Page 132 of On The Edge

To my rooftop where all I hear is the plea in her voice the last time we were up here.

She’s fucking everywhere.

And I think that’s what hurts even more. Because despite what she thinks, I am not a man worthy of the love of someone like Maddix Hart.

Those who say they love me, leave me.

It’s inevitable.

It’s fact.

No more distractions.

At least someone in this whole mess will be happy by that.

Fuck you, Papá, for being right.

Just, fuck you.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Maddix

“Another late night?” Heidi asks as she pokes her head into my office doorway.

“It’s only been two weeks. I still have so much to learn and figure out.”

“At this rate you’re going to burn out. Maybe you should take a day and go home at like a normal hour.”

I smile at my co-worker. “Soon. Once I get caught up, I will.”

“Okay. I’ll let the doorman know you’re still up here.”

“Thanks.”

But the minute she leaves, I sag in my seat and close my eyes. The past few weeks are a blur. Days filled with learning the ropes here. Feeling lost and then just when I grasp something, tumbling back into feeling lost again. Endless meetings where I have to put on an enthusiastic face to hide the fact that I feel like I’m dying inside. Lunch dates with potential clients where I hear them ramble on about things that, frankly, I’ve lost all interest in.

Is this my dream job? Yes. Is it full of exciting things I once yearned to learn and know? Again, yes. But my heart just isn’t in it. It’s been shattered. Cruz did that to me and I keep hoping I’m going to see the light at the end of the tunnel but right now, I’m not. Right now, work is the only thing that’s keeping me hanging on, so I stay here as long as I can to be as busy as I can.

But then there are the nights. Because as much as I’m exhausted from working long days, I’d rather work myself to death than go home to my empty apartment where I sit and think and want. I don’t have friends here yet, so I’m always so . . . alone. Which is a strange feeling when you’ve been with someone almost every day for months. It’s where I open my social media, noting how my algorithm has been completely curated to show me every single damn Formula 1 post known to man.

Cruz smiling as he signs an autograph for a fan.

Cruz looking into the camera.

Cruz qualifying.

Speculation runs rampant about where I am considering I’ve been there every race for months. We’ve broken up. I’m busy with a new job. He’s left me because I was horrible to him.

I scour the headlines, desperate to see something, anything to either tell me to keep holding on or to tell me I’m fucking crazy for wanting to hold on. But there’s nothing. No crazy partying. No cozying up to other women. It’s Cruz and his racing and an occasional picture that his team has posted of him. I’m not sure if that makes things worse or better. All I know is that I scrutinize every image to try and see a sign that he misses me as much as I miss him. That he’s as utterly miserable as I am.

Not even the excitement of a new job and moving to a whole new city abates the crushing weight in my chest. Not even the care packages from my mom—gifts from home—lessen the despondency. My parents know about Cruz and that our relationship has ended. Mom has been sympathetic, surprised, and caring. Dad has been quite silent, which doesn’t surprise me. He wasn’t wrong about Cruz—he was a man who could crush my heart.

Thankfully, though, there has been Tessa. And at that thought, my cell rings, right on time.

“Hey.”

“Well, you sound like a woman who has been punched in the tits. Jesus,” she teases. She’s been the best of friends during this whole thing, and I am so very grateful that I have her.