Page 64 of Hook Up

“Hey, beautiful. Sorry I missed your call. I was in the shower.”

Liar, liar. I chew my lip, uncertain how to proceed. I want to scream at him, rail at his myriad of lies, and demand answers. Hear him admit the wicked truth and force him to explain why he would want to hurt me, of all the people in his life.

But what’s the point? I got my answer, in no uncertain terms. I saw it with my own eyes. His additional fibs are just icing on the proverbial cake.

So, as I’ve done since I turned eighteen and my father destroyed my family, I slip on my mask, presenting a strong front to the world. Besides, Ryder doesn’t deserve my tears. “How was qualifying?”

“Finished first,” he boasts, and I picture his arrogant ass strutting around his suite like a peacock. Likely strutting around for Mandi’s benefit as well.

I did not need that visual.

“Of course you did. Ryder Gray never loses.”

“I won with you. So, is my cheerleader going to be here tomorrow, rooting me on?”

I almost inquire to which woman he is referring, but I bite my tongue. “Please be careful. I worry about your safety. I worry about you.” My words are the truth. Despite everything, he’s someone I’ve known the majority of my life. My brother’s best friend. A man who thinks a car moving over 200 mph around a track is the definition of excitement.

What the hell was I thinking? Talk about opposites.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve got an angel protecting me now.”

Swallowing back the nausea, I pass the driver some cash as he pulls up to the airport terminal. I need to end this call, and fast, before Ryder realizes where I am. “Get some rest. I have to get back to work.”

“You’re still on Long Island?” His voice reeks of disappointment, but I know it’s all a front.

“I am, but I’m trying to get there. Don’t lose hope.” It’s a lie. I lost hope almost an hour ago.

Why don’t I admit I’m in Charlotte? Because then he’ll spend the night embroiled in a row with me, which is stupid, pointless, and highly unsafe. Regardless of if he gets ten hours or ten minutes of sleep, Ryder will race tomorrow.

I refuse to be responsible for him being anything less than perfect. We will talk, but not now. Right now, I’m a ball of emotions and none of them are pretty. Give me a day or two, and I’ll be back to my rational self. My heartbroken, never trust a man again, rational self.

Then, I’ll let him have it with both barrels.

“I wanted to discuss something with you before the race, but… I didn’t want to do it over the phone.”

Of course not. Divorce is such a sticky topic. Much better suited for an in-person discussion.

“Will it keep? Can it wait until I’m there?”

“Sure. Just know that I have plans for us, Gigi. Big plans.”

I’ll be he does.

Swallowing back tears and forcing a smile for the aggravated cab driver, I push open the door, blasted by the cacophony of noise. “Good luck tomorrow. I’ll see you soon, Ryder.”

“Not if I see you first—”

I click off before he can finish his sentiment, and immediately regret my decision. I didn’t tell him I loved him or that I cared. Even though I know what he did, I hate the idea of him racing without that knowledge. Something about working around life and death every day that sinks into your soul. You never know when the last time will be the last time and you’d better let people know how you feel.

Even if they don’t feel the same.

I dial his number again, struggling with my suitcase as I head for the ticket counter.

“You hung up.”

“The call got disconnected. I love you, Ryder. Promise me you’ll be safe.”

“I promise. Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

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