Page 43 of Break My Heart

“One lap?” Dario calls from where he’s now consulting with the pit crew.

“Ideally, I’d like to confirm consistency across five.”

There’s quick movement to prep the car. Except I don’t move. I can’t.

Slowly, she turns back. She reminds me, “We’re both working.”

Silence stretches between us again, but this time, it’s deliberate. I force myself to stay where I am when I murmur, “I meant what I said earlier.”

Her brow furrows slightly. “Which part?”

“All of it.”

Her expression shifts just enough to let me know she heard my unspoken appeal. “Noted,” she says. She glances past me toward the car as the team signals it’s ready. “Time to get back in. Let’s wrap this up.”

I don’t move right away because despite the urge to make things right between us, I also know I don’t get to push for more.

“Right.” I turn toward the car and gear back up before climbing back in—the familiar feel of the seat molds to my body like a second skin. As I pull the harness tight, I glance back. Christin’s already turned away again, focused entirely on the data she’s receiving from the software she built.

I fire the engine. The vibration rattles through me, grounding and disorienting all at once. I wheel out onto the track. When I’m given the go, I push the car. I’m not just chasing motion or statistics; I know I’m chasing approval.

But as I hit the first corner, my mind drifts to her. To the words I don’t get to say yet.

When my laps are complete, I come back in, hoping she’ll look at me.

It takes long moments before her gaze meets mine. “We’re done for today.” Then she adds, “I’ll talk to you about more than the car when I’m good and ready. Not before. So, keep your mind focused.”

16

MANAGING THE STINT: BALANCING PACE VS TIRE LIFE

Two weeks later

Nothing about my father’s property is ever truly silent.

In the few weeks I’ve been here, there has always been something humming beneath the surface. Wind, storms, the faint echo of tires from another circuit nearby. This home constantly reminds you it was built for motion, for pushing limits and forgetting how to play it safe. It beautifully merges the spectacle of Vegas with the legacy of my father’s career.

I’m standing on the back terrace, glass of water in hand, when I feel him—a subtle shift in the air as he climbs the stairs from the track. I don’t turn. I don’t need to. Somewhere along the way, I’d memorized the cadence of his footsteps, the confidence in his stride, the way his presence always seemed to pull at mine.

My heart still reacts. That’s the part I hate most. Because I know my love for Leo Hawthorne was true. Believing he ever loved me the same way is what brings forth all my pain.

I wrap my hands tighter around the railing until the metal presses into my palms. I came here because I need answers. I deserve them even if the answers don’t erase what I overheard.

And there’s a part of me that’s terrified they’ll only confirm that I was simply meant to disappear.

When he speaks, his voice is raw. Uncontrolled. Like the open landscape has stripped his facade away. “Christin? You texted me.”

“I did.”

“Are you saying…is now a good time?”

I sip from my glass of water before acknowledging him. “Come on up, Leo.”

Internally, I wonder how he’s going to explain what led him to decimate my heart. He inches closer, lowering his voice. “I know I hurt you⁠—‍”

“You didn’t hurt me,” I interrupt.

Incredulous relief flickers across his face. He opens his mouth to say more—to make an attempt to put us back on track—when I correct him. “You disparaged me by telling someone else you thought I might be lacking.”