Page 89 of Out of Control

And I’m left staring at nothing as I try to figure out what to do next.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Sofia

The tension in the garage is like a coil sprung so tight that I’m afraid when it snaps, the reaction will be so violent that everyone will be hit by its shrapnel.

My brother. Rossi. Maddix. The crew. Fellow drivers. The media. Freaking everybody.

My brother walks into the paddock area toward the garage but doesn’t look at me. “Cruz?”

Talk to me.

Yell at me.

Fight with me.

But he does nothing. He simply meets my eyes and gives the slightest shake of his head. The disappointment I see there kills me. Because he is my person. Because of everything we’ve been through together with our parents, he’s become the one whose opinion means the most to me. I care what he thinks.

I stare after him and where he disappears to. Honestly, I shouldn’t have expected anything different. He refused to talk to me last night. Not before he had to go to the sponsorship dinner with Rossi. Not after it when I sat at his hotel room door waiting for him. Not even when he physically picked me up to move me out of the way of the door, telling me to just leave him alone.

I thought it would be my grandfather’s disappointment that would tear me up. I was wrong. I haven’t even received that yet and Cruz’s was painful. Heartbreaking.

And then there was Rossi. Just as busy as my brother on the work spectrum, apologetic that he caused this while at the same time unapologetic over it.

Why does he care so much what my family thinks of him when he couldn’t give a fuck about everyone else?

Because you matter, Sof.

Isn’t that what this comes down to?

You’re falling for a man you shouldn’t want, you can’t have, and who will make everyone and their brother in the Navarro realm up in arms.

A competitor.

The guy who doesn’t give a fuck what anyone thinks.

A non-Spanish commoner in their tunnel-visioned, archaic gazes.

“Excuse me.” It’s Rossi’s voice at my back. I turn to see him there, his PR handler at his side, and his eyes a fleeting glance my way.

For a second, I thought he was trying to speak to me, to . . . I don’t know what with me, but I realize he’s simply asking to move past the path I’m blocking.

“Sure. Yes. Sorry.” The words out of my mouth sound pathetic. This isn’t on him. Far from it. But he’s trying to take the path of least resistance, pun intended, but continuing to act like there’s nothing more, nothing less between us than just a simple contract joining him to my brother.

I step out of the way.

“Good luck today,” I say softly.

He turns back to look at me. His eyes are sad. Compassionate. And edged with a small amount of anger.

He nods. “Thanks.”

If anyone else saw this non-exchange-exchange, they’d see nothing more than a passing cordiality.

If my brother saw it, he’d know. He’d see my sorrowful, heartbroken expression and comprehend how conflicted I’m feeling.

I’m trying not to hurt anyone, Cruz.