Page 52 of Cross the Line
‘Don’t you still have a year left on your contract?’ I ask. ‘Don’t they have to honour it?’
Dev snorts and shakes his head, returning to stalking back and forth across the floor. ‘That contract doesn’t mean shit. I’ve seen guys get paid out and then never drive again. I don’t want that to be me. It can’t be. I won’t let it.’
He’s growing agitated again, like a tiger pacing in a too-small cage. Argonaut is holding him back, and this is the first time I’ve ever seen him lose his shit over it. But I’m sure it’s not the first time it’s ever happened.
I never got to bring up the topic of changing the direction of his image revamp, but if he’s going to leave Argonaut, he’s going to need all the help he can get to find another team and stay in F1.
‘If they’re going to fuck me over, maybe I should do the same to them,’ Dev rambles on, stopping again in the centre of the room. He’s staring at me, but it’s like he’s looking right through me. ‘Crash in every practice and qualifying and race so they have to spend a ton of money to fix the car. We’d be constantly penalized because of all the modifications. It would be a disaster for everyone, not just me.’
To snap like this, to consider sabotaging everything he’s worked for, is extreme. But he’s angry and reacting, and I can’t blame him for it.
Wishing I could do more to soothe him, I softly say, ‘You’re not going to do that, Dev.’
He blinks in rapid succession like he’s realizing I’m here for the first time. And then his shoulders slump and his eyes slide shut as he composes himself. When they open again, I’m no longer speaking to the caged predator. My Dev is back, even if he’s missing that glowing lightness.
‘Willow,’ he exhales, fingers uncurling from fists. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that. I didn’t mean it. I’m just . . .’ He trails off, dragging a hand through his hair again before shaking his head with a sad, short laugh. ‘Fuck, I don’t know what to do any more.’
I sink my teeth into my lower lip, wishing I could offer a solution past what we’ve already set into motion.
‘Until teams stop seeing me as a liability,’ Dev goes on, defeat seeping into his voice, ‘no one’s going to want me.’
Pain sparks in my chest at his admission. It feels like a literal impossibility that none of the teams would want Dev. Maybe his reputation isn’t spectacular right now – though it’s improving by the day – but his racing speaks for itself. He’s fought tooth and nail for every point he’s scored with Argonaut. It doesn’t take an engineer or a physicist to know the machinery he’s working with isn’t anywhere close to being on par with Mascort or Specter Energy, but his qualifying times are rarely more than a second off the leader’s pace. And nine times out of ten, he out-qualifies his nepo-baby teammate.
His dedication is obvious, and a person would have to be completely ignorant to miss his hunger for more. He has everything it takes to be a champion, except for a team that can – or even wants to – make him one.
And yeah, he’s talking about his racing career here, but I wish I could tell him how much his friends, his family and his fans love him and want him. How muchIwant him.
‘We’re fixing it,’ I declare. I’m itching to move closer and grip him by the shoulders to drive my point home. But I don’t. It’s best to keep my distance when emotions are running this high. ‘Things are already starting to look better. Does Howard know you want out?’
Dev nods and slowly draws in a breath, like he’s tamping down his feelings so he can focus on logic. ‘I’ve told him to put feelers out, but he hasn’t come back with any solid leads. He keeps telling me to stick it out here, to give it my all so my chances are better when my contract is almost up. But how can I expect my chances to improve when Argonaut won’t even let me race?’
His composure cracks again, his expression twisting with anger and grief. Argonaut holds his dreams in its hands and can crush them at will. Hell, they’re already squeezing – and hard.
I can’t resist any more. I take a few quick steps toward him, only halting when we’re toe to toe and my palms are splayed on his chest. His heart is raging, battering his ribs. I’m pushing the limits right now, but he needs to know that he’ll get through this. And that I’m on his side.
‘Hey,’ I urge, scanning his face, noting that the resentment in his expression fades just a little. ‘It’s going to be okay. We’ll get you through this, and you’re going to sign with a team that actually values you. It might not be tomorrow, or next month, or by the end of this season, but you’re going to get what you want.’ I swallow past the emotion welling up. ‘Okay? I know it. And I’ll do whatever I can to make sure of it.’
I slide my hands around to his back and up to his shoulder blades, then shuffle in to hug him tight, my cheek pressed to his chest. He’s stiff in my arms, his own still down by his sides, and for a moment, I panic, worrying that I’ve done the wrong thing. I’m testing the boundaries of our friendship, of our professional relationship, but how am I supposed to leave him without comfort when it’s clear he needs it?
I’m just loosening my hold, ready to surrender and pull away, when he gently wraps his arms around my shoulders. He drops his forehead to the top of my head, suddenly enveloping me in his hold. I’ve hugged Dev countless times, from quick one-armed squeezes to tackled embraces, but there’s something so different about the way he’s holding me now – like if he lets go, he’ll break.
Holding him just as fiercely, I shut my eyes and breathe him in. I don’t care that he’s sweaty and smells faintly of gasoline. I only want to press myself closer and stay there for ever. We fit perfectly, as if I was always meant to be wrapped up with him.
He exhales heavily against my hair and mumbles, ‘I’m sorry,’ but he doesn’t lift his head. ‘I know this isn’t what you signed up for. You’re supposed to be posting silly pictures of me, not talking me off the ledge.’
‘I don’t care,’ I reply, my voice muffled by his shirt. ‘You’re allowed to be upset. Because this is incredibly shitty.’
His chest vibrates under my cheek as he chuckles. ‘Hearing you curse is still so thrilling.’
‘Shut up.’ I squeeze him tighter for one more second before convincing myself to finally let him go. I’m afraid if I don’t do it now, I never will.
He’s wearing an exhausted half smile when I pull back enough to look up at him, and I let my hands linger on his pecs, soaking in his warmth. Then, with a slow breath, I make myself drop them.
‘Thank you for letting me vent,’ he says. ‘And for talking me out of wrecking a multimillion-dollar car.’
I snicker and shake my head, but I’m fighting a grin and the largest kaleidoscope of butterflies my stomach has ever battled. ‘I can’t believe you let me see you being anything less than perfect.’
‘It happens sometimes.’
