“Thanks for meeting with me.” I consider offering a hand for him to shake but think better of it. We don’t have that kind of relationship, that kind of understanding, and I doubt we ever will. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you. And I’m still sorry for what I said. You didn’t deserve that.”
His smile barely lifts the corners of his mouth. Not a show of amusement, but acceptance. “You weren’t wrong, though, were you?”
“Not about all of it,” I concede, meeting and holding his gaze. “But enough of it.”
There’s a waver of something in his expression, a returned hint of that childlike vulnerability. It’s crushing to see, and even after it’s wiped away, it twists my stomach into knots.
I can only hope that whatever comes next for him is better than what’s already come to pass.
Stella’s in the kitchen when I let myself into the house.
I have zero concept of time right now, but the hazy sun tells me it’s morning, and my phone says it’s just past eight a.m. on a Wednesday. With how jet-lagged I am, you’d never think I’d traveled before, let alone believe I flew across the world on a weekly basis.
It’s like I’m walking into a dream when I step into the kitchen. Stella is bent over in front of the oven, wearing the apron she got me for Christmas. When she straightens, there’s a muffin tray clutched in one of her mitted hands and a wide smile on her face. If someone had told me that coming home to my wife was going to be like this, I might have gotten accidentally married sooner.
“I hope you like blueberry muffins,” she says, which isn’t exactly the first line I’d want her to say if this was actually a dream, but I’ll take it. “Thought you might want something special for your homecoming.” She places the tray on the counter and pulls off the oven mitt, her engagement ring glimmering under the lights. “Sorry it’s not spotted dick, but I simply don’t have the moral constitution to make anything with a name that terrible.”
The laugh that leaves me feels as natural as breathing, all because it’s Stella who inspired it.
“You’re forgiven,” I tell her. “This is everything I could have wanted.”
The only thing I needed was her presence. To see her here is more than enough.
“How did it go?” she asks as she pops the steaming muffins out of the tin one by one. The question is casual enough, but I can sense how anxious she is to know.
I pull out a stool at the island and sit. “It went as well as it could. I got to apologize, and Lorenzo did the same. He’s doing an interview soon and said he’s going to make it clear that he doesn’t hold a grudge against me. Don’t know if it’s going to do much for my reputation, but I’m glad we got to sit down.”
Some of the worry in her expression seeps away. “That’s really good. And how’s he doing, recovery-wise?”
“Better than I expected. He was up and walking. Certainly won’t be driving an F1 car anytime soon, but it didn’t sound like he wanted to stage a comeback anyway. He’s done with racing.”
“Wow.” Stella wipes her hands across her apron before slowly untying it, like she’s trying to wrap her mind around that. “Big choice to make, injury or not.”
It is, and I spent plenty of time on the flight home contemplating my own desires to stay on the grid. Especially with the other bomb Lorenzo dropped.
“I learned something else interesting too,” I say, and Stella raises her eyebrows, curious. “It was Arlo who leaked the video of me.”
Her hands drop heavily to her sides, eyes wide. “Your teammate?”
“That’s the one.”
The apron is off and over her head. “That’s it, I’m gonna kill that smarmy little shit.”
Trying not to smile too widely, I hold up a hand to stop her as she marches around to my side of the island. “I appreciate your desire to defend my honor. But that’s not necessary.”
“Why? Do you have something planned for him? Have you already told the team?”
“No, and I’m not going to.” At the way she rears back, I explain. “He’ll get what’s coming to him eventually. And who knows, maybe Lorenzo will say something. Best thing I can do is keep my nose out of it.”
Stella doesn’t look pleased, but nods nonetheless. “I guess the last thing you need is your wife going off on him,” she grumbles.
A thrill goes through me at her mention of being my wife. The fact that she’s said it and has welcomed me home so warmly, even if she hasn’t tried to hug or kiss or touch me yet, means more than she knows. Maybe she wants me to be the one to initiate something, to see she’s not the only one who’s glad to be reunited.
I reach out and grab her by the waist, tugging her toward me until she’s standing between my knees. With me sitting and her barefoot, we’re exactly eye to eye, and I get to see every inch of the face that I’ve been desperate for the whole time we’ve been apart.
“I missed you,” I tell her.
Stella smirks and puts her hands on my chest, but there’s something distant in her eyes. “It was only three days.”
