Page 148 of Downforce

“No. You’re not leaving.”

“You just insulted me.”

“I did no such thing, and you know damn well I didn’t.”

“I could break your damn arm,” she threatens.

“Do it.”

Her gaze tracks from my face to my arm, which is still firmly pressed against the door. In the span of the silence that surrounds us, I become fully aware that she’s seriously considering breaking my arm. I don’t budge.

“I’m not a coward,” she finally says.

“I never said you were. Nor did I mean to imply it,” I add when it looks like she’s going to protest. “But something is holding you back from going after what you truly want.”

I hesitate, deciding if I want to tempt fate or the strength of my humerus bone.

“I never should’ve let you watch my Julius Ceasar DVD.”

And her precious ‘1953 Marlon Brando’, I mock in my head before coming back to the present.

“Is it because of your OCD?”

Her eyes widen as if it’s a question she’d never considered before.

“It’s not …” Her wobbly voice trails off, her eyes falling to the floor.

I hate the way her shoulders slump almost in defeat. She needs time with this.

I wrap an arm around her back and the other behind her knees, scooping her up into my embrace and carrying her to the bedroom. I don’t know if her lack of resistance is due to tiredness or that her mind still races in trying to answer my question. Either way, I hold onto her.

In my embrace, I do my best to convey that I’ll be the strength for her the way she has been for me since the start of this season. Her presence, her words, her faith in me is what has propelled me to the best season I’ve had in a long time.

Her words filled gaps in my belief that I hadn’t realized existed or wasn’t ready to confront. The worn-down tatters of my self-belief, withered away by constant comparisons to the legendary ghost of my father and the emotional abuse of my mother, were caulked by the balm of her faith in me.

“You don’t have to answer tonight,” I tell her as I lay us down in my bed.

“I should go home,” she mutters, but there’s no heat or determination behind her words. Her body further betrays her statement when she curls deeper into my hold.

“Eventually,” I say, knowing if I have it my way, eventually will never come.

CHAPTER 40

Annalise

“Did you get your chocolate smoothie?” Max asks over the phone as I enter my apartment building.

I peer down at the smoothie in my hand. I’ve drank almost a quarter of it on my short walk from the shop.

“I earned it,” I defend. Despite getting in late from Spain, where this weekend’s Grand Prix was held, I had a session with my trainer this morning. It was the final European race of the season and the most awkward. For me, anyway.

“I know you did. Wish I could’ve been there.” He yawns, and my heart swoons a little.

Max went to Amato’s headquarters in Italy to go over post-race data and statistics. He’ll return home later tonight.

“You should get some rest.”

I laugh. “I should be telling you that.”