Page 109 of Over the Limit

The ones that Lachlan left on my desk as a silent acknowledgement that he’s happy I’m here at the race.

I see the minute awareness hits Rossi.

What they are.

Who they’re from.

Why I might have them.

He holds the four items in his hand, his eyes blinking rapidly as if it will help him process the thoughts slowly connecting in his mind.

And when he looks up at me, when he meets my eyes, there’s nothing I can say or do to erase the hurt etched in the lines of his features.

“Why are his fucking stupid candies in your pocket, Blair?”

I have nothing. What can I say to that?

“Evans?” he asks. Oh shit. “You’re what? Fucking him? Him? The boring-as-shit Australian?”

“Rossi,” I whisper his name as I see the shock radiating through his expression. “He’s my friend,” I lie.

“You’re a shit liar. Always have been.”

That expression shifts to anger.

To something I don’t think I’ve ever seen in him before.

“Oliver. We—”

“Fuck this. Just fucking fuck this.”

He backs away, head shaking, cheeks red. I’ve never seen him like this.

“Please.”

“You want the prick Rossi? You got him, sweetheart. You fucking got him.”

“Don’t be that way . . .” I shout after him as he turns on his heel. But I can’t chase after him. Not when I see Paolo standing across the path, arms over his chest, looking concerned.

Fuck.

Not when what I just broke, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to fix.

CHAPTER FORTY

Lachlan

“You motherfucker.”

Rossi comes at me out of nowhere. His growl echoes around the garage and luckily for us, everyone is out at an FIA meeting about track issues and it’s just me and a few other team members milling about.

Milling about but still there.

And now Rossi.

His words catch me off guard, but not enough that I’m prepared for him to pin me against the wall. And nowhere near enough that I don’t already have a feeling what this is about.

He knows.