Page 96 of Break My Heart

He lifts a hand up to his brow as he stares out over the familiar surroundings. “Do you trust him again?”

I don’t hesitate. “Yes, with my whole heart.”

He loops an arm over my shoulders. “That’s all I ever wanted for you, Pumpkin.”

We catch up as the day passes. Dad ends up shaking hands with the entire Apex Orion team and signing a bunch of autographs. Dario convinces him to wear Apex Orion gear, citing, “You’ll be less visible out by the pit, Lewis.”

Dad agrees. When he comes out in a polo that matches my own, we both chuckle. I remark, “The last time this happened, I was rooting for Ferrari.”

“Not doing that today, Pumpkin?” he teases.

“No. Not at all. Today is Leo’s.”

“Then let’s go.” He gestures me forward just in time for the race to start. We’re huddled together as the lights begin their sequence. Five red lights illuminate above the track.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Lights out.

The cars launch forward in an explosion of sound and motion, engines screaming as they surge into the first corner.

My eyes find Leo. His start is clean. Neither reckless nor too aggressive. He slots into position, avoiding early contact, setting himself up for the long game instead of forcing an early move.

“He drives smarter than he used to,” my father murmurs.

“Yes.”

Lap one unfolds exactly the way it should. No unnecessary risks. No overcorrections. Just precision. Lap three unfolds much the same way. By lap five, the field starts spreading. Gaps form, and individual driver strategies emerge.

Leo’s holding his own at the front of the pack, but what I’m watching isn’t just position. It’s his behavior. The throttle control. How his steering is holding up at Turn Two. Every micro-decision that determines whether the chance of winning remains in his grasp.

“He’s smoother,” my father notes. When I quirk a brow in his direction, he shrugs his shoulders. “Just because I left the sport doesn’t mean I don’t follow it.”

A small smile lifts my lips at the explanation.

My father’s voice is satisfied when he breaks into my thoughts. “He trusts you.”

“How can you tell?”

He points down to my tablet. “Because he’s not spiking your metrics.”

Since he’s right, I return my focus to the physical course. On lap ten, the first challenge comes. A car pushes him wide into Copse. I tense, thinking, This is it. The exact scenario I built for. It’s where Leo’s instincts used to try to correct early. He’d fight the system, lose speed, and lose position.

I hold my breath even as Leo holds the car steady. He doesn’t fight it and manages the tight position cleanly.

“Did he adjust?”

“No. He didn’t. First time all season.”

Fifty-one laps later, the checkered flag is within reach. I know Red Bull’s Ford is faster than Leo on the straightaway but weaker in the corners. Which means everything comes down to execution.

To trust.