Page 29 of Out of Control

“Cruz did well today.”

He clears his throat and clenches his jaw. No doubt the sharp criticism he’s used to delivering burns like acid on his tongue. But he’s heeding my warning. He’s holding back and not saying shit. Well, well, well, maybe you can teach an old dog new tricks. Either that or Cruz’s threat to ban him from the garage is the culprit.

It wouldn’t be the first time. Sadly, despite recent progress, I don’t think it will be the last.

But for now, the threat keeps his comments to a mumble and his criticism silenced. And my headache over worrying about all of the above, a dull throb.

“Good. Great. Cruz is done for the day if you want to go do whatever it is you want to do,” I suggest. I appreciate my brother allowing our father to be back in the pits but that comes at a cost to me. It makes it my job to corral and redirect him. Sure, this is a family thing, but that makes the family part of it fall on my shoulders if I want Cruz to keep his mind focused on the task at hand—being safe—I don’t have any other choice.

“Yes. Okay. I was going to meet up in the trophy room,” he says, referring to a private lounge where past drivers meet up and hang out at this particular track.

“How nice for you to get to reconnect with old friends.”

“Nice would be being here and getting to be with my son, but that’s not happening now, is it?” he mutters.

“No, but it’s how it has to be.” Kid gloves. All day. Every day. “Go meet your friends, Papá.”

Do something, anything that will make you feel as important as you actually think you are here at the track.

He grunts in response.

“It’ll be fun.”

“If that’s what you want to call it,” he mutters, grabbing his cup with force before stalking out of the viewing deck above the garage that overlooks pit row. It kills him to hold his commentary in.

And it makes my life way fucking easier.

I watch him leave and then let my shoulders sag when I realize I’m all alone. Finally.

It’s been two days of trying to avoid Oliver Rossi . . . and his cold shoulder. That’s what I wanted, isn’t it? To push him away so Cruz doesn’t see anything there? To step back into the shoes of Sofia Navarro, the woman who keeps this damn family together when all it wants to do is tear apart at the seams. To fulfill my role as the prized daughter and esteemed granddaughter, who’s told that she needs to shine in her own right despite always being swept into the shadows of the Navarro men.

I step toward the edge of the booth and look at the F1 cars parked in various places in the pits. It’s like Noah’s Ark—two by two of each team—but when I look down to the cars of Team Gravitas, my stare stutters. Rossi is standing there with his hands on his hips as he nods in response to something one of his crew says. They point at the nose cone and then the rear wing. More discussion ensues that I don’t even deem to assume what it’s about . . . and it wouldn’t matter anyway because I’m too busy admiring and wanting what I can’t have.

I’m too busy wishing I were Simply Sofia, back at a festival, and flirting with Just Ollie.

“Can we talk?” Cruz asks at my back.

I hesitate, when I never hesitate. Cruz is not only my brother, but I truly consider him my friend. My other half when it comes to navigating the Navarro waters and our screwed-up parents. And yet I’ve found myself avoiding him over the past few days. It’s part irritation that I’m forced to be here, part necessity so he doesn’t see right through me.

And maybe so I don’t look too closely at myself, if I’m honest.

“What’s up?” I give one more look at where Rossi was moments before and then turn to face Cruz.

“What are you thinking?” he asks curtly.

“Um, a million things. None of which would be of interest to you.”

He chortles. “Funny.”

“I wasn’t exactly trying to be.” He had a good day of testing. Qualifying is tomorrow. Why does he seem so pissed off? “What’s going on?”

“I told you Rossi is a hard no,” he spits out and has me doing a double take.

“I don’t understand. What—”

“I’ve stood by for two days and watched you follow him around with big puppy dog eyes. You wait till everyone’s focus is elsewhere, and then you turn yours on him.”

“I’ve never hidden from you that I find the man attractive.” At least I’m not lying.