Page 72 of Break My Heart

The smile she aims at me was worth the hassle of making these arrangements on the sly. “Major woo points.”

Reaching for her elbow, I guide her to the table. Standing back, I pull out her chair and have to hold back from running my fingers across her bare shoulders. From leaning down and brushing my lips against them. Instead, I back away even as my soul aches. Taking my seat next to her, I hand her the customized menu.

Christin lets out a sound of satisfaction that causes my dick to stand at attention. “Yum. French food.”

I focus on carefully draping my napkin across my lap, then quickly whip it away when all it does is highlight the tenting in my pants. Fortunately, Christin is still reading the dinner menu. Then she lays it down on the charger plate before taking in the candles illuminating the table.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. Then her lips part. I’m terrified she’s going to make me explain my raging hard-on. Instead, her words surprise me. “Tell me something about you that I don’t already know.”

I lean back slightly and think about it. “I hate mornings.”

She gapes. “Really?”

“Really.” I look out over the water. “Because growing up, mornings felt like expectations. People waiting to see if you measure up.”

Her gaze sharpens. “And nights?”

“Less structured,” I say. “More honest.”

The words hang between us. Then I prompt her, “Your turn.”

“I don’t like not being able to fix something once it’s in my life,” she says.

“I can see that.”

“It’s like an obsession. If I understand it, I want to be able to correct it.”

“Control issues?”

She shakes her head slowly. “I learned the hard way that some things just can’t be fixed.”

“Like?”

“Illness. Pain. Loss.”

Something in my chest tightens. “Your mother?”

Her eyes flick to mine. For the first time since I started my campaign to win her back, they’re not guarded. “Yes.”

The word is softer than anything I’ve heard from her. I don’t speak, letting her find comfort in the quiet.

“After she got sick, I think both my dad and I held out hope it could be solved. Like if we found the right doctor, the right treatment, the right…something,” she exhales, looking out toward the water. “But there wasn’t any way to fix it.”

Silence settles between us as she gathers her thoughts. She opens her mouth to start, but hesitates a moment before she manages, “My dad was still racing then. At the top of his career. Everyone thought he’d skip the rest of the season and then try for another championship.”

I know the story about Lewis Porter—everyone in F1 does. The kind of legend he is, he could probably come back to the circuit tomorrow and whoop all our asses. But I don’t say it. I let her words fill the night air.

“Dad? He didn’t even hesitate. To him, there was no question. He walked away because Mom needed him. Because I needed him.” Her voice breaks slightly on the last word, and she looks down, like she didn’t expect that to happen.

“After she died, he refused to go back. He stayed. He raised me. Tried to be…everything.” Her voice is raw when she continues. “Her death wrecked him. We’re close but he lost something he never got back.”

I don’t interrupt. Because her trust in sharing all the details with me matters more than anything I could say.

“I understood it. I saw it. And I couldn’t do anything about it.” Her eyes lift back to mine. “That’s where it comes from.”

“I can’t even imagine how much something like that impacted you, Chris.”

She reaches up and swipes beneath her eyes. “I don’t—” She exhales, shaking her head once. “I don’t usually talk about this.”