Page 38 of Break My Heart

“How she wasn’t overly impressed I was a driver. When she asked me questions, they came from knowledge of the circuit. I…”

“What?”

“I thought she just learned about it to impress me.” My face flames bright red at that admission.

For the first time, I understand how much I let my past break us apart. When we talked about family, she mentioned a loving father who couldn’t be around a lot because he traveled. That is, until her mother passed away.

The pieces shift together, forming a horrifying picture. When my fear got the best of me, I implied that her background would make her disappear. More like she could make me vanish in a heartbeat.

Her laughter ripples through the air, making me wince. My hand slips into my pocket. My fingers grip my mobile. Even if I had sent those texts, they’d have been woefully inadequate.

After all, how do I apologize for insinuating she’d disappear in this life when I’m the one who never mattered in mine?

13

HIGH-LOAD CONDITIONS: PEAK STRESS MOMENTS

For the rest of the evening, I frequently overhear the tail end of someone murmuring, “—that’s Lewis Porter’s daughter.”

“I remember her as a little girl in the paddock.”

“Lewis ran half the grid back in his day.”

“He probably still could.”

There are names in a sport you don’t just recognize, you revere them. You measure yourself against them. That’s Lewis Porter to F1. World Champion. Technical genius. The kind of driver who didn’t just race; he understood the most minute details about the machine beneath him. He treated it like it was an extension of his body.

The group next to me keeps chatting. “Is she taking Lewis’s place on the circuit?” someone questions.

“No. She’s working for a team. At least, that’s what I heard.”

“Christin’s some kind of software savant.”

“That makes sense. I didn’t recall her craving speed the way most drivers do.”

The words shouldn’t bother me. They’re the kind of comments I wish I could say I overheard about myself —polished yet riddled with praise.

I thought I knew her. I swallow hard, my gaze dropping to the glass in my hand, but I don’t take a sip. I don’t need it dulling any moment she’s close. I deserve every harsh word that falls from her soft lips. Because the truth is, this room wouldn’t dare reduce her into something smaller.

That’s what I did.

I forgot everything that made her different, everything that made her steady in a world that flies by far too fast. I filtered it through the only lens I’ve ever measured myself through—one of dismissal.

Except I didn’t factor in how strong she is.

I broke us. I hurt her.

I lost the way she smiles when she forgets to use sarcasm as a second language. The way she learns everything about something that fascinates her. The way she cares for her tight-knit circle so completely that it makes the rest of the world seem to disappear. The way she naturally occupied my every thought.

How she chose me over and over.

Yet, due to my fear of being rejected, I rejected her first. My family acted the way they did out of disdain. For me, it was because I’m afraid of loving and losing. But maybe, if I ever have a chance to explain, she’ll understand I’m different. I’m not like them.

Before I can process anything else, I find myself standing on the fringe of a conversation Christin’s having with the Apex Orion owners. I don’t speak; I just listen to her proposed changes. This close, I recognize how much I threw away because of my own insecurity. The intelligence behind her eyes. The confident way she holds herself.

Once the owners drift away, I make my way over to her. “You’ve already started rewriting our software code for efficiency?”

“And performance,” she adds before tacking on, “I don’t let anyone get in the way of what I think needs to be done. I hope you can keep up.”