Page 51 of Heartbreaker

“Rome, you shouldn’t—” Phil says, but I can’t focus on anything but the seatbelt now in my hand. Half of it is clean cut, leaving just enough together that, if it were far enough down behind the seat, it probably wouldn’t have been noticeable when I was buckling in. But one or two hard bounces, and there is a good shot it would have snapped while in motion.

“This isn’t okay,” I say, dropping the destroyed belt and splaying a hand toward the seat and turning to Phil, indignant fire burning in my veins. The panic and apprehension are turning into something else now, something I prefer, more manageable in its intensity. Anger. Irritation. It must be written across my face because instead of arguing, Phil steps back and lifts his hands placatingly, as if trying to calm a rabid animal.

“Roman, I know you’re frustrated, but⁠—”

“Frustrated? Frustrated does not cover what I am, Phil. I’m fuming. I’m anxious. I’m fucking terrified. Someone is out to hurt me, and you’re just trying to move on as if everything is just fine and dandy. Shit keeps happening—to me—and no one is doing anything about it.”

“We are, Rome. I promise. I’ve got this under control.”

“Under control? Under control? You said it yourself—it’s a near miracle someone caught it. The next time I crash, it might not be so simple. It might hurt someone else. It might fucking kill me.” My voice is getting louder, and people are entering the arena now, watching me. I’m sure it will result in another article about how the bad boy snapped at the crew over a simple mistake or something like that. Still, I can’t seem to stop myself, to rein it in.

“Roman, let’s go,” a soft voice says before an even softer hand captures mine. Lana is standing beside me, her eyes soft and sincere and worried, her body close to mine. Not scared, not nervous, not retreating. Instead, when my emotions win, Lana comes closer, eager to help me get it in check. “Come on.” She tugs my hand and tips her head, and my feet, with minds of their own, begin to follow her. A look of relief crosses her face before she looks over her shoulder to say something to someone behind me, but my ears are ringing now.

After a moment, she pulls me into the men’s locker room. She sits on a bench, and I start pacing the locker area, trying to take deep breaths, to calm myself and bite back the panicked energy in my chest. Despite my mood, I’m able to note with appreciation how she lets me get this out, how she doesn’t try to give me any kind of false sense of security or, worse, brush it aside like it’s no big deal, the way everyone else seems to these days.

Instead, she sits, watches, waits, and lets me know without any words at all that she’s here for me. That realization is what makes me stop pacing in front of her, close my eyes, and admit it.

“I can’t go out there today.” I expect shame or a pep talk, but instead, she just stands and wraps her arms around my shoulders, holding me.

“I know,” she whispers, her voice angelically soft as I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her closer. With the contact, some of the jittery feeling evaporates, and even more so when I press my head against her neck and take a deep breath, letting her comforting scent fill my senses. It’s strange how quickly I’ve come to feel safe with Lana, but I do. Not necessarily safe from danger, but safe to be me, safe to show her the softer parts of who I am without fear of her holding it against me or judging me.

“We’ve got this, Rome. We’re going to figure out what’s happening.” Her voice is low and gentle, the way someone might talk to a spooked animal. Slowly, my breaths start to even out. That feeling is still coiled in my chest, but with her touch, I can see through the haze. “This is what they want. They want a reaction. They want you mad,” she says as she lifts her hand, running it through my hair.

“Someone is out for me, Lana,” I tell her, a confession that feels heavy. I haven’t told many people that thought, because even to me, it sounds self-centered.

“I know, Rome. I know, and I’m so sorry,” she says. I pull back, looking down at her, confused.

“You believe me?” Something unfamiliar crosses her face so quickly; I think I may have imagined it. Before she rests a hand on my cheek, its warmth further soothes my nerves.

“Of course I do. It’s obvious.”

“I know it sounds out there and conceited, but—” She shakes her head, cutting me off.

“It doesn’t. Anyone in your shoes would feel the same way,” she says. “But—” Before she can finish her sentence, the door opens. She tries to step back, but I keep her close, looking down at her. Silently, I tell her I need her next to me, and she gives me a soft smile, then nods. Phil enters right as I put an arm around her waist, tucking her into my side.

But it’s not just Phil who walks through the door: Tyler, Oliver, and a few other drivers follow him, looking agitated. For a moment, I think they’re here to tell me I’m being dramatic, to get out there and race, until I hear Tyler’s words as he walks in.

“We need to take this seriously, Phil. It’s clear someone wants to hurt Rome,” he says. Phil lets out a deep sigh, turning to the group following him. He looks more exhausted and aged than I’ve ever seen as he lifts his hands in a placating manner.

“Now, let’s not jump⁠—”

“I’m not. I’m using common sense,” Tyler says. “First the crash, then the drug test, now this?”

“We don’t know if they’re related—” Phil tries again.

“If you don’t take serious precautions to try and figure out what’s going on, I’m going to take a hiatus.”

“Ty, man, you don’t have to—” I start to, knowing that a missed race could impact his standings for the world title later this year.

“No, he’s right. We need to be taking this seriously. Next time, it might not just be a crash,” Oliver says, and for the first time in years, something unexpected blooms in my chest: hope.

They’re here because they also believe in me. And maybe, just maybe, because once upon a time we used to be friends, that still carries weight with them.

“We’re going to do full inspections for every truck tonight, and everything will be fine,” Phil says. “You can all rest assured that you will be completely safe to race today.” I shake my head, though.

“I’m not racing,” I say. “Not today. Someone knew where to cut my harness so it wouldn’t be obvious and was able to get into the stadium and into my truck without anyone noticing. I’m going to do a full inspection and hire a third party out of my own pocket for each upcoming stop, but I’m not racing tonight. I wouldn’t be in the right headspace, and that alone could be dangerous.” I look to Tyler and Oliver. “Not just for me, but for the other drivers and crew.”

“Roman, people came to see you. They’re going to be—” I shake my head at Phil, somehow feeling better now that I’ve vocalized this decision.