Page 78 of Break My Heart

There’s raucous laughter over the headset, including hers.

Exhaling sharply, I realize how much I missed the sound of her genuine excitement. Something I promise I’ll give to her when she’s ready.

Along with my heart and soul.

With a grin on my face, I accelerate. From that point on, everything settles. The drive isn’t effortless, but oriented in a way I haven’t felt before. Each lap builds on the last. Each input is cleaner. Every decision is grounded in what is actually happening instead of what might go wrong.

By the final laps, I’m not chasing. I’m leading. And for the first time in my career, I know I’m not going to lose it.

The checkered flag waves. After I speed through it, a jolt of pure elation slams into my chest.

First!

My first win. No, my second. I correct myself. My first win was Christin. And I’m going to win her again, I vow to myself.

The radio explodes in my ear—voices overlapping. I hear Dario losing his mind somewhere in the middle of it. “You WON! Damn it, Leo. I could kiss you right now.”

Then Christin’s voice, controlled but unmistakably amused. “Why don’t you let him decide who he wants to kiss?”

I don’t respond immediately because I’m too choked up. I didn’t fight the car. I didn’t try to control every outcome before it happened.

I trusted it. Trusted her.

The team celebration is chaos. There’s champagne flowing—a lot of it over my head. Random hands clapping my back. Noise levels that should be illegal in a garage that echoes. People shout things at me I’ll never recall. Cameras flash, capturing every second of something that’s supposed to define me.

It doesn’t. Not the way I thought it would because I already know who and what matters.

I just can’t find her in the crowd I’m scanning before the podium ceremony even ends.

There are too many people; too much movement.

I can’t find Christin.

Then, I see her just beyond the cluster of Apex Orion’s engineers. She’s wearing a beaming smile and relaxed in a way no one else is.

That’s because, I realize with awe, she’s not surprised.

She knew I could do this.

Even from here, I can tell she’s proud.

I don’t wait. I leap off the platform, ignoring the calls behind me. The expectations that usually dictate my postrace movements can wait. The pull of Christin won’t.

When I reach her, I don’t hesitate. I slip an arm around her waist and kiss her. It’s not careful. It’s passionate and filled with every emotion I’ve spent months trying—and failing—to contain around her. It’s need mixed with gratitude, not for anything else but for her giving me a second chance.

Her breath stills against my mouth for half a second before she melts into me, fingers curling into the front of my race suit like she needs to feel my body against hers as much as I do. The crowd around us dissolves into noise and light, irrelevant compared to the way she immediately fits against me.

I kiss her deeper, chasing the taste of champagne and victory and Christin herself. God, I’ve missed this. Not just the kiss—the certainty behind it. The way she doesn’t hold herself back. Here, now, we’re just Leo and Christin.

The only thing that ever should have mattered.

My pulse pounds harder than it did in the final laps as I pull her impossibly closer. Her body presses against mine, warm and steady despite the chaos surrounding us, and I realize I’d cross every finish line in the world if it meant finding her waiting for me on the other side like this.

When I finally pull back, both of us breathing harder, her eyes are bright and a little stunned. My head is still spinning in a way that has nothing to do with the race.

“It’s because of you,” I say, voice rougher than I expect.

“The system—” she starts.