“You’re not useless,” he said. “You’ve already done more than you know. You’re giving me a way to protect my team and level the field. But sometimes the bravest thing you can do is sit tight and let the people with muscle and experience take the hit.”
“And you’re the muscle,” she said.
“Among others,” he replied. “I’ll loop Brian and Colby in. I’ve got a buddy working tech in the regional series; I’ll see who’s around on this crew that still gives a damn about clean racing. We’ll be smart.”
Her gaze searched his, looking for cracks. “And what if they find another way to cheat?”
“Then we’ll keep watching,” he said. “But we can’t be everywhere. We start with what we know.”
She exhaled, long and slow. “You’re asking a lot.”
“I know.”
Silence fell again, thicker this time. She stood close enough that he could see the fine spray of freckles on her nose, the tiny smudge of graphite near her thumb where she’d apparently rubbed at something without thinking.
He realized he had braced his hand against the trailer beside her head at some point and leaned in, angling his body toward hers as if gravity had shifted.
Her eyes flicked to his mouth, just for a second, then back up.
The fear in her gaze hadn’t disappeared, but something else lived there too; a warmth that had been growing in stolen mornings and late-night texts and quiet walks in the dunes.
“You’re serious about this,” she said. “You’re not just being a caveman.”
“I’ve been accused of worse,” he said, half a breath from her now. “But yeah, I’m serious.”
“If I promise to stay in my room tomorrow,” she asked slowly, “do you promise to be careful out there? No extra risks, no proving-a-point bullshit. Just you and the bike and whatever clean race you can get.”
He almost laughed at the way she mirrored his terms. Almost.
“I’ll do everything I can to bring her home in one piece,” he said. “And me with her. That’s already the plan.”
Her throat worked. “Okay.”
“Okay, you’ll stay inside,” he pressed, needing to hear it.
“Okay.” She nodded once. “I’ll stay inside. Hotel room, door locked. No balcony, no boardwalk. I’ll draw from memory and the TV feed. I’ll text you when I’m in and when I’m tempted to break the rules, so you can tell me not to.”
Relief hit him so hard he had to close his eyes for a second. He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been wound until that knot loosened.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
When he opened his eyes, she was watching him with a softness that punched through his ribs.
“Don’t thank me like I did you a favor,” she said. “I’m doing it because you’re right. And because I don’t really want to find out what happens when cheaters feel cornered.”
He lifted his hand from the trailer, hesitated only a heartbeat, then cupped her cheek.
Her skin was warm from the sun, softer than he’d imagined the first time he’d watched her on that balcony. She leaned into his touch without seeming to realize it, her eyes fluttering closed for a second.
He didn’t plan the kiss.
One second, he was looking at her, at the worry in the set of her mouth and the stubborn tilt of her chin; the next, he was leaning in, driven by an impulse as old and simple as breathing.
Their mouths met in a collision of pent-up fear and something sweeter. Her hand shot out, fingers catching his T-shirt at the shoulder, holding on.
He kept it slow at first, letting her feel his intent, not just his adrenaline. The brush of his lips over hers, the taste of coffee and salt, and the faint citrus of whatever soap the hotel stocked. She made a small sound in the back of her throat that went straight through his chest and settled somewhere beneath his sternum.
Her lips parted on a breath. He deepened the kiss, angling his head, letting his hand slide back into her hair. It was still damp from her shower, curls catching against his fingers. His other hand found her hip, thumb stroking the curve there through soft denim.
