Page 87 of Well Played

First my agent calls wanting details, then social media starts blowing up.

And then there’s a video.

Someone must have been recording because there’s me, barrel rolling, gasps, and then Robbie vaulting over the pit wall and running toward me.

It can’t have been one of my team, they all know better. It must have been a track worker who we hadn’t briefed on the situation. The thought never even crossed my mind.

But it should have.

I was foolish to think I could keep this a secret and I’m lucky it lasted as long as it did. There’s a part of me that still wants to make this work between us, that almost feels relieved now that it’s in the open.

The small, scared part of me doesn’t want to leave the shelter of Robbie’s house. It feels like a haven. No one bothers me here. The second day, his mom and dad stopped by and this morning, before the shit hit the fan, Eddie even came to check on me. Robbie and I didn’t have to pretend like we weren’t in a relationship in front of them, and it felt good. So good.

The real world always comes crashing back in, though.

First, it was a call from my agent, wanting every single detail of what’s been going on. She means well, but I know she’s fishing for anything that might make the swirling rumors go any more out of control than they already have.

Then it was nervous calls from sponsors who didn’t like the ‘look’ of their favorite perfect, squeaky clean driver having a secret affair with her biggest rival. Then the final one that let me knew my time in fantasy land was over, was a call from the factory.

They had concerns about what I’d told Robbie. They’d been perfunctory, answering my questions about the test lap and what had gone wrong with the car. In the end, everything circled back to what Robbie and Faraday Motorsports knew about our setup and manufacturing.

Which was nothing.

But I was so offended that they’d even assume I’d told him anything that would compromise our team that I gave them sharp answers that didn’t help defuse the situation.

By the time Robbie Friday morning to run the next weekend of races, I’m feeling well enough to pack. A few quick calls make travel arrangements to meet back up with my team. I won’t leave without talking to him, but after the conversation is over, I want to get out of here as soon as possible.

My chest aches as I sit on the couch, my bags stacked beside me, and wait for him to get back.

While I wait, anger brews.How have I let myself get stuck in this situation? I knew what I was doing and what I was risking, and I did it anyway.

The late morning sun angles through the window when I hear the crunch of Robbie’s tires on the driveway. I stand up, nerves urging me to pace, but fear cementing my feet to the carpet.

Robbie bursts through the front door, excitement on his face quickly dimming to reality as his eyes move from me to my packed bags. “Don’t go.” He doesn’t come closer or say anything else.

“I have to.” Tears clog my throat and my eyes itch. Watching him wall himself off from me is even more heartbreaking than I thought it would be. It makes me realize how much he’s opened up over these last few months.

He rubs his fingers through his hair, dragging them down over his cheeks, suddenly looking more exhausted than I’ve ever seen him before. “I know.” He takes a step closer. “But not like this.”

“How many questions did you get about us this weekend?”

The way his guard instantly snaps up tells me there were more than a few. “It’s fine. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“You shouldn’t have to. And neither should I.”

He’s still holding himself apart from me and I want to throw myself at him. Reassure him that what we have is real.

Had.

Was real.

“Robbie. I’m sorry.”Fucking hell.A tear slips out and I feel myself break apart. “I can’t right now.”

His head pops up, eyes studying me. “I’ll give you space, but we don’t end like this.” He motions between the two of us. “We can’t end like this.”

I close my eyes, desperate to believe that in some version of the future we can be together without all this bull shit weighing down on us. The reality is, I’m a woman in a man’s sport and those whispers about how I got to where I am will always follow me. “I can’t ask you to do that.” Outside, the ride I’d scheduled pulls in.

He steps closer, and his fingers lace through mine. He raises my hand to his lips and presses a kiss against the back. “You’re not asking. I’m refusing to accept any other option.”

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