Page 22 of Heartbreaker

She pushes my chest, making me stumble back and away from where Levi is slowly getting to his feet with the help of Jordan and Tyler. “Stop it. Stop it, Rome. You’re giving that loser exactly what he wants.”

“You’re going to let some bitch tell you what you can do?” Levi says, spitting out blood onto the floor.

“Levi!” Dad booms in warning, but I can barely hear him, an angry ringing starting in my ears. He just called Lana a bitch, and that ratcheted my emotions up more than anything else he could have thrown at me.

“It’s not worth it, baby. It’s not worth it,” Lana says, distracting me by putting a hand to my cheek and forcing my eyes to move to her.

“Listen to the girl, Rome. Back down,” Levi says, and over Lana’s head, gives me a taunting look, blood dripping from his nose. I want to put him in his place for attempting to belittle Lana, but before I can, she snaps her head in his direction.

“I promise you, I could kick your ass and land you in a hospital before you could even get a finger on me, you dickweed,” Lana threatens, and despite her cute exterior, I know it to be the truth. I saw her brothers, and she told me they work as high-level bodyguards now. I would put a lot of money on them making sure their little sister knew how to fight. I grin at him, and his jaw tightens.

“Levi, out. Go out into the fucking hall before I suspend you next,” my dad snaps. A flash of elation fills me before he mumbles something, then heads out, Courtney following him. That joy fades when my dad turns to face me.

“I thought you were on the right path, Rome,” he says, words coated in disappointment. An all-too-familiar feeling curls in my chest, the one that settled in when he called me to his office to inform me I would be suspended because I slept with a sponsor’s wife. Indignation mixed with panic and pain.

“I am,” I say, ignoring the blood dripping down my face and trying to focus only on Lana’s hand that’s found its way into mine, treating it as a grounding touch. “I am on the right path. I’ve been staying out of the papers, staying in, doing nothing.”

“You just got into a brawl right in front of me,” he says, crossing his arms on his chest.

“He threw the first punch!” I shout, throwing up my hand. “It was self-defense, you saw it.” He shakes his head like I’m a little kid he’s displeased with, and it weighs heavily around my shoulders.

“You’re still in charge of your emotions. I don’t care what other people do, and neither will the press or the board.”

“What, so I’m just supposed to stand there when he hits me? Not stand up for myself? He gets to lose his temper, and I have to take it? That’s fucked up,” I spit, anger bubbling again. “I can’t believe⁠—”

“Come on, Rome,” Lana’s soft voice coaxes, cutting off my words. “Let’s get you out of here before you say something you regret.” The beast is pounding in my chest, indignant and angry, and I turn to her, giving her my ire.

“What the fuck do you know? You don’t fucking know me, Lana,” I snap, but she doesn’t cower or back down. Instead, her expression softens, and her hand tightens around mine, like she sees that part of me I keep hidden, like she knows it’s all bullshit, so she doesn’t even bother to flinch.

“I know that if you get any angrier, something bad is going to happen, and you won’t be able to excuse it away by saying self-defense. So let’s go calm down and get you cleaned up.”

“Listen to her, Rome. I’ll see what I can do out here,” Dad says with an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair. He looks exhausted, and guilt floods me at the thought of him having to clean up my messes once again. That thought is what has me nodding and letting Lana lead me out. She seems to know exactly where she’s going as we walk silently, opening a door to a room that looks like a small, unused lounge. Along one wall is a counter with cabinets, and there’s a couch and various seating scattered about.

“What were you thinking, getting into a fight like some schoolyard meathead?” she asks once she closes the door behind us. I’m still trying to calm down, adrenaline coursing through my veins. It’s different from the happy kind that hummed there earlier; this one feels like an oil slick I can’t wipe away.

“He’s an asshole,” I grumble.

“Okay, so tell him that. Yell at him. Tell him he’s a fuckwit, and he’s ugly, and ask if his mother dropped him as a child, but you don’t have to hit him.” Despite everything, my lips tip up.

“You think he’s ugly?” She rolls her eyes and begins opening cabinets as if looking for something.

“That’s what you focus on?”

“It’s an interesting piece of intel. Who’s hotter, him or me?”

“You know the answer to that. You’re such an asshole, though, that it takes your hotness down at least three notches.” That pulls a full smile, but when it spreads to my cheeks and eyes, I hiss in pain.

In a moment, her expression shifts from annoyed to concerned, and she lets out a sigh. “Come on, pretty boy. Let’s get you patched up before it scars.”

TWELVE

As I search for the first aid kit in various cabinets, having seen one when I was snooping around with Demi yesterday, I remind myself just how stupid this is. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be spending more time with Rome; I shouldn’t keep blurring the line between work and… something else. But just like last weekend, I can’t seem to listen to my own warnings.

When I climbed up onto the trailer to watch the sunset with him, it was an impulse. Demi and I had once again been talking about the need to get closer to the drivers, despite their hesitance to talk to me. I was frustrated by our lack of progress and wanted to wander the empty arena to see if I could find something—anything. When Rome invited me up, it felt like a sign.

And sure, it made sense to accept his invitation, to spend some time with him, but I didn’t have to stay all night. I didn’t have to laugh with him long after sunset, trading stories from childhood races, telling him more about myself than I ever had before while on an assignment.

The truth is, I’m deeply intrigued by Roman DeLuca, and it has nothing to do with the case. Instead, it has everything to do with the two opposite versions of himself I’ve seen so far: the cocky asshole who doesn’t care about anything or anyone other than winning, and the soft one who drinks alone on top of his trailer while watching the sunset, who spends hours upon hours practicing when no one else is around.