Page 67 of Break My Heart

I don’t need restaurants shut down or gifts. I need him to rebuild the foundation he cracked. And that won’t happen in one night or with one conversation. In spite of how beautiful tonight was, I’m stuck in a loop of “wait and see.”

I reach for the lamp beside the bed and switch it off, the room slipping back into shadow. Better, less distracting. As it is, I feel exposed as I think about the reasons I accepted his invitation and listened to his explanations.

Clarity doesn’t always come from more light. Sometimes it comes from sitting in the dark with heavy thoughts.

Time passes while I’m curled up in my bed. My mind drifts to the end of the night. The kiss on my cheek before I got on the elevator. The way he stared at me as the elevator doors shut between us. My fingers brush lightly against my cheek where his lips barely grazed. It really wasn’t a kiss.

Not like some of the ones we’ve shared.

Still, it felt more intimate than any other embrace we’ve shared. Careful in a way I didn’t expect. Treating me and the moment as if we were precious.

The way he communicated both intent and regret with his eyes. He didn’t push. Didn’t try to manipulate me into giving more than I was ready for.

He asked if it was a possibility and accepted the answer I gave.

I know I’ve written off people who have hurt my friends and me. Case in point, Amy’s boyfriend Brennan has finally moved from being Public Enemy Number One to someone I’m almost ready to trust with her heart. My lips curve when I think about how horrified he’ll be when he realizes we plan to head down to their small Oklahoma town for a few days over spring break in April, while the circuit is on break.

As for people who have already proven they can hurt me? I usually don’t hesitate to cut them out of my life when necessary. The problem is, Leo’s never truly left my heart.

I rest against the pillows and stare sightlessly upward. This is where logic fails.

There’s no clean calculation for emotions.

Still, there is one thing I do know for certain. “If I don’t give him a real chance, I’m going to regret it.”

I know that if we’re going to work, then he has to show me he can be trusted without reverting to the version of himself that broke us in the first place.

I exhale slowly, something quieter settling beneath everything else. Then, I plead aloud, “Don’t make me regret this.”

It isn’t just directed at Leo.

It’s directed toward myself and the decision I subconsciously made when I didn’t walk away from dinner tonight.

24

YELLOW FLAG: HAZARD, NO OVERTAKING

Location: Jeddah

The next stop on the circuit feels different, not because I’m not prepared. I’ve studied every corner of Jeddah Corniche Circuit, every braking zone, every data anomaly the Apex team logged here last season. I know where his car will fight him. I know where the system will be tested. I can anticipate what Leo will try to do to override the software.

Since we’ve arrived in Jeddah for the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix, the air feels like something is humming beneath it. The vibrations of ancient civilizations transcend with modern expectations.

Shaking out of my reverie, my work today is limited to the garage and paddock. Much like in Bahrain, I don’t want to draw attention to myself. Every time I speak over the headset, it’s carefully controlled.

Focusing my energy on the team, I study the route. In Jeddah, the circuit drapes through the city like arbitrary ribbons—walls close, speeds high, no margin for hesitation. With the race being run at night, the lights will be unforgiving, amplifying mistakes and challenging every single one of Leo’s driving skills.

The Apex Orion garage hums with controlled urgency. They know the Jeddah course won’t tolerate errors. I’ve modified the telemetry to reflect faster inputs, tighter thresholds, less forgiveness.

As Leo flashes past the garage opening at full speed, a rush of air snaps against my skin like a warning. It’s like the track itself is telling me to be cautious. Still, my job is to monitor Leo, ensure there is no margin for error, and point out the consequences of a wrong decision.

Much like my feelings for him. The thought halts my fingers.

“Christin? Are you okay?” Mike asks me.

I start my analysis over again before responding, “Sorry. Yes. I just fumbled for a minute.”

Hearing what he had to say the other night still leaves me with a particularly unwelcome feeling. It’s a variable I can’t ignore. I stare down at the data on my screen, forcing my focus back to measurable results. But even as I contemplate what’s happening on the course, I can easily connect it to what’s happening between us personally.