Page 21 of Heartbreaker

“What’s he doing here?” I ask, but Levi answers before my dad can.

“Came to cheer on our favorite driver,” he says, then looks over my shoulder. “There he is! Tyler, my man, how are you? Looking great out there.” Tyler gives him a wave before approaching us.

“Hey, Levi, Mr. Deluca. How’s it going?” Tyler says as if he and my nemesis are old friends. It would track, I guess, since their dislike of me is well-matched.

“Told you before, Tyler, you can call me Kevin,” my dad says, and I fight a grimace.

“I’m doing great,” Levi says, and my apprehension grows. He always knows how to get under my skin, knows how to poke at the kid inside me who questions whether I’m good enough, whether I’ve earned my place. “You know, tryouts are this fall, and we’ve got an open slot. We’d love to have you on the team.”

“There’s no free spot, Levi,” I say, knowingly playing right into his hand but unable to stop myself.

“You and I both know there is, Rome. You left one when you were fired.”

“Now, Levi,” Dad says, but I can barely hear him over the grinding of my teeth.

“We all know he’s never going to be welcomed back, Kev, not with everything that’s been happening. You know, I was talking to the marketing manager at Excel Oil about it at one of the after parties,” he says of the sponsor who got me suspended. “He’s really relieved you’re gone. Said you were a loose cannon.”

“Not even around, and I’m still all you can talk about, huh?” I say, my lips tipping despite my irritation.

“That’s not what⁠—”

“You know, maybe if you weren’t so obsessed with me, you would be able to beat me on the track. Instead, you’ve gotta wait until I get suspended before you get a chance to be top of the team. Still can’t seem to clinch a win, though, can you? Bummer.” A thrill moves through me when anger flares in his eyes.

“Fuck off, Rome. You haven’t even raced in months. You’re a nobody.”

“Your girlfriend doesn’t seem to think so. Maybe you should pay her more attention. If you did, she wouldn’t have to send me messages regularly to see if we can meet up.” His jaw goes tight, and I grin at the direct hit. It’s not just a line, either: Levi’s girlfriend does reach out to me, though I’ve never replied to her. Despite what the media might think, I have standards and rules about the women I take to my bed, and the first one is that they can’t be in a relationship.

“Fuck you. Molly would never even look at you.”

“Wanna see my DMs? I don’t reply, but that doesn’t seem to stop her.” I pull out my phone, eager to show him, not only because I want to see him miserable, but to clear my name.

“I don’t need to see your lies,” he says.

“Or maybe you just don’t want to see that your girlfriend doesn’t actually like you and⁠—”

Before I can finish my sentence, Levi’s arm pulls back, his fist connecting with my face.

Now, I have good reflexes—it’s a bit of a necessity when you drive hundreds of miles an hour on a track. This means I saw the hit coming and could have ducked. I could have dodged him.

But I didn’t. I wanted him to hit me because if he hits me first, I can hit back. Self-defense and all. That’s why when his fist connects with my cheek, pain doesn’t bloom at the spot. Instead, it feels like deep-seated satisfaction.

Noise erupts around us, though I don’t know if it’s out of horror, surprise, or excitement, but I barely register it. Instead, I snap, pushing him down, and before I know it, my fist is making hard contact with his cheek.

It feels good.

It actually feels fucking phenomenal to let that beast out, to finally hit him.

Is it healthy? Absolutely not. But right now, it’s all I’ve got. He hits me again, a punch to the ribs that will bruise, and I pull my hand back, fully intending on breaking his nose. But I’m stopped by a familiar voice cutting through the blinding rage.

“Stop it!”

It’s angry and firm, and when I look over, distracted for the shortest moment, another punch comes, hitting me near my eye. I hiss and realize that when his ugly ass rings hit me, it split my eyebrow.

“That’s enough,” my dad demands. “Levi, knock it off.” I grin when he drops his hand.

“You’re not going to defend your girlfriend—” I start to taunt, but before he can hit me again, soft hands are on my arm, tugging, pulling me back until I’m on my feet and staring down a small, fiery woman, a mixture of gentleness and anger on her face.

Lana.