Page 109 of On The Edge

“By the skin of his teeth. His lines aren’t clean and he’s almost kissed the wall several times. He should have already gotten Bustos. Far from perfect.”

“So far he’s on the podium,” I say, wondering why I feel the need to defend Cruz from the harsh criticism.

“He should have started from a better position. He’s distracted.”

“Distracted? Hmm. Happy seems to be a better term for it, but”—I shrug flippantly—“who am I to judge that?”

I turn to watch the monitors directed where cars are battling on the course. It’s been an exhilarating race that no doubt will come down to an infinitesimal driver error. But at speeds of two hundred plus miles per hour, the tiniest of mistakes can be a disaster for not only the driver who makes it but everyone around him.

Relieved that this conversation seems to be over, I’m just about to slip my headset back on when Dominic speaks again.

“I don’t like what you’re doing to him.”

“Doing to him?” I turn to face him. “What’s that? Loving him unconditionally? Not putting pressure on him to be anything but himself? Letting him know he’s good enough just how he is?” I put my hands on my hips and square off with him and his clear distaste for me. “I’m sorry, Mr. Navarro, but most people would be thrilled with that for their son. You, on the other hand . . . I don’t know what it is that you want from me.”

“Loving him unconditionally?” he says. I have never seen such hatred directed at me before. “You have no clue what you’re talking about. His family loves him unconditionally. Not you. We know what he needs. I know what he needs. And no, it’s not you.”

Do I love him unconditionally? Did I just say that out loud? Or am I flustered and so desperate to make this man see how incredible his son is that I’ll say anything to drive the point home?

But does it matter? Will a rude fucker like Dominic Navarro hear anything other than what he wants to hear?

“You don’t know the first thing about what your son wants or needs.” There I go again trying to defend Cruz.

His sneer is one of disgust. His tone even more so. “He’s distracted. He’s doing uncharacteristic things like blowing off sponsorship events.” He is? Is that true? His tone is clipped and posture stiff. “The very fact that you are here, in the pits, race after race, is demonstration in and of itself.”

“I’m here because he wants me to be here,” I assert.

“You’re here because you want something from him. You should bow out now, save yourself the embarrassment, because you definitely won’t be getting whatever you want.”

This man is a piece of fucking work. But just as I think that, just as I’m considering fighting back and hitting below the belt with anything and everything just so I can land a punch, I notice a camera pointed our way. And as hard as it is to swallow down the fight in me, I refuse to be used as more clickbait.

So I throw my shoulders back and hold my head high, placing a genial smile on my face.

“I was always taught to be respectful, Mr. Navarro, so I’m going to walk away now. The last thing I want to do is lower my non-pedigreed standards and break them for you.” I take a few steps back.

“And I was always taught to do whatever it takes to protect my family.”

Even if that means losing them, huh?

“For a family you covet publicly, you do a damn good job of sabotaging privately. I just hope that when you finally acknowledge it, your kids afford you the same grace you never gave them.”

I move my headphones onto my head and walk out of the hospitality area and down to the garage.

Love him unconditionally.

Again, did I really just say that?

But isn’t that what I’m doing? Loving him?

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Shit.

I’m in love with Cruz Navarro.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Maddix