Page 77 of Heartbreaker

“But it could have been different,” he breathes, pressing his lips to my temple. “I was so scared.” His thumb grazes over a bandage on my cheek from where the edge of my helmet hit my cheekbone. It’s barely a scrape, but Rome insisted it needed attending to. I turn my head and press my lips to the center of his palm before his phone chimes with another text. He’s been ignoring the device since I was discharged, but when he checks the screen this time, he lets out a groan.

“What’s wrong?”

“Another text from my dad. It seems the mess from today is already all over the papers.” I cringe, guilt eating at me.

“That can’t be great for your stay out of the cameras and out of trouble mission,” I say with a small smile.

“I would do it again.”

“Why did you do that? It was reckless.” He shrugs as if that doesn’t matter.

“Because you were hurt.”

“But you might get suspended, Rome. The officials told you to stay off the arena.” He brushes my hair back, shaking his head.

“They weren’t going to keep me from you, Lana.”

“Yes. But—” He stops what he’s doing, both of his hands moving to my jaw to hold my gaze on his, and I see it there.

The mask is gone.

Not just lifted, not slid back, but completely and totally gone.

Before me is Roman in his truest, deepest self, looking at me with nothing but pure adoration and concern on his face.

“None of it matters, Lana. None of it. Not racing, my image, the brand, or suspensions. None of it matters if I didn’t have you to celebrate it all with.” My pulse picks up as he continues to look at me, to hold me enraptured in his gaze. “That’s why I ran down to get you: until I got to you, until I could make sure you were okay and safe and still my Lana, none of it mattered.”

“Rome,” I whisper.

“I’m so deeply, terribly, terrifyingly in love with you, Lana. I’ve never felt this way for someone, never cared more about them than I do my career. Until you, I never had anyone who so desperately wants me to be myself, who believes in me, who sees beyond the bullshit, and who calls me out for it. So yes, I raced onto the field even though I most definitely will get a fine for it, even though it’s probably going to be plastered in the press and twisted into me being insolent, and maybe get me suspended from this, too. But I’m okay with it, because racing isn’t all I want to live for anymore.”

“Rome,” I repeat, his name seemingly all I can say right now.

“I want to live for you, too. And I’m sorry for our argument yesterday, for giving you a hard time about your plans for the future. What I should have said was that you’re amazing at racing, that I could see you having a future here, but whatever you choose, I’ll support you. If you want to be a Maven, if you want to be the Chameleon, or if you want to be Heartbreaker, I’ll support you because I’m in love with you and I just want you to be happy. I’m an idiot, but I’d like to remind you I’m new at this boyfriend thing and I’m a recovering asshole.”

“You’re my recovering asshole,” I say with a soft smile.

“I am,” he murmurs. “And I will be as long as you let me. I’m gonna fuck up and fall back into old patterns. But when I do, call me out just like you did. I can take it, I promise. I want to be better—not just for me, but for you, too.”

“You can’t make me cry, Rome. I have a concussion,” I sniff.

“I don’t think that not crying is in the care instructions.”

“Well, it should be,” I say as he dabs at the tear that fell. “I love you too, you know.” I lift a hand, brushing my thumb over the spot I patched up on his eyebrow all those weeks ago. “I think I have for a while.”

“Assholes do it for you, huh?” I shake my head, smiling softly.

“No. Guys who want the world to think they’re assholes because they aren’t sure who they’re supposed to be, but are secretly softies, do it for me. A man who confesses his fears rather than hides them does it for me. A man who gets me Calico Critters because he wants to take care of the little girl version of me, too, does it for me. A man who kisses my tears away and tells me that I can be a badass and be soft does it for me. You do it for me, Rome.” He pulls me onto him then, sitting me in his lap and pressing his lips to mine until I give the barest wince when my rib aches.

“Shit, Lana, I shouldn’t—” he starts, trying to move me, but I shake my head.

“No, this is exactly what I need.” I snuggle deeper into his arms, taking a breath and letting it out, the lingering stress of the last day melting away as his hand gently moves up and down my back. “I just want this. I just need you.”

He sighs, then settles into the bed with me before his phone pings again, and he groans, making me smile. “You’re very popular,” I say.

“I wish they’d all leave me alone,” he grumbles, reaching over for his phone.

“Well, think about that next time you decide to run onto a field, risking life and limb. Everybody wants to yell at you.” His brow furrows at his phone, and I lift my head to check his confused face.