I look over at him with wide eyes. “How did you break your arm?”
His face scrunches up in anger. “It happened while I was racing F2. I got hit pretty hard in a race and spun out. It wasn’t” He stops talking after realizing I’ve stopped walking.
“You broke your arm in a race?” I hate the way the words tremble as they fall from my mouth.
He shrugs. “It was an illegal move. The driver was punished. Sometimes it comes with the territory.”
My hand goes to my shoulder to stem the prickling sensation that starts.
The way he speaks so nonchalantly about it, as if it’s not that big of a deal, but the way his voice hardened as he spoke of the incident says there’s more to the story.
Was he injured more severely than he’s letting on?
Even if he’s not, a broken arm is pretty serious. I know what it’s like to have your bones snapped and crushed by the impact of metal on metal. The months of pain in rehab only compound the initial agony of the accident.
A broken bone can’t be walked off, and the impact can last forever. Just when I start to forget how dangerous Travis’ job is,something inevitably rears its head to let me know I’m living in a fantasyland.
A fantasy where people who drive over two hundred miles an hour don’t regularly get hurt or lose their lives.
Another reminder of why it could never work between us.
While my mind tries to spin out, Travis takes my hand, pulling it from my shoulder and holding it in his. I yank it away, ignoring the look he gives me, and instead focus on our tour guide.
“Now, our staff has provided refreshments for you all to enjoy,” she says, bringing us into an office meeting room. A spread of pastries, fresh fruit, sparkling water, and other snacks sits on the table.
“Please enjoy and let me know if you have any questions.”
Travis is the first to speak up. “About the private rooms …”
He goes on, but my thoughts drown the question out.
All I can think about is his broken arm.
CHAPTER 20
Travis
Me:Did you eat breakfast this morning?
I stare at the text message I sent Alyssia all of five minutes ago.
The Miami Grand Prix is today, and instead of heading out to meet my parents or answering my agent’s calls, I’m waiting to find out if Alyssia had breakfast. Today’s Sunday, so she isn’t working.
She’s chosen to work in the office for her first few weeks or months of employment just to get to know the staff better before working from home.
Every day I’m home during the week, I meet her at her metro stop with breakfast to make sure she eats. And to walk her to work. She often comes earlier than she needs in order to be able to walk past the marina.
I’ve never been much of a morning person, but lately it doesn’t feel like getting up early for our walk and talks is much a chore. In fact, I look forward to our walks.
But as I sit in my hotel room in Miami, wondering if she ate breakfast, I think I need to have my sister schedule breakfast delivery to Alyssia’s apartment on the days I’m not in town.
I reach for my phone to message my Annalise who’s here in Miami with me, but already went down to the paddock. However, a call from Norm comes in.
“Ready to win today?” he asks as soon as I answer.
“Always.” I run my hand through my hair and check my text again to see if Alyssia’s responded.
Maybe I should send her my gratitude list also.
