Page 60 of On The Edge

The break in his voice kills me.

“Okay. Sure.”

And of course, Dominic Navarro is casually chatting it up and laughing with the race engineer as I make my way out of the Gravitas paddock’s footprint.

Being the cordial, welcoming person I saw all day—except for when he spoke to his son.

Our gazes lock, but this time I don’t look away first. This time I glare right back at him before giving the slightest shake of my head and then head for the exit.

Asshole.

The paddock is still a buzzing city, allowing me to get lost in its hustle as I make my way toward the turnstile. I’m hoping the post-race chaos will allow me to blend in with everyone, but the sudden shouts of my name the minute I’m at the edges of its confines, tell me I was wrong.

Maddix, how did you and Cruz meet?

Is it serious between you two?

Rumor is that you’re engaged. Is that true?

The questions hit me one after another, rapid-fire like bullets. I’m flustered and disarmed. I’m at a loss for how to wade through the sea of people and get to the team driver waiting for me.

Right as the fluster turns to panic, a man dressed in a Gravitas uniform appears and ushers me away from the madness and to his waiting car. I don’t breathe a sigh of relief until the car is rolling out of the parking lot.

I’m leaving Zandvoort so differently than I’d expected. Cruz likes to call me naive. I like to call myself optimistic. But for some reason, I had envisioned Cruz and I leaving together, ready to celebrate a great race, before packing up and moving on to wherever is next.

Instead, I’m alone. Confused. And questioning whether this will turn out how Kevin wants it to.

I have a feeling there’s much more at play here for Cruz than Kevin ever knew.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Maddix

Claustrophobia is setting in.

The kind I can’t escape by walking outside of the hotel, because fans have since discovered that this is home to the entire Gravitas team and have camped out waiting for Nico and Cruz to return. One last glimpse of their idols before they move on to the next city on the circuit.

No doubt their social media posts when the racers do see them will be flattering. Unlike the images of me circulating around the Internet. My hair wild and my eyes wide as I try to push through the crowd to the team car. The ones I’ve seen so far capture me looking exhausted, irritated, and like a complete and total bitch.

Granted, I can be all three of those, but that’s the last image I want out there in the public.

The captions and comments beneath the posts I’ve studied only serve to reinforce Dominic’s shitty comments about me earlier. My lack of pedigree. My shortcomings for being Cruz’s potential girlfriend.

And truth be told, the more I stare out the window as I sit here and wait for Cruz to respond to my texts, the more space I let all this noise eat up until I’m antsy and starting to feed into my own insecurities that rival the criticism. In a fishbowl, things can only keep going around and around until that’s all you see and hear.

Until you feel smothered.

The roof.

I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Cruz’s comment about it being where he goes when he needs a break. But it hits me now and within minutes, I’m in the elevator and shortly thereafter, pushing the heavy exterior door open.

Relief hits me immediately, knowing I can be out here and not be seen. That I can move without a photo being taken or have an expression without it being misinterpreted.

Freedom.

I’ve only been doing this whole public life thing for a short time, but to be able to be outside without eyes on me provides the oddest sense of relief that I previously wouldn’t have needed.

I take in the exterior patio of sorts. It’s bathed in darkness on this moonless night. There is patio furniture up here, from what I can see of it anyway as the lattice cover casts an even darker shadow over its far recesses.