Page 69 of Double Apex

I take the narrow stairs two at a time and enter the bedroom. My feet trip to a stop when I see Phaedra’s large suitcase open on the bed, untidily half-filled as if the clothes have been thrown in.

The unease in her posture comes back to me, and I recall her hiding a sheet of paper.

I walk down the stairs and into the kitchen, going straight for the stacked books and pulling the paper free.

She springs up. “Cosmin—no, give me that.”

When she tries to snag the edge of the paper, I lift it over my head. “Why so unsettled, mmm?” I ask coolly.

She makes a small jump, attempting to reach what I’m holding, and I wheel my arm away.

“Please don’t read that,” she begs. “I’m… it’s not…”

“Încerci sa ma înseli?” I murmur, eyes narrowing.

Hers are wide and glassy with tears.

“Are. You. Deceiving. Me?” I clarify, my tone frosty.

“I don’t want you to read it like that, with mehere.” Her face is a map of grief.

With those words, her meaning connects indisputably:she was going to leave.

Icy anger floods me, and I stride out of the kitchen and into the powder room beneath the stairs, locking the door.

“Stop!” She knocks hard. “Not like this—I’m doing it all wrong!”

I lean against the door, unfolding the page.

Cosmin,

Please don’t be mad at me, but we can’t do this anymore. We ignored reality because of our attraction. It’s time for us to dothe thing that’s right for the teamand call it off.

Of course I like you very much. I’ve never had this much fun with anyone (and I don’t just mean the sex). I’m going home for the next few races to be with Mo and the family. By the time I come back, this probably won’thurt anymore. You’ll find some gorgeous German girl at the next GP, and that’ll ease the sting, haha.

I hope you

The letter stops there, apparently because I walked in.

I read it a second time, then open the door. Phaedra’s not in the kitchen, so I go to the parlor and find her silhouetted in the shadows, framed by the leaded glass window overlooking the garden. My footsteps creak on the hardwood, and she turns.

I continue toward her, a hundred sentences tangling in my mind—angry, sad, pleading, sarcastic. I extend the arm holding the letter, crumpling the page and dropping it.

“This is bullshit,” I tell her.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice is wooden.

In the moonlight I see her cheeks sketched with fresh tears. My hands ache to cradle her face and brush them away, but I can’t let myself.

“I don’t accept this.”

She gives a slight head shake. “You don’t have a choice.”

“‘Of course I like you very much’?” I all but spit the words of her letter. “What the shit is that? Is this like the teenage romance movie we watched—the one that was your favorite as a girl? Now you will offer me a pen so I can write to you?”

“Please,” she whimpers, trying to take my hand. I yank it away, and she puts her palm over her mouth with a stifled sob. “I thought you wouldn’t be home for hours, and—”

My hands wrap around her upper arms, and she gasps. I wonder if she thinks I’ll hurt her. The image of Uncle Andreileaps to my mind—his dark outline in the doorway of my room, a belt hanging from one hand. My fear, because I’ve disappointed him again.

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