WALDO:Yes. Give me twenty minutes?
JONATHAN:I’ll be there in fifteen.
I screenshot the exchange and forwarded it to Thea:Additional contact - Sunday 10:47 PM. J. Hirsch visiting my hotel room to celebrate race win. Will disclose full details tomorrow morning.
The response came back:Enjoy your evening. Full disclosure tomorrow.
I stared at that message.Enjoy your evening.
Thea understood. The guardrails weren’t meant to punish us. They were meant to keep everything transparent. As long as I documented it, as long as no professional lines were crossed, we could have this.
The knock came exactly fourteen minutes later.
When I opened the door, Jonathan was in khakis and a polo shirt, hair damp from the shower, carrying two bottles of beer from the hotel bar and a smile that made my chest ache.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi, champ.”
He stepped inside and I closed the door behind him, and for the first time all day, I let myself stop performing professional distance.
He set the beers down and pulled me into a kiss that tasted like victory and relief and three days of wanting. When we broke apart, he was grinning.
“That was a hell of a drive today,” I said.
“I know.” No false modesty, just quiet pride. “I needed that one. After what Nat said, I needed to prove I could win on merit.”
“You did. Completely.”
We sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders touching, drinking beer in comfortable silence.
“I read your race report,” Jonathan said eventually. “Composed. Deliberate. Earned.”
“Too restrained?”
“Perfect.” He turned to look at me. “You wrote about me the way you’d write about anyone else who drove like that. Which is exactly what you should have done.”
“Thea reviewed it before I filed.”
“I know. Elena mentioned the guardrails are working well.” He took my hand. “I know this is harder on you than on me. The constant disclosures, the scrutiny. But we’re making it work.”
“Are we?”
“We’re here, aren’t we? You’re covering me honestly, I’m winning races, and we still get moments like this.” He squeezed my hand. “Maybe not as many as we’d like, but enough.”
I leaned my head against his shoulder. “I watched you cross the line today and I wanted to scream. Had to pretend it was just patriotic enthusiasm.”
“Anyone notice?”
“Sandra thinks I’m weird but harmless.” I smiled. “Mason’s more suspicious, but the Nat article convinced most people I’m tougher on you than anyone.”
“You are tough on me. You make me want to be better.” He kissed the top of my head. “Which is why this works.”
The room held its breath with us. He leaned on the edge of the desk and looked at me as if there were no cameras left in the world.
“You drove beautifully,” I said. It came out steadier than I felt. “No luck. No ghosts. Just you.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, the kind he never gives to microphones. “It felt…quiet,” he said. “Like finally everything was the size it was supposed to be.”
