Page 27 of Break My Heart

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that, Pumpkin.”

I hate that he’s right. I share candidly, “Maybe it’s because I had you and Mama as examples, but I never imagined what he said could still linger. I never felt anything like I did with Leo, Dad.”

My confession hovers between us. His face softens as he reaches across the table to lay his hand over mine. “He mattered; therefore, it hurt worse.”

I stare down at our clasped hands. “I hate feeling like this.”

I question whether he inhaled a few too many fumes from his time on the circuit when he says, “It’s not wrong to forgive someone if they demonstrate they’re trying to redeem themselves.”

“I’d have to see it to believe it.” I reach for my drink and take a small sip, giving myself a moment before admitting, “I thought I knew him.”

“You knew the version of him he showed you—like you only shared part of who you are. Now you’re going to be in the same world.”

“Great.”

“What? I’m just telling you the truth.”

“You’re not helping make it any easier.” Still, my determination kicks in. “I refuse to walk away from this job. It’s exactly the kind of work I’ve always loved.”

A flicker of pride crosses his face. “That’s my girl.”

I exhale, some of the tension easing.

“But,” he adds, voice turning serious again, “you don’t owe anyone access to you beyond that work. Not him. Not anyone on that team.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” He pulls his hand away and picks up his pizza again.

“I do.” Then, I reach for my own slice.

“All right. Then here’s what you’re gonna do.”

“Telling me how to do my job, Dad?” I tsk at him. “For shame.”

“You’re gonna storm into Apex Orion and outperform every idiot in that building. You’ll make them better than they’ve ever been.”

“No pressure, though.”

His eyes gleam, the same blue as mine. “None at all. Because if that boy gets in your way—personally or professionally—you remember exactly who you are.”

“Which is?”

“The smartest person in any room you walk into and tougher than half the drivers I ever raced against.”

I absorb his reassurance and file it as a barrier for the future. Knowing I’m loved buffers the pain still lingering in my heart. “Okay.”

He then reaches down deep. I know it’s hard for him to bring her up, but he does. “Your mother would be so proud of you, Pumpkin.”

I ache seeing the loss and pain on his face at his words. Losing my mother to a prolonged illness when I was in my teens changed something in my father fundamentally—more so than losing a race, he lost the love of his life. “I know she would. I know you are too.”

He nods once, satisfied. Then he adds lightly, “Besides, maybe their problem isn’t software related. If he can’t see you for the amazing person you are, that’s a vision defect. Mention that to Morretti.”

I laugh—really laugh. For the first time since Leanne volunteered me for this assignment, I feel like I can breathe again.

“Eat,” he orders, nudging my plate toward me. “You’ve got a team to fix.”

“And a driver to ignore,” I add.