His career. Always his bloody career.
His fingers moved sharply across the keyboard.
Cam: I don’t give a fuck.
Cam: Come to my room.
A long pause followed.
Long enough that Cam checked to make sure the message had actually been sent.
Then:
Scott: When?
The knot in Cam’s chest loosened slightly, his heart starting to beat faster.
Cam: Two hours. I havemedia obligations and team debrief first.
A few seconds later:
Scott: OK.
Cam stared at the message.
Just that.
OK.
There was no smiley face or teasing comment.Nochamporbabe.No ridiculous kissing emoji that used to make Cam roll his eyes every single time. For months Scott had flirted shamelessly just to annoy him, sending stupid heart emojis, calling him pretty and handsome, and making outrageous comments whenever Cam posted a photo.Cam had always pretended he found it annoying and childish. Now the absence of it felt like a physical thing.A silence where noise should have been.
He found himself scrolling upward through old messages. From months ago.A sea of hearts and jokes and relentless affection.Back when Scott had apparently thought Cam was worth them.
“Cam?”
He looked up.
One of the press officers was standing nearby.“The journalists are waiting for you.”
For a second Cam just stared at her blankly.The journalists.The championship.The race weekend.The things that were supposed to matter.
He locked his phone.“Right.”
But as he followed the press officer out of the garage, all he could think about was a single message sitting in his inbox.
OK.
Christ.
He was losing his fucking mind.
Chapter 25
Scott would have liked to say he was feeling calm and collected as he knocked on Cam’s hotel door.
That would have been a lie. His heart had been pounding for the last twenty minutes.
By the time he stepped out of the elevator, his palms were damp, his stomach was in knots, and every nerve ending in his body seemed alight, excitement, anticipation, and feartangling together into something so intense it made him feel physically sick.
