Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Xavier
Graduation day should feel bigger than this. It should feel monumental, like a finish line, a victory lap. But all I feel is restless. Like I’m standing on the edge of something, waiting for the checkered flag to drop, though I don’t know what race I’m running anymore.
The ceremony drags on, but the moment I spot Izzy in her cap and gown, a few rows ahead of me, laughing at something one of her friends says, my chest tightens. She looks happy. Free. And all I can think about is how many times I’ve fucked up with her.
I clap when her name is called. I watch as she walks across the stage with that same determined stride she’s always had, as if she owns every damn step. I want to tell her I’m proud of her, but the words feel too small for how I really feel.
When it’s my turn, I cross the stage, grab my diploma, and hear the cheers. Some from my family. Some from friends. But the one voice I search for is hers. When I find her in the crowd, she’s clapping for me, her smile real. No hesitation. No second-guessing.
God, she has no idea what she does to me.
The celebration tonight is loud, wild, and packed.
Everyone from our school shows up at Nolan’s place.
Someone cranks the music too high. Someone else starts a beer pong tournament.
There’s a bonfire in the backyard, and people are already half-drunk, clinging to each other like summer’s already here to burn away whatever’s left of high school.
Izzy’s here, and that should be enough to make this night feel right. But it doesn’t. I keep catching her watching me, and I know she sees them, the girls. The ones who keep trying to get my attention. The ones I’ve let distract me for months.
I tell myself it was a way to get my mind off her, off the fact that I can’t have her. But standing here now, watching her across the party, I know I’ve been lying to myself.
Lisa loops an arm around my neck, pressing against me. She’s got that look in her eyes, the one that says she expects me to follow her upstairs.
I don’t want to, but I let her pull me toward the house anyway because old habits die hard. Because I’m a coward. Because every time I see Izzy look away, like it physically hurts her to watch me with someone else, I feel like the biggest piece of shit alive.
The room Lisa drags me into smells of cheap perfume and something artificial, like she sprayed too much air freshener before dragging me in here. She pushes me back onto the bed, straddling me, her hands moving fast and eager.
I close my eyes. Try to focus. Try to make this work, but the second she kisses my neck, my mind betrays me. I don’t see Lisa. I don’t feel Lisa.
It’s Izzy. Her hands, her lips, her body pressed against mine, warm and real, everything I want but can’t have.
A low groan slips from my throat before I can stop it. “Izzy…”
Lisa freezes. My whole body locks up.
Fuck. I shove her off me, heart hammering in my chest. “I can’t do this.”
Lisa glares, hair messy, breath uneven. “Are you serious right now?”
I run a hand through my hair, already reaching for my shirt. “Yeah.”
“Unbelievable,” she mutters, climbing off the bed. “You know what? I should’ve known. You’ve been pining over her all damn year.” I don’t say anything. She’s right. I grab my jacket and get the hell out of there.
The night air is cool against my overheated skin as I make my way back to the party. My head’s a mess. My pulse still pounds from whatever the hell happened in there.
Izzy’s standing by the fire, talking to Nolan. She looks up when she sees me, her expression unreadable. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep using other girls to drown out the one I truly want. I need to fix this. I need her.
I take a deep breath and decide. No more distractions. No more running. It’s time to fight for her.
Racing season has begun, and Izzy and I are slipping back into old routines.
The roar of engines still echoes in my ears, and the scent of burning fuel and fresh dirt hangs thick in the air.
The track’s energy is electric, buzzing through my veins like a drug I can’t get enough of.
My heartbeat is settling back to normal when my eyes find her.
Izzy stands by her car, helmet resting on the hood, her racing jumper unzipped and tied around her waist, revealing the white t-shirt with our team’s logo stretched across her chest. Her design.
I remember the late nights we spent sketching logos and tweaking color schemes for our dads’ teams, back when things between us weren’t so damn tense.
Now? Now, all I feel is friction. Heat. A pull toward her I can’t shake, no matter how hard I pretend otherwise.
I approach her before I even realize my feet are moving.
The way she’s standing, spine straight, confidence radiating off her after that solid race, has my chest tightening.
I’ve always known she could handle herself on the track, but watching her dominate out there does something to me.
Pride. Lust. Maybe even something deeper I don’t want to name.
Without thinking, I step behind her and rest my hands on her shoulders. She tenses for a split second, then relaxes under my touch. My thumbs press into the knots, massaging the tight muscles. When she lets out a soft sigh, I feel it like a spark straight to my bloodstream.
“That was some great racing,” I murmur, my lips dangerously close to her ear.
A shiver runs through her, and I feel it beneath my palms, the way she trembles slightly. It’s subtle, but I know I have an effect on her. I always have. The problem? She fights it. Fights me.
“Thanks,” she breathes, voice soft.
She closes her eyes, savoring the moment, and I want to believe this is it.
That I’ve finally broken through that wall she keeps putting up between us.
But then, like always, she recovers. She shifts to look at me, those sharp green eyes full of something unreadable.
Something cautious. She scans my face like she’s searching for proof that this isn’t some game to me.
Then, her lips part, and just like that, the moment is gone. “Hey, X, eyes up here. I’m not some track bunny who’s an easy lay.”
Shit. I swallow hard, caught, my eyes snapping back up to meet hers. Busted. I wasn’t even trying to check her out this time. Okay, maybe a little, but can she blame me? I am a man, and she looks good. Always has.
“Trust me, I know,” I manage, my voice rougher than I mean for it to be.
She rolls her eyes dramatically before setting her helmet down, her expression unreadable again. “Is there something you want?”
Yeah. You. I don’t say it, though. Because I know how that conversation will go.
Izzy hates the way I live my life, the way I take what I want without hesitation.
She acts like it’s some kind of flaw, like I’m reckless with everything, including her.
She doesn’t see that I’ve been careful when it comes to her.
That I hold back. That every girl I’ve been with has been a distraction.
Because she’s the one I actually want. And that scares the hell out of me.
The teasing smirk fades from my face. “Nah, I wanted to tell you, you did good tonight.”
Her jaw tightens, like she was expecting some cocky remark instead. “Thanks,” she mutters, then turns on her heel and walks away.
I watch her go, frustration boiling under my skin.
This isn’t how things used to be. We used to be inseparable.
We’d race through the pits as kids, dreaming about making it big one day.
She was my best friend before things got complicated.
Before I started wanting her in ways I shouldn’t.
And now? Now, she acts like I’m another guy she has to compete with on the track.
Like she doesn’t feel this thing between us the same way I do.
I rake a hand through my hair, exhaling hard, before following after her.
I find her near her dad, Austin Jones, a legend in his own right. He’s got an air filter in his hand, clearly getting ready for his race. They’re talking, laughing, and for a second, I watch. Izzy’s different around him. Softer. She lets him in. She used to let me in, too.
I force my feet to move, stepping up beside them. Izzy notices me first, and I don’t miss the way her breath catches before she schools her features into something neutral.
Austin clears his throat, giving me a knowing look. He’s always been like a second dad to me, but I can’t tell if he sees me as someone worthy of his daughter.
“So,” I start, breaking the tension, “you ready for your race?”
Izzy blinks like she wasn’t expecting me to address her. “Yeah,” she says, then clears her throat. “Yes. I’m ready. Let’s go kick some ass.”
Austin raises an eyebrow. “Mouth, young lady.”
Izzy sticks her tongue out at him, and he laughs before climbing into his Late Model UMP.
I watch as she presses two fingers to her lips, then places them over her heart.
A silent good luck. Austin mirrors the gesture before rolling away toward the lineup.
Their tradition. The kind of thing I wish I had with Izzy.
I stand beside Izzy, our arms brushing, her scent, a mix of engine grease, vanilla, and something uniquely her, wrapping around me.
I lean in enough that she can hear me over the rumble of the engines. “Are you going to ignore me all night?”
Her gaze stays locked on the track, her posture stiff. “I’m not ignoring you, X. I’m giving you space so the track bunnies can swoop in and grab your attention.”
My stomach twists at the bitterness in her voice. It’s not the first time she’s thrown my reputation in my face, but this time, it stings more than I expect it to. I glance at her, trying to read her, but she’s got her walls up. Always guarded. Always bracing for me to disappoint her.
“Ouch,” I say, forcing a smirk even though it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “I guess I deserve that.”
She shrugs like it doesn’t matter, but the tension in her shoulders tells me otherwise. “When I see the same thing week after week, it gets harder and harder to watch.”
I hate the idea of her watching. Not because I don’t want her to see who I am, but because I don’t want her thinking I’d ever treat her like one of those random girls.
Before I can stop myself, I move closer, wrapping my arms around her from behind. She stiffens for a second before melting into me, and that’s all the confirmation I need.
“I’m sorry, B,” I whisper, using the nickname I gave her years ago. “I want to make it up to you.”
She turns her head, and suddenly, we’re too close. Our lips are inches apart.
“You want to make it up to me?” she whispers, her breath warm against my lips.
“Yeah,” I breathe, my eyes locked on her mouth.
She studies me as if searching for an answer, then lifts her hand, cupping my jaw with the gentlest touch. My eyes close at the sensation, my pulse hammering in my throat. When I open them again, she’s already making her terms clear.
“Prove to me for two whole weeks that you can keep it in your pants and that I’m the only one you want on and off the track. Then we’ll talk.”
A challenge. One, I fully intend to win.