Page 52 of Break My Heart

“Radio check,” Dario’s voice cuts through my memories.

“Loud and clear,” Leo responds.

I stay outside the immediate circle, tablet in hand, watching the raw data, monitoring the system, and tracking him.

“Christin?” Dario says.

“Yes.”

“You’re patched in to Leo.”

“Understood.”

Leo’s voice comes through loud and clear in my headset. “You’ll be like my own personal guardian angel—not that I necessarily deserve one.”

I blush flaming red as the team rolls the car forward. I walk alongside for a few steps, keeping my focus on anything else to cool my heated cheeks. But just before he pulls out, I look up and catch Leo’s gaze locked onto mine.

I murmur into my headset, “Trust the system. Trust yourself.”

His head dips slightly. Then, he replies, “I trust you even more.”

That’s when his engine roars to life. He drives away, heading for the grid. Just like that, he’s gone. I stand in place longer than I should as data begins to stream across my tablet. Everything is responding the way I planned, but nerves cause my hands to shake.

I conclude that we can’t move forward without ultimate trust on both sides.

I don’t have time to give this much thought as he exits the grid to complete one full lap to warm up the car. Data continues to come in. I exhale slowly. “This is encouraging.”

For the first time since I walked back into his life, I’m ready for whatever happens.

19

PINCHING: FORCING ANOTHER DRIVER TOWARD EDGE OF TRACK

Bahrain at night looks cinematic from the outside. From inside the cockpit, it’s glare and dust and timing.

My world narrows to instinct after a clean start.

I launch forward without losing traction, the rear holding as I surge ahead, my hands tight on the steering wheel, the vibration flowing through my gloves like a second heartbeat.

“Good start,” Dario’s voice snaps through the radio. “Hold position. Car on your right.”

“I see him.” He’s barely visible through my peripheral vision.

The Aston draws alongside me into Turn One. As usual, Bahrain’s first corner invites stupidity. Drivers are desperate to get ahead early, yet the field is still a mix of cold tyres, fuel-heavy machines, and confidence bred to know no limits.

I use instinct as my car twitches to hold the line. The Aston’s front tyre edges closer—close enough that one wrong correction from either of us and we’re both debris.

“Leo,” Dario warns.

“I’ve got it.” I ease up on the gas, causing the Aston to surge forward. They’re late on the brakes, trying to be aggressive enough to make a point, but not fully committing. I hit the gas at just the right moment out of the curve. The Aston tries to block me, but the wheel comes alive beneath my hands.

For half a second, it looks like he’s not going to give me space. Then he yields, and I proceed to cut him off, closing any opportunity for him to consider nosing back in. Dario’s voice is calm in my ear. “Position held.”

“Finally. That gap was mine.”

“Focus.”

“I am focused.”