Page 55 of Formula Dreams
After, I stay where I am, both of us breathing like we’ve just taken the checkered flag.My hand finds the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair, and I press my mouth to her temple before rolling to my back.She comes to rest like a comforting blanket across my torso.
I don’t have words, but I have a message for her.It’s found in the way I hold her, in the way I’m already thinking about the next time.
Francesca shifts to rest her chin on my chest.She drags her nails along my ribs, slow, lazy, enough to keep my pulse in overdrive.
“So…,” she says, her voice heavy and sated, “are you ever going to tell me what it was like for you growing up?Before all this—before the paddock, the podiums, the attitude?”
I let out a low huff of amusement that isn’t really amusement at all.“You already know enough.”
“That’s not an answer.”She lifts her head to peer at me through the dim light.“I really want to know more about you.”
I’m tempted to give her the standard Ronan Barnes deflection—to be glib about how boring I was off the track—but she’s watching me like she’ll know if I lie.
And part of me is in awe that she wants to dig deep with me.Women don’t usually look past the fame and money.
“Busy,” I say finally, and she settles back onto me.My hand absently glides along her spine.“That’s what it was like.School during the week, karting every spare second.My dad handled the schedule.My mum… she showed up when she could.Which usually meant when she was sober enough not to cause a scene.”
Her breathing shifts.“She… made scenes?”
I give a humorless laugh.“Yeah.Awards dinners, qualifying days, school events.You name it.Always a surprise what version of her I’d get.Eventually, I told her to stop coming to races altogether because it was easier for us both.For everyone.I didn’t have to worry about being embarrassed and she could stay at the house and drink without anyone judging her.”
Francesca offers a sympathetic hum and at once, I regret letting her in that deep.Pity isn’t an emotional response I’ve ever been able to take.I shift, propping myself up on an elbow.“It wasn’t all bad.I learned to stay in my lane—literally.Driving was the only place I could control the variables.”
“That sounds… lonely,” she says softly as she looks up at me.
I don’t answer right away.Lonelyis not a word I like, even if it’s accurate.“It made me good at being alone.There’s a difference.”
She studies me for a moment longer before a small, almost wistful smile tugs at her mouth.“That’s so different from me, it’s hard to understand.My family’s… well, they’re loud, opinionated and competitive as hell.But they’ve always been there.Every race they could make it to, every phone call, every decision.I’ve always felt very loved.”
It’s a life I can’t even picture, one where unconditional support isn’t something you have to earn.“They sound amazing,” I say, a bit jealous that I will never have that.
“They’re not perfect,” she admits with a laugh, brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead.“But they’re mine.And I know how lucky I am.”
“Yeah.”My thumb finds the curve of her cheekbone.“I can tell you do.”
She leans into the touch, and for a second, I forget the rest of the world exists.But then I remember a name I’ve been trying to shove aside since earlier tonight.“Speaking of people in your corner… you and Carlos.”
Her head comes up, golden eyes narrowing in mock suspicion.“Still on that, huh?”
“Not on it,” I say, even though the twist in my gut betrays me.“Just… clarifying.”
Her smile blooms, slow and smug.“Carlos is one of my best friends.That’s it.No secret romance, no unresolved tension.You can stop scowling every time he’s within two meters of me.”
I let my gaze drift over her face, and I can tell she means it.More importantly, I trust her.“All right,” I murmur.“You’re convincing.”
“Convincing?”She swats at me, laughing.“I told you the truth.”
I bite back a smile because the faint pink in her cheeks is fucking adorable.I don’t say that.Instead, I let my fingers trail down the line of her arm, slow enough to feel the goose bumps rise.
She quiets after a moment, eyes searching mine.“I saw you talking to Posey tonight.”
I roll onto my back again, exhaling through my nose.She stays propped on her elbow.“Yes… told her I regretted the way I handled things.She didn’t throw a drink at me, so I’m counting it as progress.”
Francesca’s expression softens, the teasing gone.“That’s not just progress.That’s… you trying.”
The words settle deep within me, and I’m not sure if I feel pride or discomfort.It’s definitely strange.“Don’t make a thing out of it.”
“It is a thing,” she says simply and then rests her head against my shoulder like she’s staking a claim.
