Page 74 of Break My Heart

She doesn’t.

My hand lifts, brushing lightly against her arm, grounding, asking.

She leans in and angles her head up.

I close the final distance and kiss her. It’s not a sweet reunion of lips brushing together. No, it’s everything I’ve been holding in—regret, restraint, and the need to prove I can do us differently.

When her soft lips respond, that’s the moment everything changes.

My head spins faster than any corner or straightaway because this matters more.

We stay locked in an embrace, time slipping away around us. When I soften the kiss to bring us back to our surroundings, my pulse is thumping.

She studies me, something softer lingering that wasn’t there before. “Walk me back to my elevator bank?”

I reach for her hand and lift it to my mouth. “Absolutely.”

It’s the first of many promises I intend to keep.

26

HEAVY STEERING: INCREASED RESISTANCE IN WHEEL

Location: Monaco and Barcelona

The problem with Monaco isn’t what happens in the city; it’s the feelings that linger afterward. Noise fades, yachts slip out of the harbor, and the headlines move on. Moments you don’t plan for linger. Leo’s kiss does. So does the quiet, steady way he’s been showing me he’s changed.

The fact that I didn’t walk away sticks most of all.

The Apex Orion team calls the time off before Barcelona a recalibration. Officially, we’re using the gap days to refine the steering system under reevaluated conditions before the next race. In truth, we’re all looking forward to the downtime—a breathable moment carved out between bouts of chaos.

When I enter the training facility garage, I realize it’s designed for precision. The track boasts smooth asphalt, tight corners, and long straights built to isolate problems rather than mask them.

“Run it again,” I order, eyes tracking the telemetry as it streams across my tablet.

Leo pulls the car out, engine slicing cleanly through the quiet.

I watch every input as he approaches the first corner. Steering angle. Throttle response. Brake pressure. I notice he’s cleaner than when we started, but he’s still anticipating the next movement.

“Stop predicting,” I murmur under my breath.

On the next pass, he adjusts. It’s subtle. Less pre-load before entry. Instead, he’s reacting to what’s actually happening before him. When he pulls back in, I’m already moving in his direction.

“You’re still assuming the car won’t respond,” I say after he removes his helmet.

“I’m compensating.”

“You’re overcompensating when you don’t need to.” My words have a dual meaning.

Leo studies me, sweat dampening the edges of his hair. “What if I feel like I do?”

“You don’t have to if you give it attention and trust.”

He stares at me for a moment before nodding. Something about the ease of us settles under my skin in a way that has nothing to do with the work.

By the fourth run, the data smooths into something intentional. The corrections are minimal. Leo’s hesitation is gone. I immediately hold out my tablet and tell him, “Better,” once he clears the car.

He doesn’t look at the screen. He looks at me and asks without the ambiguity we’ve both been hiding behind, “You’re not just talking about the system.”