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“No! Jeez, no. He says we'll have the friends-with-benefits thing until he wants more, which he will. And I can't give him more.”

“But you like him?”

“It’s only been a few weeks; I mean, we don't know each other,” I stopped and stared at Logan—my brother was the only one I could tell the truth to. “That’s bullshit. I know he has a big heart and is everything that would make me want to live my truth. He’s snarky and positive, fighting his own battles and winning. Kind. Supportive. Sunshine.”

Sexy as fuck.

Mine.

“And you want to be with him,” Logan murmured.

“I don’t knowhowto be with him.”

The silence that followed was awful. My heart pounded, and I dropped my gaze to the floor, unable to face Logan.

Coming out as a driver felt impossible. Motorsport—especially Formula 1—wasn’t the kind of world where one could be open and out. It was a realm dominated by egos, tradition, and the relentless pressure to uphold an image of perfection. In that image, there was no space for what I desired.

I’d spent years in the paddock, and never once had I seen a current or retired driver come out. Not one. It wasn’t because there weren’t any. Statistically, that was impossible. It was because the culture didn’t allow it. The pressure to conform, to play the role, was suffocating.

I’d lived with that for so long that I knew no different.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry, as I forced myself to keep going. “You know how it is in motorsport. There’s no space for… for someone like me. And with my fucking head, I’m lost, Lo, I’m so fucking lost with what comes next.”

“Brody, I know I’m not supposed to ask this,” Logan said, as if he were treading on eggshells. “But… are you okay?”

I sighed, leaning back against the couch and scrubbing a hand over my face. “I had to call the doctor.”

Logan’s posture shifted, his focus sharpening as if a spotlight had been flipped on. “Why?”

“Dizziness. Some headaches. Nothing major.” My voice sounded dismissive, even to me. “Overdid it with… things.”

Twirling, dancing, living, loving.

Logan’s brows knitted together, the corners of his mouth turning down. “What did the doc say?”

I hesitated, my fingers curling into the edge of the cushion beneath me. “He wants me to come in for another MRI when I can.”

“Then you do that.” His tone left no room for argument, his gaze steady as it pinned me in place.

“What if it’s getting worse?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, low and shaky. “Just when I think I’m falling in love with Noah.”

Logan blinked, startled. “‘Love’?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I waved a hand, my frustration boiling over. “What if this thing in my head steals that from me? From him? What if I can’t give him a future?”

Logan sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he met my gaze head-on. “What if you can?”

“As a caregiver?”

“Oh, fuck you, Brody—you’re not done yet. Hell, I’m still doing my job as your manager, Brody. I’ve got contracts for you.”

“What?”

“I didn't stop after you retired. I'm not sitting here on my ass twiddling my thumbs. I have offers for sponsorships and at least three teams that want you on their roster in a technical or ambassador role if you want to return to the industry.”

Hope flickered but faltered as the familiar doubts crept in, sharp and unrelenting. I dropped my gaze to the floor. “But Noah… he could be… I'm…” I didn’t want to say it; I didn’t want to give life to the fear that had been eating at me since my first attraction to a man. But its weight was too heavy to carry alone. “They wouldn't want me if they knew about my head or if I came out.”

I glanced up at Logan, half expecting him to look away, to confirm the fears I couldn’t shake. But he didn’t. His expression hadn’t changed. If anything, the determination in his eyes had grown stronger.

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