It didn’t make this safe.
It didn’t make him mine.
And for all of Griffin’s stubbornness, for all his refusal to back down, even he couldn’t change that.
I tore myself away, breath uneven. “No.”
His hand lingered at my jaw until I forced myself to take another step back, breaking the contact completely. A flash of vulnerability flickered across his features, there and gone in a heartbeat. The cocky assurance I’d grown used to seeing—the look that said he always got what he wanted—faltered.
“Vi—”
“You don’t get to do that.” I hated how unsteady and sharp I sounded. “You don’t get to kiss me like that.”
His jaw tightened. “Like what?”
I swallowed hard. “Like you’re promising me something you can’t possibly give.”
Men like Griffin didn’t slow down. They didn’t stop. They chased the next podium, the next contract, the next win. That was how they were built, how they survived. And even if hemeant it now, even if he believed he could have this, could have me, it wouldn’t last.
Even when the racing ended, the chasing wouldn’t.
If he retired, what then? Did I get to play second to a different kind of ambition? A team principal, a commentator, an ambassador, something to keep him in the sport? Because men like him didn’t know how to stop, and I had spent my whole life watching drivers choose their careers over the people who loved them.
I wouldn’t be another name on that list.
I wouldn’t be someone’s second place.
When I let myself fall, I needed to know the man standing next to me would put me on the podium for once.
And that would never be Griffin.
My fingers curled tighter around Hazel, needing something solid and real hold onto. He sighed, his throat bobbing as his hands curled into fists at his sides.
I forced my chin higher, ignored the sharp pull in my chest. “Last night shouldn’t have happened. And it won’t happen again.”
His nostrils flared. “You’re wrong.”
“Griffin—”
“No. It wasn’t a mistake. And I’m not pretending it was.”
“We are a mistake.” I held his gaze, willing him to just stop.
“Once would be a mistake,” he said, voice low and cutting. “Three times was a choice, Vi.”
He was right, but if I admitted that, this would never end. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me,” he whispered.
“That’s because you don’t think things through.”
His lips parted, like I’d actually stunned him. “Excuse me?”
“You act on instinct,” I said, tapping against Hazel’s back. “You want something, you go after it. That’s how you’re wired.But this,” I motioned between us, “isn’t a race. It’s not about what you want in the moment.”
“You think I haven’t thought this through?” He stepped forward, shaking his head like I was missing something obvious. “You think I didn’t spend every second of the last week wanting you? Every second before that fighting it?”
My chest tightened, but I kept my voice calm. “Wanting something doesn’t make it right.”
