Page 118 of Over the Limit

But he doesn’t look at me. He just fucks me like he’s angry. Like he’s saying goodbye. Like this is the last time we’ll be together.

And when he comes, when I wrap my hands around his neck and thread my fingers through his hair, when I murmur, I love you against his bare shoulder, there’s an emptiness when there should be contentment.

There’s confusion when there should be certainty.

I chalk it up to his emotions being all over the place after the day he’s had.

But when I wake up in the morning and the bed is empty beside me, there’s fear that I’ve never felt before.

And an acceptance that I needed to give him space to process it.

And then I call the one person I know will comfort me how I need it.

“Sky, I need you,” I say as she answers. And then I cry.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Blair

Monica: See? My matchmaking skills have worked. Look how fabulous they look together.

I stare at the picture in the text and do a double take. I was expecting a picture of Zola and Baron, not Lachlan and Zola.

Unfounded jealousy runs like wildfire through my veins.

I know what’s going on between Zola and Lachlan. I told him it was fine. But one, Monica is delusional that all of a sudden, she’s trying to take credit for setting them up and two, Lachlan has been quiet for the past two days. Withdrawn. Contemplative when I’ve spoken to him. So seeing him like this—in a tux, smiling with Zola—at an event he told me about weeks ago, leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

But I’m well aware it’s the unsettled ground that I’m concerned Lachlan and I are on right now that’s causing all these shitty feelings to bubble up. Insecurity. Uncertainty. Jealousy.

It’s like he’s not mine when in fact, he is.

But as the seconds tick away to minutes.

And the minutes turn into an hour, I can’t help but relive the other night after the race. When we made love. When he was gone the next morning. When he left without saying goodbye.

Professionally, everything’s on the line right now. His future in the sport. The legacy he’ll leave behind when he leaves it. And because of me, he and Rossi are at odds. Because of me, he might have risked it all.

Is that why he’s been so quiet? Why he’s taking space without asking for it? Is he thinking he has to choose between me and his career right now and can’t have both with Rossi as his current teammate?

The questions don’t stop. The problems and doubts seem to magnify. And as easy as it would be to drop him a text and ask the question, I don’t.

I’m afraid to.

Afraid of the answer.

I was so sure of us a few days ago and now, I feel so up in the air.

But then at midnight, I’m confused as he shuts the door behind him. Without a word, he slowly begins to remove his layers of clothes that disguise him. The oversized hoodie that’s pulled over his baseball cap. The medical mask that covers his nose and mouth like he’s sick and protecting others from germs.

And when he sheds them all, I’m hit squarely in the gut by the sight of him. He’s dressed in a tuxedo. Sexy as hell and mouthwateringly attractive.

“Lachlan?” Surprise peppers my tone and relief floods every bone in my body.

“You sound surprised to see me.” He angles his head and studies me.

“I—I wasn’t sure—after the other night—I didn’t know . . .”

He crosses the room to me and kisses me tenderly on the lips. I almost choke on a sob. “Shh. I’m here,” he murmurs. “I’m right here.”