Silence. Heavy, shared, dangerous.
“Ten years and that’s it?” he said. “Like we sat in different classrooms, not…”
“Not what?” I said. “Not loved each other? Not burned it down?”
His jaw tightened. “You broke up with me.”
“You let me.”
He blinked. “That’s not fair.”
“No,” I said. “It isn’t.”
Someone called his name. He didn’t look away from me.
“Still following the sport?” he asked.
“Part of the job now, apparently.” I gestured at the controlled chaos around us. “I watched Bahrain. You clawed yourself from the back row to the podium.”
His Bahrain feature race win, carved out on tire strategy and pure nerve, forced people to stop calling him a prospect and start calling him inevitable. Everyone said it proved he wasn’t just talent. He was grit, strategy, potential.
“Finally got a car that doesn’t break down every other weekend,” he said, careful with his tone. “Meridian’s been good to me. They believed in me when other teams didn’t.”
“Must feel good to have people believe in your potential instead of just your connections,” I said, and immediately regretted it. The words were a reflex. A shield.
His eyebrows lifted. Surprised, but not angry. Maybe hurt.
“You always did cut straight to the heart of things,” he said softly.
Another beat. Ten years of unsent emails, undialed calls, things neither of us had the courage to ask.
“You’re here to write a story,” he said. Calm. Too calm. “Fine. Write it. But don’t pretend this is anything else.”
“I’m not pretending anything.” I swallowed hard. “I’m doing my job.”
He swallowed too, like it didn’t go down easily. “And if I don’t want you here?”
“Then don’t talk to me,” I said. “Give me the press-release version. I’ve read up on you. You’re good at that.”
He flinched.
For a heartbeat, I hated myself.
For a heartbeat, I wanted to touch him.
Neither of us moved.
Finally, he nodded, professional mask snapping into place. “Welcome to Meridian. Someone will get you a team badge.”
“I should let you get back to prep,” I muttered. Suddenly the ground beneath my feet felt uncertain. “I’m sure you have better things to do than catch up with me.”
“Waldo.”
His hand brushed my arm. Light, quick, like he wasn’t sure I’d let him.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. Quieter now. Honest in a way that made it harder to breathe. “Really. Maybe we could…” He hesitated. “Are you staying in Monaco?”
“The Novotel in Monte Carlo.”
