Page 68 of Break My Heart

What can be fixed? What can he change? Will it happen again?

But my personal conclusion comes faster than my professional one.

Nothing. Leo can do nothing to reestablish my trust beyond what he’s already doing. It will be a slow process since trust isn’t something I can calibrate a setting for.

Each emotion he caused me sits separate from the others. Trust. Forgiveness. Pain. And worst of all—fear.

I do what I know how to do best.

I isolate them. Examine each emotion like a system under stress. Identify what can be fixed. What should be discarded. Even as I’m monitoring his race, I run a quiet diagnostic on my own heart.

As Leo starts his next lap, my gaze flicks to check his inputs again. Professionally, at least, everything is working exactly as it should.

Satisfied, I return to thinking about Leo’s request. Can I give him a second chance? If I do, what scares me the most? I quickly eliminate the obvious concern—that my family and friends won’t support me if I take him back. They’re the people who will support me. So it all comes down to one simple thought.

What happens if I let him close enough to try and he breaks my heart all over again?

A sharp, unrestrained whoop cuts through the garage, followed by applause that builds in quick, controlled waves. Monitors flash final positions. Engineers move with purpose instead of tension.

The race is over, and Leo’s placed third. Last year, on this same track, he finished twelfth. I stare at the numbers for a beat longer than necessary. His professional improvement isn’t subjective. It’s measurable.

Unlike the emotions he’s triggered in me all over again.

Around me, the team starts to celebrate. I draw in a slow breath, expelling it slowly, before a smile touches my lips. Forcing myself to embrace this moment, I shove the questions still echoing in the back of my mind away.

For now.

Because in my hands, I proved that when something’s built right, it can withstand stress. No, Leo didn’t place as high as Bahrain, but he had cleaner inputs. Less hesitation. Fewer corrections layered over instinct.

With all his own personal issues, he still trusted the system, himself, and me.

“Significant improvement,” Dario says beside me.

“They’re learning each other,” I reply absentmindedly.

“Leo and the car?”

I lift my gaze, watching Leo as he climbs out. Once his helmet clears his head, I still note that his chest and shoulders are tense with the remnants of adrenaline. I correct Dario, “Leo and trust.”

He looks at me with surprise before we’re both distracted by Leo’s laugh across the garage. Even as I study him, he’s searching for something in every face. When his green eyes lock on mine, the world disappears. From half a room away, I feel the intensity of his stare.

He tries to break away from everyone to head in our direction, but the team sponsors surge in and the whole dynamic of the space changes.

He gives me a quick tip of his chin to tell me, I see you. Then he mouths, Later.

The space around him fills, but unlike a lot of races, distance is respectfully maintained. There are no casual touches, just polished professionalism. Even from where I’m standing, I can hear the accolades.

“Congratulations.”

“That was incredible.”

“You drove beautifully!”

Leo’s responses are calm, composed, precise. A nod. Nothing that invites more than what’s required.

Now that I know his past, I can spot the way he deflects people he’s not comfortable with. He’s not rude, just cautious. It’s the polar opposite of the way he’s always been with me.

And somehow, understanding that lands harder than anything else I’ve processed today.