“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Rose says, backing out of the dining room as quickly as she came.
I watch her go, only to turn to see Vince standing before me.
He sticks his hand out while the other grips me firmly on the shoulder.
Months ago, I would’ve flung his arm away.
But now? I let it rest.
With hesitation, I place my palm in his. Both being dominant men, our grips tighten as we shake hands. As soon as we make our point, we let go, and I take a seat across from him.
Vince drums his fingers on the table. “Well?”
I slip the baseball cap off my head and place it in between us. My jaw aches, the pressure of my teeth grinding giving me a headache.
Fuck, this is painful to admit.
I clear my throat. “You were right.”
Vince doesn’t bat an eye. He knew I’d confirm his claims, as if the wreck that nearly took my life didn’t already.
“And?”
And what?
Does he want me to tell him how angry I am? Does he want me to vocalize how my own father risked my life to win, just to beat Vanstone Racing? He tampered with my car so I’d have a better chance at winning, just to prove that he’s better than his former best friend.
I swallow the bitter taste of betrayal on my tongue and ask the one thing I’ve been wondering for the majority of my racing career. “Is this why you left Pierce Racing?”
Vince leans back in his seat, eyeing me closely. A slight nod is the only thing I get for confirmation, and it’s because he doesn’t trust me.
Just like I don’t trust him.
Not to mention, we were both forced to sign NDAs with Pierce Racing—even me, despite the fact that I’m blood.
“I promised myself that if I ever caught wind of your father cheating again, I’d make sure to stop it this time. Hence the altercation you heard on the radio.”
I narrow my eyes as skepticism enters the conversation. “Why didn’t you go to the FIA years ago if you knew he was cheating? An NDA can’t legally stand when the FIA is involved in something like that.”
Vince sighs, the answer already on the edge of his lips. “Because I chose to go with the settlement. There were strings attached.”
I don’t doubt it.
“Like?”
“Silence,” he says. “And silence is survival in this business, Rome.”
As much as I hate to admit it, I understand.
I’ve been tight-lipped since the wreck, and it isn’t by choice. I know that if I speak up about what happened outside of the walls of our shop, there will be consequences.
A lot of backlash.
My own name soiled, my racing career down the fucking drain.
There are too many unknown variables.
I stare at Vince, and he stares at me.
