Page 92 of Break My Heart

Dario doesn’t hesitate. “You don’t.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

“Most of the time.”

He pushes off the wall slightly, shifting his weight. “That’s not something that disappears because you got out,” he says. “It follows you until you decide it doesn’t matter.”

I let out a quiet breath. “I’m working on that.”

“I know you are. Besides, you’ve got something now you didn’t have then,” Dario adds.

I glance at him. “What’s that?”

“Not what. Who. Christin.”

Dario’s right. I have Christin now and—hopefully—forever. Still, I need to acknowledge something I never had. I gesture between us, then toward the garage behind us. Everything he helped me build. “You and the team? I need you to know I think of you all as my true family.”

Dario’s stunned. But my words are the truth. It takes him a few moments before he grinds out, “I’ll never forget you saying this.”

Before I can dislodge the lump in my throat and add that I’m thrilled Christin’s now a part of that, I hear a voice boom, “For now.”

The sound cuts cleanly through the air. Slowly, I turn, and there’s a gentleman with a familiar stance standing at the edge of the garage entrance. He carries the kind of presence that implies comfort with his surroundings. When he moves closer, I realize there’s more than just his presence that’s familiar.

It’s his bright blue eyes.

“For now,” he repeats, stepping closer. He gives Dario a brief nod before fixing his attention on me. “Because if you aren’t serious about her, what the hell are you doing with my daughter?”

It’s hard for me to reconcile that Lewis Porter is here in my space. Every time Christin’s mentioned him, I’ve only been able to picture his face as it was in his younger racing days when he commanded the F1 stage. Not as her father.

But knowing who someone is and having them standing in front of you ready to reach for your throat are two very different things. And right now, he’s not the former F1 champion. He’s my woman’s only living parent, assessing me with his no-nonsense glare.

I snap to attention, instinct kicking in before thought can catch up. I reach out a hand. “Mr. Porter. It’s a pleasure to meet Christin’s father.”

“Nice ass kissing, Hawthorne.”

Dario holds out his hand and introduces himself. Lewis shakes it. “I remember you when you ran around after your old man, Morretti.”

Dario backs me up by saying, “Your daughter is one of the most valuable members of our team.”

“I imagine she is.”

Dario chuckles even as Lewis rakes his eyes over me. “But is her brain all that’s important to you, Hawthorne?”

I fumble for an answer because what the hell am I supposed to do? Blurt out that I’m completely in love with his baby girl? Beads of sweat prick along the back of my neck.

His face softens briefly before he continues, “Before you decide how to answer that, you should probably remember I talk with my daughter quite often and I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Oh, shit. I should have realized Christin would naturally talk to her father about me. I make a high keening sound in the back of my throat that has Dario snorting and Lewis grinning like a lunatic.

I drag a hand down the front of my jumpsuit, buying myself a second I don’t really have. Then I meet his gaze properly. “Christin’s not—” I pause to take in a huge gulp of air.

His brows lift in the same way hers do. “Not what?”

“She’s not just a valuable asset to the team.” I shove down my panic and rush out with, “Ilovehersomuch.”

“Is that so?”