Page 81 of Formula Dreams
“I like him,” I say with a huff.“A lot.And I’m pretty sure he likes me.”I offer him a smirk.“Like, a lot.We’ve connected over some harsh things in his life.”
Carlos studies me for a long second.“I’m happy for you.Really.I’m happier for Ronan because he got the better end of the deal.”
The lump in my throat takes me by surprise.I glance away, trying to blink it back.“One of the reporters asked me about the photo today,” I tell him.“And about his mum.Made him sound like he ran while I cleaned up after him.I went after the reporter pretty hard.”
Carlos’s mouth hardens, but he nods.“You did right to shut that down.Protect your people.That’s what counts.”
“I’m sure the Titans PR team won’t like what I did, but Ronan wasn’t there to defend himself.”
“I expect this will blow up,” Carlos warns, but I already knew that.“People are going to want to know more about you two.”
“We talked about it last night and we know that we’ll have to acknowledge it.But this isn’t the weekend.”
“That’s right,” Carlos says, holding out his fist to me and I bump it.“Because we have Silvercrest to run and nothing’s getting in our way.”
“Except a red flag,” I quip, and we bust out laughing.
We push off the barrier together, starting the slow walk back down the paddock.Mechanics and engineers weave past, the noise of Q3 engines already humming from pit lane.
I glance at Carlos, his easy confidence lingering in the air between us, but as we split toward our garages, my thoughts shift where they probably shouldn’t.Rivals, competitors—we’re supposed to want to crush each other out there.Titans versus Crown.Nash versus Ronan.
Me versus Ronan.
And yet, I know where my heart’s already gone.Even if I’m supposed to want him behind me, some secret part of me will be rooting for Ronan to grab pole.Because he deserves it—after the week he’s had, after everything I’ve seen in him that the world doesn’t.
As I head back toward the garage, the roar of engines swells and the big screen displays the first Q3 times.Ronan’s name flashes near the top, glowing bright against the darkening sky, and there it is.A deep warmth taking over me.
I’ll be cheering for him, even if I have to do it in silence.
CHAPTER 25
Ronan
The house isunnervingly quiet when I come downstairs, race bag slung over my shoulder.Normally, mornings here mean clinking glass in the kitchen or the dull hum of the television bleeding out from behind Vivienne’s doors.Today it’s still, heavy as the gray Woking sky pressing down.
I’m almost at the front door when I hear the shuffle of slippers on tile.Vivienne appears at the end of the hall, silk robe knotted loosely, hair hanging lank around her face.
For half a second, I freeze, gut sinking.I’d been hoping to slip out unnoticed, like I have the last two nights, dodging her presence the way you dodge debris on the track.Since free practice, I’ve managed to avoid her completely.She was in her rooms when I got home and still shut away when I left in the mornings.No scenes.No questions.No demands.And I’d told myself that was better—because the last thing I needed was her sucking away my focus before the race.
But now she’s here, blocking my clean getaway.And I brace instinctively, waiting for sharp words, a demand, some drama to ruin the day before it begins.
Instead, she blinks at me with vague curiosity.“Where are you going so early?”
I stare at her.She really doesn’t know or remember.“It’s race day,” I say flatly.“Silvercrest.”
Her brows knit, then smooth.“Oh.Right.”A wan smile tugs at her mouth.“I’m not feeling well today, so I won’t be able to come cheer you on.”
Cheer me on?As if that’s ever what she’s done.I picture her at free practice—screeching in the paddock, drawing stares, leaving me exposed and humiliated in front of the entire grid.She doesn’t even remember.
For a moment the old instinct kicks in—the urge to snap, to rake her across the coals for everything she’s cost me.But Francesca’s words cut through, steady in my head from our walk the other night.You can’t fix her, Ronan… at some point, you’ve got to let go.Stop letting her take so much from you.
So, I don’t fight.I don’t explain.I just nod once.“Rest, then.”
Her gaze drifts away, already bored, already gone.I open the door and step into the cool morning air.As I cross the gravel drive toward my car, a strange clarity settles in.Maybe I won’t come back here after the race.Maybe I’m done letting these walls and the woman inside them bleed me dry.
But today isn’t about her.It’s about Silvercrest.The race is the only thing that matters right now.
♦
