Page 95 of Rear View
My eyes narrowed to slits when I turned them on him. “I can’t believe you,” I said, dropping my bag onto the desk with a thunk.
“Me? I’m not the one trying to throw everything she’s worked for away on a rally driver.”
I scoffed. I wasn’t having that conversation with him. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Christian.”
He huffed, then snatched some papers from his desk. “How was yourtrip?”
“Great.” Sweet lord. I was two seconds from calling Xavier and begging him to come get me early, because he was the only thing that could make the day better.
“Yeah?” Christian let loose a sardonic laugh and tossed those papers down in front of me. “Definitely was for him.”
What the actual hell?My gaze dropped, landing on a printout of theNational Sports Magazinearticle. A picture of Xavier and Alec filled the left side of the page. They were leaning against the hood of their rally car, arms crossed over their chests. Their racing suits were unzipped, the tops hanging loose around their hips, showing off their black tanks and bare, muscular, tattooed arms. They looked good. Really good.
My gaze trailed to the headline in big bold print at the top of the page and my heart plummeted.
Single In Sport: How Two Bachelor Racers Are Changing The Face Of Rally And Flocking Female Fans To The Fray.
My knees went weak, and tears stung my eyes. He’d done that interview in Emerald Cove. When I was with him. When we were together. A couple. Official.
Single in sport?Single?Why would he do that? Why would he let that happen?
My face burned, and my lungs hurt. I wanted air but it wouldn’t come. I couldn’t be there anymore. I needed to leave before the barely there threads holding me together unraveled. Needed to leave before those tears fell for real.
Christian opened his mouth, but I had no interest to hear anything else he had to say, so I snatched up the papers, burst from my chair and fled.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Xavier
I dragged a hand through my hair, staring at my phone. 4:50 PM. Ryah was ’sposed to be done twenty minutes before, which, I got it, stuff ran long. And on its own, that would’ve been fine, but she hadn’t answered a single text since that morning. Hadn’t called and hadn’t picked up when I did.
My girl was careful. Wasn’t on socials, didn’t go out, drink, anything. Something was up with it. Fucked if I knew what, and no doubt it was linked to that past she wasn’t keen to talk about. But not hearing from her, it had my lungs tightening.
The weather was shit. Freezing rain iced the windshield and coated the hood. And I hated the idea of her being stuck out there.
My gut torqued, telling me something wasn’t right. Couldn’t place why, and I couldn’t shake it either. Yeah, my old man was getting out in three days, but that wasn’t it. I needed to figure it out, though, ’cause that feeling sucked ass.
I stroked the key chain Ryah’d got me when the buzzof my phone vibrated through the vehicle. I snatched it up and scanned the screen. A text from Alec came through.
Alec: Sheila stole my phone and took this the other night. Said I needed to send it to you.
A picture followed. One of me and Ryah at the pub. Her back was to my chest, my arms around her. There was a smile on that pretty face, those copper eyes soft. The way we looked at each other… Christ. It was deep. Real goddamn deep. And perfect. I saved it and tucked my phone away.
Shifting in my seat, I eyed the path to the psych building.Fuck it.I hopped out and headed for the entrance. Had no clue where I was going, but I stuck my head in door after door, lookin’ for her anyway.
A security guard stood there—that Stan guy from the first day dream girl and I’d met. His attention was fixed down the hall, toward a string of offices there. My stare lit on one door in particular. Barlowe’s. Ryah’s Prof…the dick guy. I advanced, aiming that way. It was closed, so I rapped my knuckles against it.
“Come in,” he said.
Swinging the door wide, I stepped inside. The guy sat behind a desk there, one with a high-tech setup. He had bronze hair that hit the shoulders of his pompous sweater-vest. And he looked every bit the self-important prick I’d expected.
He stiffened, hit the power button on the side of his monitor and faced me. “Can I help you?”
“Wonderin’ if you’ve seen Ryah Nolan?”
Tipping his head back, he looked down his nose at me. “Who’s asking?”
It wasn’t the question that ticked me off, but the fake, arrogant-ass tone he used to deliver it. I flicked my chin up. “The boyfriend.”
