Page 93 of Break My Heart

“She’s everything to me.”

The words leave me exposed the second they leave my mouth. Maybe I was too honest? But I don’t recant them because they’re the truth.

Lewis studies me for a long moment. His eyes—Christin’s eyes—haven’t given me his approval for loving his daughter. Not yet. But they’re not dismissing me either. “Everything,” he repeats, like he’s testing the weight of it.

“Yes, sir.”

There’s a pause. Then, quieter, more deliberate, “That’s a dangerous position to put my daughter in if you don’t know how to treat her.”

I nod because there’s no point pretending otherwise. “I didn’t take care of her heart before.”

That sharpens his attention. “And now?”

I exhale slowly. “I’m learning, but I’d still do anything to make her happy.”

Lewis’s body language shifts—less confrontational. Like he’s decided I’m at least worth the time it takes to assess properly. “What will that mean for her every day?”

“It means I don’t get to react based on my fears. It means I stay, even when it’s uncomfortable. Even when I don’t know what the bloody hell I’m doing.”

He takes in my words. I watch as he weighs the honesty in my response against the man who hurt his daughter. Because this—this moment—isn’t about winning him over. It’s about finding a middle ground where we can coexist because we both love Christin.

Lewis finally exhales through his nose, something almost like recognition passing across his face. “It’s difficult enough to love a woman where the future is uncertain,” he reminisces, almost to himself. “I imagine it’s harder to stay when past demons are urging you to run.”

“I’ll always regret what I did to her.”

Then, unexpectedly, the edge in his expression eases. “Good,” he says. “Then you understand what’s at stake.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How are you going to make certain it won’t happen again?” he challenges me.

In an instant, I realize I’ve come full circle, since the only thing I’ve ever wanted to win was love. Not on the track. Not from my biological family.

From her.

“I make certain I don’t run when it gets hard.”

His eyes narrow slightly, weighing that.

“I stay,” I add, quieter. “No matter what it costs me.”

Lewis holds my stare for a long moment before giving a single, decisive nod. “Good. Then she didn’t exaggerate. You did learn from your mistakes.”

Dario, the traitor, snorts under his breath. I ignore him. This moment is about focusing on Lewis. “I know I got it wrong before, but I’m not uncertain about how much I love her. I’m not walking away from her again.”

His expression doesn’t soften, but the edge bleeds away into something different—acceptance.

Reluctantly, Dario reminds me of what time it is. I excuse myself. “I should get to the garage.”

He holds out a hand. “Make it count.”

Without question, I know he’s not talking about the race. I grip his hand firmly. “I will.”

As I make my way back to the garage, weaving through the noise and movement, everything feels different because for the first time, I’m not driving to prove I can win.

I’m driving with the certainty that someone already believes I have.

And she’s waiting for me at the end of it—not just to measure the results, but to celebrate me anyway.