by Lauren Asher
Maya’s gaze flickers between her husband and the camera. “Noah... just give him time to think about it. The proposal isn’t going anywhere, and neither is Santi.”
“Yeah, well, if he continues to wait, his best years will fade away before he gives himself a real chance. And that’s not only stupid, but selfish.”
“Selfish? Please enlighten me on how I’m being selfish,” I snap.
“Because, rather than choosing to be a role model for other people in similar situations as you, you’ve become a public example of what happens when you let life break you. And as your brother-in-law and best friend, I simply can’t accept that. If our roles were reversed, you wouldn’t let me do half the shit we let you get away with, so I don’t understand how you expect me to. I can deal with you avoiding the media and wanting a fresh start somewhere new where no one bothers you. But what I can’t wrap my head around is how one of the most badass people I’ve met—the very guy who threatened me of all people—let his circumstances destroy who he is. So yeah, I’ll keep sending you proposals and updates on a car I can only hope you drive one day because I fucking care.” Noah rises from the couch and places a kiss on Maya’s head. He steps out of the camera frame, followed by a door clicking shut somewhere on Maya’s end.
Her eyes reflect the truth Noah laid out in front of me. Except she won’t say anything. She never says anything, and it drives me crazy. “Listen, Noah’s been more irritable and protective lately…”
The last thing I want is for Maya to worry about my relationship with Noah. He obviously does everything from a place of love. That’s what makes it harder than anything to reject his hope time after time.
I lift a palm up at her. “It’s fine. I get that he cares, but I can’t race again. It’s just not possible.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think you understand how much he cares. Noah’s been developing the hand controls himself with Bandini. He’s committed to making your return as easy as possible, including clocking in hours during his busy schedule to make sure the throttle pad and steering wheel is perfect.”
“Are you serious?” The words leave my mouth in a whisper.
“He’s spent the past two off-seasons visiting the warehouse working with engineers and James on a car configured specifically for you. You’re the missing piece he needs, Santiago. He can test everything himself, but he can’t face the Formula Corp by himself, and you know that. They’d never accept the proposal without proof of your recovery.”
Holy shit. I had no idea Noah wanted me to return this much. I hate how I’ll only end up disappointing him with my decision to not race. No matter what he does, I can’t face that lifestyle again. The thought of living in the shadow of the racer I was has me solidifying my decision.
I open my mouth, but she stops me.
“I hope you know we believe in you. You’ll get back out there. I’m sure of it. And one day, you’ll show the world the same role model I had growing up. And I can’t wait to be there to cheer you on.”
The thought alone has me wanting to end the video call and hide from the emotions they both stirred up inside of me. Rather than express my feelings, I lock them up in a box and bury them deep within me.
I’m not racing. Not now. Not next season. Not ever.
10
Chloe
I lean against a wall around the corner of the coffee shop. “You can do this, Chloe. This is the moment you’ve been waiting twenty-four years of your life for.”
After enough deep breathing to clear anyone’s sinuses, my nerves return to a somewhat acceptable level. A bell chimes above me as I enter Matteo’s coffee shop. The aroma of espresso beans hits me in the face and a machine whirls in the distance.
I stop moving as my eyes land on my father for the first time. He focuses on steaming a cup of something, which gives me time to gather myself and get a good look at him. His dark hair appears as black as mine, with the faintest gray at his temples.
His brown eyes catch mine. Two dark brows pinch together as his eyes scan my face. Something passes over him, but he shakes his head.
Does he recognize me? Do I look like my mom? Maybe I expected too much when I created a scenario in my head about him immediately recognizing me as his long-lost child.
“Ciao. Che cosa vuio bere?”
Yeah, I definitely expected too much. My mouth parts open before shutting again. Unexpected tears prick my eyes, but I take a deep breath and chant to myself how everything is okay. I’m here now, and that’s better than never.
His lips turn down, showing off some deep-set wrinkles near his eyes and mouth.
“I don’t speak much Italian,” I blurt out.
He nods his head. “I can speak English too. My mom was born in New York.” He smiles in a way that makes my knees weak. The whole experience of meeting him is something indescribable, with my chest tightening and hopes I long gave up on filtering through my head.
I rub my damp palms down my cotton dress. “Oh. Nice. New York.” You can talk the paint off a wall, but now you lose the ability to speak when it matters.
He chuckles to himself. “Yes. Did you come here for coffee?”
“Well, actually, I was wondering if you were hiring a barista.” All right, my approach was about as smooth as sandpaper.
He looks around the nearly empty shop, his eyes bouncing from the one customer in a corner to me. “Since we don’t get many customers here, I handle all the orders.”
I’m getting the brush-off by my own dad. I mentally dig my feet in and raise my chin. I did not go through hell to get here only to give up at the first sign of trouble. “I can help with anything you need. Accounting, the ordering of supplies, checking stock.” I list off everything I have no experience with. If I learned how to pick a lock on YouTube, then the world is my oyster.
His brows lift. “Well, I could use help with one thing, but the pay isn’t great.”
I attempt to keep my nod to a normal level of enthusiasm. I’d accept working for free at this point because I’m willing to do just about anything to spend more time around him. “Sure. What is it?”
He explains the pay and how he needs help cleaning the shop every day because he messed up his back a few years ago. My excitement doesn’t falter when he passes me a rag and window cleaner. Spending time with Matteo is what I traveled all this way for. Who cares if I’m sweeping floors or making terrible coffee for unlucky patrons? As long as I get to be with him, I couldn’t care less about my job.
I plan on taking advantage of every second with him, even if it means living out a Cinderella fantasy. Who needs a fairy godmother when I have myself?
It takes two days of wiping windows, cleaning a gross bathroom, and mopping the sticky tile in silence before Matteo breaks the awkwardness.
“Where in America are you from?” He asks the simplest question, but it has my heart racing in my chest nonetheless.
“I was born in New York.” Maybe if I sprinkle facts here and there, he will get the hint.
“Ah, just like my mom. I used to go there every summer with my brother to visit her.” He clears his throat, focusing back on cleaning his coffee machine.
I can barely hear my own voice over the sound of my blood pounding in my ears. “So, what did you do in New York?” I wince at the desperation in my voice. Smooth, Chloe, smooth.
Matteo laughs. “Just about everything. My mom moved back to the States after she and my father divorced, so when my brother and I would visit, we tended to make the most of it.”
Does he remember sleeping with my mom? Will he be shocked to realize he has a child? I force my thoughts to slow down.
Matteo carries on with his business, ignoring how I’m stuck in place, staring at him. My brain screams to attack him with more questions. But something tells me to hold off because I don’t want to make him suspicious of me.
“And is this where you lived the other parts of the year?”
“Yeah. My father was born and raised
here. He started this shop himself.” Matteo looks around the store, smiling.
“Wow. That’s incredible.” I appreciate the shop in a new light, knowing it’s been passed down by each generation.
“Well, I know this town is smaller than one New York city block, but I love the people and the quiet.”
“You’ve got that right. I’m still getting used to walking past the same people every morning and having them smile at me. In New York, if I smiled at a stranger, they might call the cops on me for suspicious behavior.”
Matteo laughs. It’s a full and hearty sound, with his eyes crinkling.
My jaw drops open, and a sudden urge hits me to confess who I am. I could drop this disguise and spend some real time getting to know him in a daughter-father way. But I rationalize that our relationship needs to be taken slowly rather than me plunging headfirst. I recover from my temporary lapse in judgment and solidify my need to hold back.
He collects himself. “Do you like it here?”
I consider his question and how the past week has been the wildest thing out of my imagination. From crashing into someone else’s life to working for my father without him knowing it, nothing about my experience has been typical. Even the ancestry kit working itself out has me questioning where all this good fortune was throughout my life. It’s like turning twenty-four meant all the parts of my life would align after years of loneliness and disappointment.
I settle on something a little more subdued. “It might make me sound crazy, but this town feels like it has a bit of magic.” Him. The people. Santiago.
Matteo nods his head. “Magic is everywhere and in everything. People only have to believe in it for it to work. If you notice it, then embrace it because that’s what makes us dreamers.”
My dad speaking about us as a duo has my lungs burning from a sudden inhale of breath. I want there to be an us so freaking badly, I’m willing to bottle up all the magic in this damn town and hoard it. But not everything is meant to be contained, and magic isn’t the exception to the rule.
11
Santiago
I spend a whole week somehow keeping Marko entertained within the confines of my house. To be honest, my sister failed to warn me that the kid is cute but a human wrecking ball. I’ve never spent this long babysitting him and I’m starting to see why. By the eighth day of his stay, he’s already painted my walls with every crayon in his arsenal and pissed more times outside of the toilet than in. I’ve been doing laundry around the clock to keep up with all the food that lands on his body, and my couch has become a prime example of what happens when kids are given adult glasses instead of sippy cups.
Desperate to help Marko expel some energy after dinner, I take him on a much-needed visit to the lakeside park. I could also use something to calm myself down too because I can’t put my mind to rest lately. If I’m not considering checking the email with Noah’s proposal, then I’m thinking about Chloe and what she’s up to during our time apart. It’s like the two of them worked together to wreak havoc on my head over the past couple of days.
Marko entertains me, not allowing my thoughts to slip too far into the deep, dark pits of self-loathing when I consider what Noah said. My nephew shows me how there’s still good for me to look forward to in the world even if I don’t exactly feel that way often.
“Look who it is! Princess Chloe!” Marko’s hand slips out of mine as he runs down across the grass.
I stop and stare across the lawn at her. She sits on the grass with her legs crossed, holding on to a circular object. Like an old bad habit, I tug my hat lower down my face to hide myself from anyone who passes by us. I’m not too worried about any fans finding me based on how empty the park is at this time of day.
“Hey, you!” Chloe laughs as she throws whatever she was doing on the grass. She spreads her arms and Marko launches himself into them. He wraps his arms and legs around her, proving why he was nicknamed Monkey in the first place.
My curiosity peaks at the object she was working on. It’s a half-finished embroidery circle. The design is impressive and extremely detailed, with the bright mix of random flowers standing out against the white linen material.
I point at her work. “I’m seeing a trend here. Do you like wildflowers?”
“There’s something beautiful about chaos.”
“They remind me of you.” The words escape my mouth before I can stop them.
Where the fuck did that come from?
Her cheeks flush. “Some people would be offended about being compared to a bunch of weeds.”
“I have a feeling you don’t fall in the same category as those people.”
“Why?” A hint of a smile crosses her lips.
“Because those who see beauty in chaos also see flowers instead of weeds, and that’s a gift in a world like ours.”
“That’s rather poetic of you.” The pink in her cheeks deepens.
I smile at her reaction. She makes it too easy, and I won’t deny how I look forward to making her blush. Flirting with Chloe invigorates me in a way I haven’t felt in some time.
Marko lays a sloppy kiss on Chloe’s cheek, stealing her attention back. “I miss-ed you.” He crawls off her lap and sits by her side. His tiny hand pats the grass next to him as he looks up at me.
Come on, Marko. You’re supposed to be my wingman. I stare at the grass with such hatred, I’m surprised it doesn’t catch on fire. Getting up and down off the floor was always one of my least favorite physical therapy activities. Not because it was hard, but because it made it so damn obvious that I have an impairment to begin with.
Chloe laughs, soft and carefree as she brushes a strand of hair out of Marko’s eye. “Aw, I miss-ed you too.”
“Really?” He smiles in that infectious way of his. His eyes narrow at me as he pats the ground again. “Siéntate, Tio.”
I avoid Chloe’s gaze as I take a deep breath. I’ve practiced this move hundreds of times in rehab but executing it around Chloe has me feeling another sense of dread. Just because she kissed me doesn’t mean she is interested in anything more. And the kiss was a way to prove her point rather than to make me feel good. Based on the way she doesn’t look in my direction, I’m the only idiot who can’t get it out of my head.
Ignoring the acid rolling in my stomach at making myself look any less of a man in front of Chloe, I put my left leg forward for balance and then fold my right leg. My prosthetic hits the grass at the same time as the palms of my hands. Transferring my body weight to my arms, I pull my legs forward and in front of me. It’s awkward and disjointed, with each second ticking by at a snail’s pace.
Chloe focuses on tickling Marko’s stomach. Her indifference fills me with a new wave of appreciation. It’s as if she knows what to do without me having to ask, and that’s something I’ve yet to experience around anyone. Not even my own family knows how to act when I take longer to do what used to be second nature.
Her tickling leaves Marko breathless and red in the face.
“He just ate, so unless you want him to become a vomit launcher, I’d stop.” I place my hands behind me as I take in the sunset reflecting off the lake.
Marko makes a bleh noise.
“Gross. We don’t want that.” She wrinkles her nose in the cutest way.
Marko abandons his spot in between us and runs around in circles, making retching noises between giggles.
“I’m curious. What made you want to take a walk in the park? I thought you didn’t leave your castle much.” She drags a finger underneath the bill of my cap, lifting it.
Her blue eyes darken as they focus on me licking my lips. Hmm. Maybe she does think about our kiss, too. “I wanted to make sure there weren’t any cats who needed rescuing.”
She drops her head back and laughs. “I didn’t hear any crying in the trees, so I think we are good.”
“That’s great. We can’t have you checking on them and falling again.”
“I wouldn’t have fallen if it weren’t f
or a big, brooding shadow of a man who scared me in the middle of the night.”
“It’s not every day I have a trespasser wanting to climb a tree on my property.”
She scoffs. “The fact that you have to specify what kind of trespasser you have speaks volumes.”
I shrug. “People are weird and invasive.”
“Maybe they’re interested in checking out if your house is haunted.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “What?”
Seriously, how can this girl not know I’m famous? I can’t remember the last time I’ve been completely anonymous. By the time I was eighteen, I already had over a hundred-thousand followers on my social media accounts.
“Your house. Have you seen it? It’s like Luigi’s Mansion but less fun.”
“Are you a Nintendo fan?”
“Are you not? Be careful how you answer. I might have to end this friendship before it has a real chance.”
Friendship? She’s got to be kidding me. I’m not about to get friend-zoned by a woman who kissed me like she might die without it. No way. Fuck that.
“Of course I like Nintendo. I grew up using Mario Kart as practice.”
“Practice for what?” Her brows scrunch together.
Shit. I ignore the urge to reveal my racing past. “For actual driving. What else?”
“I wouldn’t know. I never learned how to drive.”
“What? You don’t know how to drive?” I try to wrap my head around the concept. I’ve been driving karts since I was four years old.
“No! I grew up in New York. No one knows how to drive.”
“Whoa. That needs to be amended.”
She laughs to herself. “And you’re going to be the one to sacrifice yourself for the cause?”
“It’s not a sacrifice if I’m willing.” I grin.
Marko, cockblocker extraordinaire, interrupts us, squeezing my neck with his sweaty arms. “Time for gelato?”
“Hmm, I don’t know. You already had gelato yesterday.”