Page 45 of Over the Limit

Because I think I know the answer.

And because the answer opens a doorway I think way too much about walking through . . . but know I can’t.

She clears her throat. “I broke up with Rossi.”

She broke up with Rossi. Not Rossi broke up with her.

That shouldn’t change things in my mind, but it does.

And that “doorway” just opened a bit wider.

Fuck me.

“Blair.” It’s all I can say as I struggle with how to comfort her. My instinct is to pull her into me and wrap my arms around her. It might help her but fuck if it won’t hurt me. The heat of her body against mine? Her face against my chest and her hair tickling my neck? “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s nothing to say. Just because it was a long time coming—something I can see now—doesn’t make it any easier.”

“I can understand that.” I say the words but don’t really know seeing as I’ve never allowed myself to seriously date anyone. The job comes first. My success comes first. And then once my time in Formula 1 runs out, then will come time for me. Then will come time I can share with someone else.

Isn’t that what’s been drilled into my head my whole life?

So why, standing here, looking at a woman who makes me feel things I don’t normally feel, do I feel like I’ve been missing out? I’ve never felt that way before.

“For the record, I won the award for best listener in primary school, so . . .” I hold my hands out and get the smile I was working for from her.

“In primary school?”

“Yes. That’s kind of like your elementary school, I believe.” I shrug and cross my arms over my chest. “You’re welcome to experience the marvels of an award-winning listener. I mean, I don’t offer these services to just anyone.”

Her smile widens and her head angles to the side, her vulnerability like a badge on her sleeve. “I became a fixture in his life. One that sat pretty on a shelf but that he no longer saw or thought needed attention.” She purses her lips. “It sounds stupid but that’s the best way I can describe it. I became an old memento . . . a toy Rossi wanted to hold on to because it made him feel good but one that he didn’t think was important enough to bring out to play with anymore.”

Jesus. I blow out an exaggerated exhale. “That’s brutal.”

“That’s the truth.” She glances over her shoulder for a beat and blinks away tears. “But it’s for the best. I can move on. He can move on. And . . . you know.” The break in her voice this time is ten times worse than over the phone because I can see her expression when she does it.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No.” Her smile is quick and melancholy. “Letting me say it out loud is more than enough. It’s . . . never mind.”

“No. Tell me.” I tap my ears and smile. “Do I need to show you the award to prove it?”

“It’s the stupid things I worry about.”

“Meaning?”

“I have other friends, and my family, don’t get me wrong, but Oliver has been my go-to person of sorts. He understands this world that we exist in, and few people do. He’s who I’d call at two in the morning when I have a bad dream. With our travel and the constantly changing time zones, it’s not always easy to call my best friend or parents with the time difference. Who am I going to go and do stupid things with that make me laugh so hard I can’t breathe? Who is going to laugh at my lame jokes and understand my penchant for reality television?”

Me.

And I think what she’s not saying is even more telling than what she is. Not. Who am I going to go to when I need a big hug or to be comforted?

Me.

“All very valid points. Ones I’d probably worry about too. Especially someone finding out about the reality TV bit.”

“You like trashy reality television?”

“Carmichael, I live it every day out there on the track. Dodging drivers who are in bad moods. Avoiding crew members who are having a spat with another one. Checking over my shoulder for rival teams trying to take me down.”