I look my brother in the eye, my expression turning into the same practiced way I’d used on Carter. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to claim her, to tell him exactly what has happened between us, but I choke it down. If I say this lie out loud, I can make it the truth. I can hand her over to the brother who isn't breaking. I can save her from the wreckage I’m becoming before she gets buried in it.
"I think you're confusing a business arrangement for a fairy tale," I say, my voice a flat, dead line. "Carter Hayes is a contractual obligation. She is the daughter of a man our father pays because he thinks it will keep me on the podium. She’s a distraction I’m tolerating because it keeps everyone happy. Once the season is over and the dust settles, I won't even remember her name."
I square my shoulders, making sure he sees the absolute void in my expression, making sure he believes that every touch, every look, and every single interaction we had leading up to this point meant nothing more than a box checked on a list.
"To me, she’s just noise. And I’ve spent my whole life learning how to tune that out. If you want to go chase a footnote, be my guest."
Luka searches my face, looking for the crack, for the lie. I don't give it to him. Finally, he exhales, a look of relief—and maybe a shred of disappointment at my lifestyle choices—settling over him. He shakes his head and walks away, leaving me alone in the freezing quiet.
I turn back to the bench, but my hands won't move. The sound of her voice—wounded and raw, shouting that she didn't give a single fuck about a legacy—is still vibrating in the air.I'm looking at you.I’d convinced myself she was just another person looking for a way out, but the memory of her standing her ground against my rage makes that lie taste like ash. She hadn't blinked. She hadn't flinched. She’d stayed until I’d verbally shoved her away.
My gaze flickers where Luka disappeared. Of course he wants her. And why wouldn’t she want him? He’s the Valerio who functions. He’s the brother who wears this life naturally. I’ve spent my life being the one the world looked at, the one who carried the weight because I knew how to steer, but Luka is the one who actually gets to keep the life he builds. The charmer. It’s a simple calculation. He’s the better option because he is a whole man, and I’m just a series of failing parts.
I haven't just pointed her toward the exit. I’ve pointed her toward the member of this family that isn’t a dead end. If Carter’s going to stay here, she should be with someone who can actually offer her a future that doesn’t involve watching someone disappear into himself. A guy like Luka—someone built to last.
Someone steady enough to meet her in the future she still thinks she’s trying to outrun.
I reach for the burger she left behind—the one I’d taken a bite of just to see the flush on her neck. I pick it up and throw it into the trash. The metal bin clangs, a final, hollow sound that marks the end of the only real thing I’ve ever seemed to have.
The silence in the garage is deafening. I have everything I wanted. I’m alone. I’m focused.
And for the first time in my life, I can’t breathe.
Chapter twenty-three
Carter
SHIFT is loud in the way it always is on a weeknight that pretends it isn’t one. Not packed. Not dead. Just enough bodies pressed into booths to make the air feel lived-in—warm with fryer oil, coffee, and the low, constant hum of people ordering more like they didn’t just swear they had an early morning.
“Carter!” the cook bellows from the back, voice cutting through the noise like a thrown knife. “I’m buried back here. Can you grab the boxes out back and bring ’em in? We’re out of half the prep.”
I weave through the kitchen—a coordinated disaster of sizzling pans and shouting—and push through the back door. The night air hits my skin like a shock straight to the nervous system. It’s relief. It’s quiet.
Until my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I pull it out, expecting some automated email from the university or a check-in from my dad.
Unknown Number:You keep disappearing on me.
I don't freeze. I don't swoon. I feel a sharp, hot spike of irritation that hits right behind my ribs and stays there, simmering. The sheer audacity of this man. After the way he’d verbally shoved me out of his garage—after I’d actually let him see the dent he’d made in my composure—Dominic thinks he can just drop into my inbox with a line like that? No ‘hey,’ no apology, just a demand for my attention while I'm in the middle of a rush.
"Unbelievable," I mutter to the empty back space.
I want to be disgusted. I want to delete the thread and forget the way my heart did a traitorous little skip when the screen lit up.
But noticing andcaringare two different things, and right now, I’m choosing to be finished with both.
It’s not a sweet text; it’s a provocation. It’s a reminder that even when he isn’t standing in front of me, Dominic Valerio thinks he has a right to take up space in my head, rearranging my thoughts to suit his own track map. I shove the phone back into my pocket with a little more force than necessary, my pulse drumming a frustrated rhythm against my skin.
He wants to play games? Fine. But I’m not the one who’s going to crash first.
I look at the back door of the kitchen, dreading life right now. Living with a Formula One driver wasn’t part of the plan. Neither was noticing the way he watches me when he thinks I’m not looking.
The frustration boils over into my hands. I reach for the first stack of boxes near the wall outside, gripping the cardboard hard enough to dent it.
Snap.
I freeze. The sound is sharp, echoing off the exterior, coming from the dark smear of trees where the property drops off into the woods.
