Before she can snap back, Xavier steps up beside me, his presence a wall. His eyes don’t leave Tara or Lisa. They’re laser-focused. “You might want to take notes, Tara. This isn’t just a race. It’s Izzy’s world. Always has been and always will be. You happen to be living in it for the time being.”
The words hit harder than a slap. There’s a finality in his tone, a confidence that makes the air around us feel charged. Tara’s face pales, and for the first time, she has no response. Lisa shifts, nervously glancing between the two of us, but she doesn’t speak either.
I turn back toward Xavier, flashing him a quick, knowing look. The corner of his mouth lifts, mirroring the satisfaction in my chest. “Let’s go, X,” I say to him, voice low and smooth. “We’ve got better things to do than waste time with them.”
And with that, I walk away with my head held high, no longer caring whether they ever catch up. They’ll be left here, watching as I drive off into a world where they’ll never be able to touch me.
Xavier follows me, and before we reach the car, I hear it. It’s soft yet unmistakable. The sound of Tara’s broken pride.
Chapter Seven
Izzy
The roar of the crowd fades into the background as I lean against my car, my pulse still hammering from the race. The dust is still settling around the track, and the scent of fuel and victory is thick in the air. I should feel satisfied. I shut Tara and Lisa down so hard they’ll be choking on it for weeks. But instead, there’s a slow, steady thrum in my chest, a mix of adrenaline and something else I don’t want to name.
Xavier steps up beside me, arms crossed, his eyes scanning the track like he’s still replaying the race in his head. His Mustang is parked a few feet away, the engine still ticking as it cools. He is close. Closer than I expected, but not close enough. I won. I proved myself. And yet, as the dust settles, the weight of it all presses in.
I exhale, tilting my head back to look up at the sky. The stars are faint, blurred by the glow of the floodlights lining the track. For a second, I let myself breathe, let myself simply exist in this moment, free of noise and pressure.
“You good?” Xavier’s voice is quieter now, more controlled. Not the cocky, confident tone he had when he backed me up against Tara, but something softer. Something real.
I glance at him, catching the way his blue eyes scan my face like he’s checking for cracks. Like he can see past all the fire and adrenaline to the part of me that isn’t as untouchable as I pretend to be.
I swallow hard and force a smirk. “Why wouldn’t I be? I wiped the floor with you.”
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t take the bait. “That’s not why I asked.”
The air between us shifts, settling into something heavier. I look away, focusing on the track, on how the dirt still looks fresh from our tires tearing through it. It’s easier than looking at him. Easier than acknowledging how tight my chest feels.
“I’m fine,” I say finally. “This is what I wanted.”
A beat of silence. Then, “Is it?”
I turn to him, brows furrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Xavier leans against the car beside me, so close his shoulder nearly brushes mine. He doesn’t look at me right away. He exhales as if choosing his next words carefully.
“It means you won,” he says, his voice even. “You shut them up. You proved your point. So why do you still look like you’re waiting for a fight?”
His words hit a little too close to home, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.
I huff out a breath and turn away, dragging a hand through my hair. “Because it’s never just one fight, X. You know that.”
Silence stretches between us. Then, softly, “Yeah. I know.”
Something in his tone makes me look at him again. There’s no teasing smirk this time, no sharp edge to his words. Just understanding. It makes my stomach flip for reasons that have nothing to do with racing.
For a second, neither of us speaks. The noise from the track seems farther away, as if we’re standing in our own little world,separate from everything else. The weight on my chest doesn’t disappear, but it eases a little.
Xavier nudges me lightly with his elbow. “Come on. I owe you a burger or something for that ass-kicking you gave me.”
I snort. “Damn right, you do.”
His grin is slow and lazy. “And yet I still feel like I won.”
I roll my eyes but don’t argue. Because maybe, just maybe, I feel the same way.
The neon sign flickers above The Diner, casting a warm glow against the cool night air. It’s been here forever. This is our place. The place we’ve come to since we were kids, cramming into booths with greasy fries and milkshakes, laughing until our stomachs hurt. It’s the kind of spot that never changes, no matter how much we do.
