My heart stutters, and I stare at her. Freaking show-off.
Lorina grins like she’s waiting for me to thank her, or at the very least be impressed.
I stand instead, stepping around her and heading into the kitchen, refastening my jeans.
“Mas…” she says, but I don’t stop.
I need to beat her in Austria. Especially after I screwed up into letting her win in Brno. It’s practically a miracle that Angelo didn’t fire me on the spot, and that cannot happen when I’m four, maybe three races away from paying off Gabriele. I just…
I don’t know what happened out there.
I’ve always been able to cut around her, chase her down, and push her out, and I never blinked an eye, because that’s what we do. But in Brno, all I could think about was where she was, what place she was in, who she had to overtake next so she’d keep her contract. Once we took out Santos, I was too overcome by the relief that Lorina was in fourth place to remember I had served myself up to my executioner. I didn’t realize she had passed me until I read “Wreckless” on the back of her leathers, and God, Angelo was right.
I wanted her win more than I wanted it for myself, and I put her ahead of everything. Everyone. Which is exactly why instead of celebrating with her, I had Vinicio call four different airlines to get us immediately the hell home. She’s too sweet. Too fun. Way too sexy, and too…distracting. And I’m not complaining about the sex, because the sex is fantastic, but this is exactly why I didn’t want her to come to Ravenna in the first place.
I pull open the refrigerator and grab a bottle of water, except I’m holding it too hard when I twist off the top, water squirting out everywhere. I pretend that didn’t just happen, taking a drink and punching the door shut.
Lorina sighs behind me. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Guilt scrapes over everywhere my frustration has left me raw, and I turn around, leaning against the counter. “No.”
She put her shirt back on, now leaning against the back of the couch, and it’s so unfair how naturally she fits in my apartment. How comfortable she seems here, despite everything.
It’s almost impossible to get myself to leave the bed in the morning so I can work out under Vinicio’s supervision. It’s even harder when we’re in my bedroom the rest of the time because I can’t risk anyone seeing us and the truth getting back to Dabria.
If Angelo’s coming after me for this, Dabria can go after her, and Ravenna is not the same as Memphis. People in Italy know who we are. Our names, our faces, how many pets we have, what I’m allergic to, and all it’ll take is one photo in a café, at a club, and it won’t just be her placements they’re hitting her with. It’ll be the conflict of interest too. And I already know what her answer will be.
For Lorina, racing comes before all else. Always has, always will, and it’s the whole reason she took forever to admit she cares about me even after I followed her to Memphis. Where I wasn’t supposed to be, stayed too long, and didn’t look at a single map of the Automotodrom the entire time I was there.
God, how was that son-of-a-bitch right?
I chug the rest of my bottle of water, crushing the plastic harshly in my fist before I toss it into the sink.
Lorina clears her throat. “I, um, I always screw up turn eight in Malaysia.” She shrugs like I don’t already know that. “Don’t know what it is. I just come out of seven and I can’t—”
“Lorina.”
She tosses up a hand. “Is it a problem with your Yaalon? Because you seemed like you were liking—”
“Do not ask about my moto,” I snap, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end like somehow, some way, Angelo can hear us. “I do not ask about your Dabria. Do not ask about my Yaalon.”
Lorina stares at me, completely frozen. Except for her eyes: burning and hurt, confused and betrayed. And absolutely pissed the hell off.
She straightens. Hooks her thumbs in the back pockets of her jeans. Then she nods. “Yeah. Okay.”
My blood is liquid ice from the coldness in her voice, and she turns and heads toward my bedroom. Her steps slow, controlled, silent the whole way there.
She slams the door behind her, and I curse, my head falling back on my neck.
Great. I’m probably sleeping on the couch tonight.
A gross voice in my head whispers that it’s gonna make it easier to sneak out and drop off a payment to Gabriele, and I’ll have more time to study when I get back. But it doesn’t help the irritation churning my stomach that I can’t just go after her and explain why I’m acting like this.
The texts I got from Gabriele while I was in Brno didn’t exactly help:
Heard you got a new girlfriend and the sponsors aren’t too happy.
I’d be careful about losing my job if I were you.
Keep her out of this.
Freaking nephew spy. I shouldn’t be surprised he’s feeding information back from the circuit, whether he’s doing it purposefully or not. But Gabriele knowing I’m on thin ice with my sponsors is exactly the kind of extra stress I don’t need.
I really didn’t want him knowing about Lorina.
He already spooked and nearly put me in default when he found out about Chiara, and I know Lorina. If I tell her what’s going on, she’ll want to help. Telling her she can’t get involved in something is exactly the kind of taunt she can’t resist, and she doesn’t understand that losing is sometimes the safest option. That bringing her family’s money into this will only make it worse.
I am too close to the finish line to take those kinds of risks. It won’t be easy, but I can hang on a little longer. I can make it through this—Angelo and Gabriele and anyone else who wants to come for me.
I won’t choose between Lorina and my family. I won’t choose between her and moto. I can’t go into default, and I have to keep my contract. And I have to make sure the only thing in the way of hers is a few measly placements, and not me.
I have to make this worth it.
***
I stride out of Spielberg’s victory lane and cut through the garages toward the paddock, ignoring the roar of the crowd and the calls of the press. My first place win is still screaming through my veins, but I keep my head down and keep moving toward my RV, my helmet trembling in my fist as my pulse throbs in my temples. Fifty meters. That’s all. Fifty meters to my RV. Fifty meters to safety. Fifty meters before—
“Yeah, run away!” Lorina shouts behind me, and fuck. “Would hate for you to have to take responsibility for what you just did!”
“Whoa, Lori! Hold on!” Mason calls out.
I grind to a halt and face down the pair of Dabria leathers I just passed on the track, trying to ignore the crowd of people on the paddock who have all stopped to stare. “What did I do now, Lorina?”
She storms closer until she’s nearly on my toes, that fire of hers blazing bright and hot under the Austrian sun. “You cut me off in the last turn, and you almost hit Mason!”
Mason starts shaking his head, one hand held out between us and the other on Lorina’s arm like he’s ready to hold her back from me. “Nah! Uh-uh! We’re totally cool, man. I swear it. It’s just racing. That’s all.”
She slaps his hand off her arm. “Bullshit we’re cool.”
“Mason,” an older country accent yells, and great—Billy’s joining the fray with long strides of his legs that have him here before he’s done bossing around his brother. “Get back to the garages. This isn’t your fight.”
Angelo comes jogging out of the garages right behind his returning World Champion, Vinicio too, and panic locks me in place—they’re all heading our way. Any second, a camera crew is bound to appear. For now, though, they’re still locked behind the press fence.
“I’m not trying to fight with anyone,” Mason snaps at Billy. “I’m trying to make sure Lori don’t start one between
me and Massimo.”
I wave him off. “We are fine.” Then I look back to Lorina. “You need to go back to your RV. I cannot do this with you now.”
Lorina’s harsh, cruel laugh echoes through the hills of Styria, and everybody goes still. “Excuse me while I write an editorial to the Who Gives a Shit Daily News!”
My brow furrows. “Cosa?”
“You have nowhere to go except an airport, and I have the tickets, so you’re going to tell me right now whether you—”
“Yes, I cut you off,” I grit out in Italian.
She’s suddenly taller than she was a minute ago, and based on the fury in her eyes, I know she understood me. Everyone did.
I’d be careful about losing my job if I were you.
Billy reaches between us and fists a hand in Mason’s leathers, tugging him back toward the garages. “Let’s go.”
“But Lori—”
“Can handle her own battles.” He trades glances with Vinicio and Angelo as they come to a stop a few feet behind Lorina, but Lorina doesn’t seem to notice. Too pissed off and too many other people still running around. They’re just giving us a wide berth because to them, this is normal for us.
I just… I don’t understand how I was always able to do it before—love her and race her—and now, I can’t. I can’t find the balance we need, can’t find the rhythm. But the worst part is I think maybe she was right and I was wrong: you can’t compete against the person you care about. It does make a difference, and I should’ve known better than to think I could have it all, consequences be damned.
“…we expect that same focus to be applied to seeing Yaalon Moto on the podium for World Champion. For that to be your only focus. Are we clear?”
The words are so loud in my mind that when I look in her eyes, I don’t let her see in mine how much, how long I’ve loved her. How I followed my father’s voice telling me what to look for. How I would know when I found her. The things I dreamt about once I did.
Keep her out of this.
It was so much easier when she didn’t know. When she only hated me and glared instead of smiled and kissed me. And I never should have put myself in a position where I would wonder if she might actually love me. Because the truth is, it doesn’t matter.
There’s only room for one of us at the top of the podium, and racing has to come first.
She always wanted it to come first.
I narrow my eyes, peering down at her. “I did nothing today other than what I have always done. What you have done to me. And I do not give a shit if you are angry! It is not my fault that you chose to take that turn in the wrong gear, so when you could not speed up fast enough, I took first. So go.” I jerk my head toward her own RV. “Run away and cry to the world how Massimo is so mean to you, how I would not let you win.”
She steps forward, poking her finger into my chest. “I don’t expect you to let me win. And if I find out you’ve ever backed off a race, we’re going to have a problem that can’t be fixed. But I do expect for you to be a decent human being and not to be a raging asshole 150 percent of the time.”
I flick away her finger like it was a bug. “What if this is what I am, Lorelai? One hundred fifty percent asshole, all the time?”
Her head jerks back, her eyes huge. But her voice is so quiet I can barely hear her over the roar of the fans in the grandstands. “Since when do you call me Lorelai?”
I don’t.
I shift my helmet to my other hand, tucking it under my arm. Vinicio and Angelo are still watching, but they’re also still not interfering, and I hate myself so much that I said it. For them.
After a minute that stretches out forever, Lorina turns on her heel, walking away while saying over her shoulder, “Congratulations, Massimo. You win.”
I nearly pinch myself. She’s admitting defeat? Really?
“I always do, Lorina!” I call after her.
She falls for the bait and turns around, flipping me off with both her fists. “Yeah? Well, here’s your gold fucking star!”
“At least I understand that reference!”
Vinicio and Angelo start heading toward me as she tears open the door of her RV, my Yaalon rep looking disgustingly satisfied while my stepfather lays his hand on my shoulder, guiding me toward my own. I shake him off, storming ahead of him and Angelo and slamming the door of my RV so hard behind me, a tremor shakes the walls.
I hurl my helmet across the RV, something shattering that doesn’t begin to compare to what’s happening in my chest. Because if I keep cutting her off, keep diving for her, before long, it won’t even matter what my contract says. She’ll declare herself my enemy whether I want it to be that way or not. But I don’t have a choice: I have to keep winning.
It’s the only way to get Angelo to change his mind.
GRAND PRIX VON ÖSTERREICH
Spielberg, Sunday, August 11
Pos
Pts
Rider
Time
World Rank
1
25
Massimo VITOLO
39’40.688
164
2
20
Lorelai HARGROVE
2.130
114
3
16
Billy KING
4.656
216
4
13
Santos SAUCEDO
9.434
189
5
11
Mason KING
13.169
108
6
10
Galeno GIRÓN
14.026
57
7
9
Gregorio PAREDES
14.156
57
8
8
Gustavo LIMÓN
16.644
25
9
7
Elliston LAMBIRTH
20.760
47
10
6
Donato MALDONADO
20.844
43
11
5
Deven HORSLEY
21.114
72
12
4
Cristiano ARELLANO
22.939
90
13
3
Fredek SULZBACH
26.523
57
14
2
Rainier HERRE
29.168
50
15
1
Aurelio LOGGIA
30.072
57
16
Giovanni MARCHESA
30.343
100
17
Harleigh ELIN
31.775
41
18
Diarmaid DEAN
34.375
16
19
Timo GONZALES
40.171
17
Not Classified
Cesaro SOTO
18 Laps
20
Chapter 20
Lorelai Hargrove—August; Ravenna, Italy
The ground rushes by as I stare out the window, the train from Bologna to Ravenna rocking slightly from side to side as it clings to the rails. I’ve always loved trains, found the speed comforting. Now, it’s just a box with people chatting quietly in the rows around me, a baby crying somewhere farther back. The aroma of stale espresso and hours-old mayo from forgotten packed lunches wafts through the circulated air, sinking into my clothes and skin. I blow out a nauseated breath, warring against my headache and adjusting my sunglasses.
I didn’t sleep at all last night in my RV. It was hours of tossing and turning because I don’t freaking get it: how Massimo can go from being so sweet, so romantic, to reverting back to his customary asshole self without even blinking. It’s so…disorienting.
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