Page 56 of On The Edge

The second I shut the door behind me, I hold my hands up, grin sarcastic, and a fuck you lift of my eyebrows. “Save it. I know the speech by heart. I made the wrong choice on the lead off with Rossi after the caution. I was too timid. My reaction times were too slow. I’m an embarrassment to the Navarro name. I wasn’t living up to my potential.” I shrug. “How about you surprise me and throw in there a great job, hijo, you kicked ass today? How much would that kill you to say that, huh?”

“You’re distracted and it showed.”

“We’re back to that, are we? Yes.” I flash a grin. “You being here distracts me. How did you know?”

He hisses out a frustrated sigh.

To anyone looking in, I would come off as a spoiled, disrespectful asshole. But they don’t know the hell I go through. The standards I’m held to. The restoration of the Navarro status.

“Even with today’s . . . error, the math works for you. If you finish where you need to place in the remainder of the races without any unforeseen . . . instances, then the championship could be yours.”

So in other words, live up to the perfection you expect but that you couldn’t deliver yourself.

“This is racing, Papá. I can only control what I can control. Everything beyond that is out of my hands. Perfection is impossible. One race maybe, but the remainder of the season? You know that better than anyone.”

“You should expect that out of yourself.”

“I fucking do. Every minute of every goddamn day I’m fully aware of the perfection expected of me so for once . . . just back the fuck off and leave me be.”

His tsk grates on my nerves. The clasping of his hands in front of him is his telltale sign that he’s settling in for the long haul here, when all I want is to get the fuck out of here.

“A good start would be you getting rid of her.”

“What?” Talk about whiplash. Here I think he’s talking about my drinking and partying—something I’ve paused—and instead, he’s talking about Maddix? “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The American. You can’t date her. She’s not acceptable.”

Not acceptable?

I chuckle but it has zero amusement. “Since when do you think you can tell me who I can or can’t date?”

Probably about the same time he thought he could prevent me from seeing mi abuelo.

His chuckle crawls over my skin. “Isla. Bianca. Penelope.” He ticks off each name on his fingers. His eyebrows raise as mine narrow. “They weren’t good for you either, and I took measures to mitigate that.” His smile is placating as my temper fires.

There’s no fucking way he . . . whatever he did to steer them away.

His chuckle says he did. “Funny how you think they’re there for you when it’s the status they’re after. They took the first sum I offered and a promise of who knows what else to steer clear from you proves it.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“I am, yes.” Matter of fact. Cold as ice.

I shrug to piss him off. “Thanks for doing me the favor. I was done with them anyway. Our . . . affairs had run their course, so . . . thank you.”

He grits his teeth. He wants to know he got to me with that admission. My response says I refuse to bite.

“Nice to see we’re on the same page.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks on his heels, lips pursed and eyes unrelenting.

Where’s he going with this?

I nod to wait him out, because we are most definitely not on the same page.

“You brought one of your . . . whores to work with you,” he says, disgust as evident in his body language as his voice. Every muscle in my body tenses. This is what you brought on her, Cruz. A label she doesn’t deserve. “What are you going to do next, write affirmations of love to her on your helmet?”

“What’s it to you? You should know by now that your disapproval begs me to bring her to every race from here on out.” Funny how in the whole weird situation, disapproval from my father is the last thing I expected. “You asked me to stop partying and shaming our name. I did what you asked. Shocking, I know. I found a girl to settle down with and surprise, surprise, you’re still not happy.” His grimace makes me grin. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe you’re the problem?”

The tendons in his neck tense. Ah, you don’t like that, do you, Papá?