confused, as he knew she would. ‘What do you mean?’
‘That’s all I can say.’ There was so much more, but those few words felt like someone had poured acid down his throat.
Millie stood, put her cup on the table and folded her arms.
‘Can you give me a little more?’ she asked.
Didn’t she realise that she’d got more from him than anyone since the night Alex died? That those few halting words needed more courage than barrelling down an endless salt pan in a car made for speed and not safety? Conversations like these were far more dangerous than anything the racing world could throw at him.
Taz dragged his shaking hand over his jaw, his self-assurance in tatters. But instead of probing for answers or demanding more, Millie did something that completely disarmed him. She walked over, placed both hands on his chest and rested her forehead on his sternum. Her arms slipped around his waist in a tight, wordless hug. No ulterior motive. No agenda. Just quiet, undemanding comfort.
Taz froze, utterly blindsided. Like last night, her embrace wasn’t sexual or flirtatious—it washuman. And yet his knees wobbled like he’d walked away from a death-defying crash. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had offered him solace without expecting something in return. Before his mother died, perhaps? But those memories were buried under decades of grief and loss, hazy with time.
Millie pulled back, tilting her head to meet his gaze, her eyes were soft with understanding. Her fingertips brushed his jaw in a feather-light caress.
‘It must be exhausting always being compared to him,’ she said, her voice a low murmur. ‘I’m so sorry, Taz.’
Her words pierced his armour and burned his skin. Taz blinked hard, desperate to banish the burning in his eyes. He couldn’t lose it, not here, not now. Emotion was self-indulgent and useless, a luxury he’d discarded in his teens. So why was it so damned difficult to push her away? To create the distance he knew he needed?
A knock broke the spell he was under, a welcome distraction. It jolted him back to the present, and when the door-handle rattled, he remembered he’d locked it. Grateful for the interruption, he strode to the door, unlocked it and yanked it open.
The intern standing in the hallway flinched at his scowl. ‘Uh… Mr De Rossi, they’re waiting for you in the briefing room,’ the young man stammered.
Taz nodded curtly, his jaw tight. ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’
When the intern didn’t turn and flee, Taz’s scowl deepened. ‘Is there something else?’
The kid took a step back. ‘Uh… Mr De Rossi…uh…the car is here.’
‘The car?’
‘You ordered a car to take Ms James back to the hotel, sir. It’s waiting for her.’
