Chapter 13 #2
With four laps to go, Mendes finally made a pass stick. He dived late into the left before the front straight, back tire chattering, the bike on the edge of grip. Hank ceded the corner instead of forcing it, tucked in behind, and waited.
It hurt to watch his number drop to P2 on the board.
It would hurt more if he let pride put him on the ground.
“Smart,” she murmured. “Be smart.”
He waited two laps.
On the penultimate lap, coming into the complex by the dunes, he made his move.
Where Mendes braked in one smooth, late squeeze, Hank feathered the lever just a hair earlier, turned in a fraction deeper, picked the bike up a fraction sooner.
It was the kind of difference you would never see on a casual ride down a coastal road. Here, it translated into drive.
Julie shot out of the curve with a cleaner exit and a stronger run. Side by side, then nose ahead. By the time they hit the short chute, Hank was in front again.
The stands exploded.
Bree clapped a hand over her mouth, laughter and something like a sob tangling together.
The last lap felt like it lasted an hour and a heartbeat at the same time. Every corner was a small miracle. Every straight, a test of faith.
When Hank came around the final turn with clear track behind him and pointed Julie at the checkered flag, she did not cheer; her voice would never have made it past the knot in her throat. The crowd did it for her, a wave of sound that crashed across the grandstand.
He crossed the line.
The graphic changed: P1 – H. JAMES.
Bree bowed her head and pressed her fingers hard into her eyes.
“Thank you,” she whispered, to no one in particular, to any safety gods who might be listening, to Bryn, to the universe.
On the giant screen, she watched him complete the cool-down lap, sit up, and pat Julie’s tank.
In parc fermé, Brian and Colby grabbed him, shaking him with delighted violence.
Someone shoved a microphone in his face, and he said something, but she could not hear it now over the blood pounding in her ears.
She stayed long enough to see him step onto the top podium spot and take the trophy.
Then she slipped out while everyone else was still watching the stage.
Getting back to the hotel felt like moving through a dream.
Her legs were shaky, her chest felt light and heavy at the same time.
She kept the hat brim low and the glasses on until she reached the relative quiet of the service lane, then took them off and hugged them to her chest as she ducked back through the side door.
In the stairwell, where the concrete walls deadened the race noise to a distant hum, everything caught up.
She had broken her promise. She had gone out into the crowded world he had asked her to stay away from. Nothing bad had happened, but that did not erase the choice.
She stopped on the landing between floors and leaned her shoulder against the cool cinderblock.
“You always wanted to see the finish line, Bryn,” she said softly. “Guess some habits die harder than others.”
By the time she reached her room, her heartbeat had settled a little. Her guilt had not.
She let herself in, locked everything again, and tossed the hat and glasses onto the chair.
The TV still played the broadcast on a short delay. She turned the volume down to a murmur and stared at her phone.
No new messages yet.
He would be doing media, debriefs, the endless whirl that came with winning something like this. He did not owe her immediate reassurance. He did not owe her anything but the truth he had already given.
She owed him the same.
The knock came sooner than she expected.
Three quick raps, pause, two more. Her entire nervous system lit up in anticipation.
She crossed the room fast and opened the door.
Hank stood there with his hair still damp from a quick shower, a Copper Moon Performance T-shirt stretched over his chest, jeans hanging low on his hips. He had the trophy in one hand and a paper bag in the other.
The sight of him there, whole and breathing and grinning, nearly brought her to her knees.
“Hey,” he said. His voice was rough, like it had been scraped over gravel. “Heard you know a guy who won a race.”
“Rumor reached me,” she managed. “Congratulations.”
He stepped inside; set the trophy on the dresser with a satisfied clunk. The paper bag landed beside it. Before she could say anything else, he was in front of her, big hands settling at her waist.
“Bree,” he said.
“Hank,” she answered.
He kissed her.
Everything that had been wound tight inside her poured into that contact. She went up on her toes as his mouth claimed hers, arms flying around his neck. He tasted like mint and a faint hint of champagne; his lips firm and sure; his body radiating heat through the thin cotton of his shirt.
He lifted her without effort, hands sliding under her thighs; her legs wrapped around his hips on reflex. She gasped against his mouth; laughed when her shoulders hit the wall; the sound swallowed by another kiss that went deeper, slower.
“God, you feel good,” he murmured against her lip. “Kept thinking about this every time I hit that straight. Probably not ideal race prep.”
“Whatever you did worked,” she said, slightly breathless. “Maybe we should add it to your routine.”
“Pre-race visualization, huh,” he said. “Might have to keep that one between us.”
He eased her back to her feet, though his hands did not leave her for long. He cupped her face, thumbs brushing her cheekbones; eyes searching hers.
“You okay, honey?” he asked. “You look like you have about six extra thoughts bouncing around in there.”
She swallowed.
Here it was.
“I’m okay,” she said. “And I owe you the truth.”
His fingers stilled.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Hit me.”
She didn't back away; she didn't look at the floor. She met his gaze and lifted her chin a fraction.
“I watched the race from the north grandstand,” she said. “Not on TV.”
His jaw flexed. “Start at the beginning.”
“I stayed in the room for tech and the whole Red Dragons mess,” she said. “I swear I did. I watched the inspection, the fight, and Stoke getting hauled out. I texted you from this bed. But when they put the bikes on the grid for the race, I… I panicked.”
“Because of Bryn,” he said quietly.
“Because of Bryn,” she agreed. “I kept thinking about that hospital room. Sitting there while someone you love is dying. The interminable waiting, holding my breath, trying to be strong, all the while sitting bedside and not moving because the fear of stepping from the room and the unthinkable happening while I was gone was stronger than anything. I couldn’t do that again, not exactly like that. ”
She took a breath.
“So I put on the hat and sunglasses. I went down the service stairs and out the side door I found yesterday. I bought a general ticket, sat in the public stands, stayed away from the pits, and away from the Dragons. The cops and security were all over them, Hank. They were not looking at the crowd. I watched you race, and when you crossed the line, I left before you even hit the podium. Came straight back here.”
Silence settled between them, thick and heavy.
He closed his eyes for a second; opened them again. The way he looked at her made her feel like he was looking through skin and bone, directly at the place she tried hardest to keep hidden.
“Thank you for telling me,” he said at last.
“You’re not yelling,” she said.
“Thinking about it,” he replied. “Trying not to.”
She winced.
“I’m not mad at you,” he went on. “I am mad at the picture in my head of you in that crowd while I was riding, like you were behind three layers of hotel security. I made decisions out there based on the idea that I knew exactly where you were. You changed the plan and did not loop me in.”
“I know,” she said. “And I’m sorry. I picked the least risky way to break the rules, which is a terrible sentence when you say it out loud.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, despite everything. “Yeah, it is.”
He let out a breath, his shoulders loosening a fraction.
“I get why you did it,” he said. “If I had been through what you have, I might have done the same. That doesn’t mean I like it.”
“I don’t like it either,” she said. “I hated lying to you, even for a couple of hours. I hated that I felt like I had to choose between being safe and being present.”
He brushed his thumbs across her cheeks again, a small, grounding touch.
“Okay,” he said. “So next time, we do not put you in that position. If my safety plan involves you, we build it together. No assumptions. No heroics in a floppy hat.”
She huffed a weak laugh. “Deal.”
“Good,” he said softly. “Because I am very attached to the idea of you being around for a long time.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Me too.”
Something eased between them then. Not completely, this was not something one conversation could fix. But a knot she had been carrying in her chest loosened enough for air to move more freely.
He kissed her again, slower, a question instead of an explosion.
She answered yes with the way she pressed closer, with the way her fingers curled into his shirt and then under it, seeking skin.
The rest of the world faded to a low hum.
They made their way to the bed half by accident, half by design. Touches punctuated every step, the slide of his hand along her spine, the curve of her fingers over the back of his neck. When he peeled her T-shirt away, he did it with a care that made her feel cherished, not exposed.
“You’re beautiful,” he said simply, looking at her like she was the first good thing he had seen in days.
“You’re biased,” she said, cheeks warm.
“Not even a little,” he answered.
His own shirt went next, tossed somewhere toward the chair. The lines of his chest and stomach were familiar enough from earlier glimpses that they did not startle her, but the reality of his bare skin under her hands still made something in her curl tight.