We share a breath, a beat of silence. A second where I swear we’re the only ones in the room.
“When I kiss you again, Stella,” he murmurs, “it’s not going to be for show.”
My heart stops. I’m not sure if we’re dancing anymore. I don’t know anything except the depths of his eyes, the truth that lies in them. He means every word of what he’s said.
And if I’m honest with myself, I want the same. I want a moment of real, of genuine, of the trouble I told myself to avoid to keep myself safe.
My lips part, but I don’t know what I’m about to say—that I want this? That it’s a bad idea? I need more time tothinkbefore I do something I can’t take back.
So it’s probably a good thing that someone clears their throat from beside us and saves me from making the choice.
Head snapping to the right, I find Willow standing there with a sheepish smile. Her hands are clasped in front of her stomach like she’s nervous to have intruded, but there’s a determination in her eyes that I can’t ignore.
“Willow!” I exclaim in surprise, dropping my hand from Thomas’s and taking an unsteady step back. “I didn’t know you were here yet.”
“I’m really sorry to interrupt,” she says. “But, Thomas…Reid wants to talk to you.”
Chapter 24
Thomas
Reid Coleman isn’t thrilled to see me. I can’t blame him.
We’re in one of the venue’s back rooms, allowing us some privacy for our chat, though the man looks like he might bolt any second. Still, he offers me a weak smile, which I’m taking as a good sign.
“Congrats again on the championship,” I say to ease us into the conversation. I fear it would be bad manners to simply blurt,Can you please put me in contact with your teammate so we can clear the goddamn air?
He drags a hand through his golden hair, smile twisting into something more authentic, even though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks. Still can’t believe it.”
Me neither, considering how he managed to win it. But I like the guy, so I won’t question what, if anything, has been going on behind the scenes. I’ve got enough of my own drama to worry about.
“I’m sure it felt a little more real with that trophy in your hands last night,” I joke, knowing he had to attend theprize-giving gala. Such is the life of a champion—not that I would know.
I’m relieved when he chuckles, even if it’s slightly forced. This is awkward, we both know it, but what makes it worse is that it didn’t used to be like this.
We used to joke about the joy and trauma of coming into F1 at the same time, trying to find our footing not just in the highest echelon of motorsport but at teams with long legacies and even longer lists of championships. Dev and Axel were rookies with us too, but their situations weren’t quite the same. They went to teams that had either never won a Constructors’ Championship—like Dev and Argonaut Racing—or that were just finding their footing—like Axel and Specter Energy. They didn’t have the pressure of historic teams and fan bases weighing down on them like we did.
Of course, Reid and Dev were always closer, just on the basis of them being American and growing up in the same karting circuits. But Reid and I? We had our own thing. And it all went straight to shit when his teammate nearly killed me.
Personally, I don’t think Reid blames me for what I said about Lorenzo Castellucci. How could he, when his own teammate pushed him off-track, brake-checked him, and ignored team orders that favored Reid dozens of times? If I were Reid, everyone would have known how much I loathed the man.
But I guess that’s why Reid’s still sitting pretty at D’Ambrosi while I’m hated by every single one of their fans and possibly going to be out of a job. He kept his mouth shut. I didn’t.
“How’s Lorenzo doing?” I force myself to ask.
Reid sighs softly. “He’s…coming to terms with what happened.”
That’s not the encouraging answer I wanted to hear, but then again, what did I expect? “Have you seen him?”
“When I left Abu Dhabi, I went to visit him at the rehab center.” Reid’s gaze skims the floor before lifting back to mine. “He’s keen on keeping a low profile at the moment.”
“Do you think you could convince him to see me?” I hedge. “Or, hell, just take a call? I really need to speak with him.”
Reid is quiet for so long that I know I’m going to get shot down. But Ihaveto make this happen. Even if our chat doesn’t lead to Lorenzo publicly announcing that he doesn’t hate or blame me for anything, I still need to clear the air, face-to-face. Selfishly, I need to know there are no hard feelings. And I need to know that, even if he’s not right now, he’s going to be okay one day—whatever that looks like for him.
“I’ve already asked,” Reid finally admits.
My brow shoots up. “Excuse me?”
