She didn't back away; she didn't look at the floor. She met his gaze and lifted her chin a fraction.
“I watched the race from the north grandstand,” she said. “Not on TV.”
His jaw flexed. “Start at the beginning.”
“I stayed in the room for tech and the whole Red Dragons mess,” she said. “I swear I did. I watched the inspection, the fight, and Stoke getting hauled out. I texted you from this bed. But when they put the bikes on the grid for the race, I… I panicked.”
“Because of Bryn,” he said quietly.
“Because of Bryn,” she agreed. “I kept thinking about that hospital room. Sitting there while someone you love is dying. The interminable waiting, holding my breath, trying to be strong, all the while sitting bedside and not moving because the fear of stepping from the room and the unthinkable happening while I was gone was stronger than anything. I couldn’t do that again, not exactly like that.”
She took a breath.
“So I put on the hat and sunglasses. I went down the service stairs and out the side door I found yesterday. I bought a general ticket, sat in the public stands, stayed away from the pits, and away from the Dragons. The cops and security were all over them, Hank. They were not looking at the crowd. I watched you race, and when you crossed the line, I left before you even hit the podium. Came straight back here.”
Silence settled between them, thick and heavy.
He closed his eyes for a second; opened them again. The way he looked at her made her feel like he was looking through skin and bone, directly at the place she tried hardest to keep hidden.
“Thank you for telling me,” he said at last.
“You’re not yelling,” she said.
“Thinking about it,” he replied. “Trying not to.”
She winced.
“I’m not mad at you,” he went on. “I am mad at the picture in my head of you in that crowd while I was riding, like you were behind three layers of hotel security. I made decisions out there based on the idea that I knew exactly where you were. You changed the plan and did not loop me in.”
“I know,” she said. “And I’m sorry. I picked the least risky way to break the rules, which is a terrible sentence when you say it out loud.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, despite everything. “Yeah, it is.”
He let out a breath, his shoulders loosening a fraction.
“I get why you did it,” he said. “If I had been through what you have, I might have done the same. That doesn’t mean I like it.”
“I don’t like it either,” she said. “I hated lying to you, even for a couple of hours. I hated that I felt like I had to choose between being safe and being present.”
He brushed his thumbs across her cheeks again, a small, grounding touch.
“Okay,” he said. “So next time, we do not put you in that position. If my safety plan involves you, we build it together. No assumptions. No heroics in a floppy hat.”
She huffed a weak laugh. “Deal.”
“Good,” he said softly. “Because I am very attached to the idea of you being around for a long time.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Me too.”
Something eased between them then. Not completely, this was not something one conversation could fix. But a knot she had been carrying in her chest loosened enough for air to move more freely.
He kissed her again, slower, a question instead of an explosion.
She answered yes with the way she pressed closer, with the way her fingers curled into his shirt and then under it, seeking skin.
The rest of the world faded to a low hum.
They made their way to the bed half by accident, half by design. Touches punctuated every step, the slide of his hand along her spine, the curve of her fingers over the back of his neck. When he peeled her T-shirt away, he did it with a care that made her feel cherished, not exposed.
