Page 90 of Break My Heart

“Probably. Still worth it.”

She rolls her eyes even as color rises slightly in her cheeks. “So, I take it we’ve passed the part of today where you carry around aristocratic trauma like it’s a prize?”

I bark out a laugh at that, the sound startling even me. “Chris, one of these days I’m going to record you before coffee.”

Her face scrunches up. “Now why would you say something mean like that?”

I brush my lips against hers. “Because you are absolutely adorable.”

“Say that at the track and I’ll force you to have an extra tire change,” she warns.

I smirk. “I take it back. You’re terrifying.”

“Yet, you love me anyway.”

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I really do.”

For a moment, we just look at each other, sharing in our reconnection and what it took for us to get here. She brushes another quick kiss against my mouth before rolling out of bed with a groan. “Now get up before Dario calls threatening your life over your failure to wake up on time.”

I groan dramatically, reaching for her wrist before she gets too far. “Five more minutes.”

“Leo.”

“Three?”

She leans down to kiss me one last time. “It’s time to get ready.”

I watch her walk toward the bathroom, smiling like an idiot despite myself.

For the first time in a very long time, thoughts of my family don’t follow me when I get up to face the day.

32

GRIP: OVERALL TRACTION AVAILABLE

Locations: Silverstone

Silverstone has always been a track where I excel. Fast and technical, it’s unforgiving in ways that make irrational sense to me. For most drivers, it’s the kind of place where precision matters more than instinct.

I’d love this course if it weren’t so close to Ashbourne Vale.

By the time I get to the garage, the paddock is already alive. Christin is barking at people. Engineers scurry the minute she does. Media crews hover just outside the boundaries they’re allowed to cross.

Everything is building toward lights out. Normally, I get into the rhythm pretty fast. Today, I feel like I’m standing on the edge of it. I approach Dario and am about to greet him when he mutters, without looking up from his tablet, “About time.”

“I’m early.”

He freezes before glancing at the clock counting down the time to the start of the race. “Holy crap. You are.”

I snag a bottle of water, twisting the cap off. I try to ignore the way my shoulders feel tighter than they should. That’s when he really looks at me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” is my automatic response.

“You’re quiet.”

“That’s because I’m thinking.”

Then he sets the tablet down. “Walk with me.”