Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
I don’t see Lana after our… fight? Disagreement?
I’m not even sure what to call it because I’m so wildly unfamiliar with actual relationships and caring about other people.
Guilt eats at me the entire night, thinking of all the mistakes I made at the party and in the car with Lana.
Even though I desperately want to call her to apologize and smooth things out, I am determined to give her the space she asked for.
I realized pretty quickly that I needed to talk to her, but I wanted to do it on her terms. I already fucked up by spilling the thoughts I’d been sitting on for a while now out without any kind of buffer, and I didn’t need to make that mistake again.
She wanted space, and so long as it wasn’t miles and days, I was fine with giving it to her.
I toss and turn the entire night, unable to get comfortable. It seems it didn’t take long for my body to get used to hers, and now that her warmth is gone, I can’t find sleep without it.
When I don’t see her the following morning, I tell myself it’s because she’s busy, not because she’s intentionally avoiding me.
I do send her a good morning text, to which she replies with “good morning, see you at the race,” accompanied by two heart emojis.
I find it both comforting that she isn’t fully ignoring me, and a bit nerve-racking that she clearly doesn’t plan to see me before the race.
It gives me plenty of time to overthink every second of the previous day, so by the time I do see her, I’m ready to grovel, to tell her that I was wrong to turn the conversation around on her, that I’m an asshole, that I’m working on it—anything to make things right.
I get to the arena early, hoping to see her sooner, but she doesn’t arrive until just a few minutes before call time.
When I catch sight of her, she’s already in her race suit with her helmet on and is talking to Demi.
She nods, and as if she senses my watching her, turns to face me.
The visor of her helmet is up, and for a moment, her face is guarded.
Nerves roll through me before her face changes, and she gives me the tiniest tilt of her lips.
Who knew that was all I needed to lift the heavy weight on my chest?
Still, I don’t miss how tired she looks, like she slept just as terribly as I did. Her face is pale, and there are circles under her eyes, making the regret settle deeper in my gut.
I should have never agreed to give her space.
I should have insisted we talk it out last night.
I should have told her what an idiot I was for being overwhelmed and that I fell back into old habits even though I’ve been trying to run from them.
That she’s right, it’s not who I want to be, and we’ll figure things out when all of this is over.
I shouldn’t have told her what to do with her life, even if I genuinely believe she needs to stay in the circuit.
I might not have seen her out on other assignments, but I feel deeply that she’s never fit anywhere the way she does here.
Even long after I’m gone and back in Indy, I want her here.
This is her destiny. It’s what she was born to do.
When she spots me, she moves, stepping toward me as if feeling that same pull, that same need to be near me, and with those few steps, my chest is made of air.
The relief washes through me as I realize that no matter what, we’re going to figure this out.
But before she can get far, Courtney calls her name, running over to her with a wide grin.
Lana’s eyes go wide, a smile pulling at her own lips before she nods and gets tugged away.
She looks to me, her smile hesitant, but I shake my head and shoo her off.
We have forever. I’m not letting her go either way.
With a sigh, I move toward my truck but stop once more when I spot Jordan talking with Mel in the wings.
It looks like they’re arguing, and I wonder if something is going on between them.
Jordan snaps, face going red with anger, and Mel raises her hands as if she’s at a loss for words.
I don’t think Jordan would do anything to hurt Mel, but I pause to see if Mel needs any help with the asshole.
While we aren’t close, she does work for my dad, and I know he would want me to make sure she doesn’t have any real issues with the other drivers.
I take a step that way, but before I can get much further, the announcement for drivers to get into their cars comes over the speakers, and it seems to snap them out of it.
Jordan stomps off, leaving an irritated Mel behind, and I wonder if everyone is just having trouble right now.
Could be some kind of moon phase that has everyone a bit twisted.
I inspect my truck both before getting in my seat, making sure everything looks right even though the third-party inspector has already gone through and approved the condition of the truck.
Then I attempt to shake out my nerves, stretching my neck before harnessing myself in.
Stress lingers in my bones, but that always seems to happen when I’m in a race.
My mind empties, and I focus on what I’m doing.
When I turn the engine over, I snap into race mode, and all other worries evaporate.
It happens so quickly; if I wasn’t watching Lana so closely as she made the jump, I might have missed it.
The way she flies is filled with enthusiasm and grace, something only Lana could bring to this sport, but when she lands, there’s a loud sound before something flies off her vehicle into the stands, thankfully landing in the sectioned-off area where spectators can’t sit.
Her tire explodes on impact, it seems.
It seems to destabilize her, and something happens to her engine; it cuts out, in what I hope is Demi engaging the engine kill switch remotely.
The truck tumbles, not effortlessly like a cross-thread or some other intentional roll, but chaotically, rolling twice before finally landing on its side.
In its wake, a silence rings in my ears.
Then the noise erupts.
The crowd cheers and shouts, and the announcer speaks over the PA system, telling everyone that rescue personnel will be on the track in a moment and to stay seated while we make sure Lana is okay.
From where I’m idling, I can see her purple and pink truck on its side, smoke coming from the engine, the front of the frame falling limp on the ground.
My eyes dart to a screen where the cameraman zooms in on Lana’s truck, then cuts out quickly, as if realizing they shouldn’t broadcast it to the entire area.
But for a moment, I caught a visual of the top of her helmet, completely still. Far too still to be normal.
My gut roils, and without even contemplating the backlash I could get, I’m moving, killing the ignition in my truck, and ripping off my gloves.
“Stay in your truck, Roman,” the voice in my helmet says, but I’m already struggling to unbuckle myself with my fumbling fingers. My hands are normally still, so sure in adrenaline-heavy situations, but right now, it’s like my body isn’t cooperating.
“Fuck!” I shout, trying to undo the latch a third time before succeeding. “Roman, do not leave the truck!” the crew chief shouts once more. The crowd is loud, chattering and yelling, and a crew runs onto the field with fire extinguishers.
My chest is about to explode, but I don’t respond.
“That’s an order, Roman. If you don’t, you might get suspended.”
“I don’t fucking care,” I say, finally undoing the last strap and freeing myself from the contraction. I remove my helmet, tossing it to the ground.
“Roman!” the voice says, loud enough to hear from here, but I can’t focus on it, not as I make my way out of my window, my feet hitting the dirt below.
All I can focus on is the wreckage before me, the love of my life in there, probably scared out of her mind.
Flashbacks from my own crash hit me, the panic and the fear, the yelling and the smell of smoke and burned rubber.
They’re spraying the engine with the fire extinguisher foam, and I wonder if the engine blew as well.
“Rome!” This time, the voice is outside my helmet, out on the field, but also familiar. I look around to find its owner, spotting Tyler in his green and black uniform jogging toward me. “Rome! Just wait it out! Let them work without you in the way!”
“No,” I say, moving toward the center of the arena. I’m both sweating and absolutely chilled to the bone now, adrenaline pumping through my veins, finding it nearly impossible to completely fill my lungs with air.
All I can think about is how we fought last night, how I let her sleep in her own bed, how I fucked up. How I shouldn’t have let her get into that truck without apologizing, how I should have kissed her, told her I was falling for her, and that was why I was so desperate to make sure she was happy.
That I’m sorry I’m a mess, that I’m sorry I’m an asshole, but I’m working on it. That I want to be better, not just for me, but for her.
That I’m desperate to be worthy of her.
I thought I’d have time—time to talk to her, to explain, to figure things out, but what if I don’t?
I run faster, trying to push that thought from my mind.
“Rome,” he repeats, grabbing my wrist. “You’re so close to going back to Indy. Don’t fuck it up now; there’s nothing you can do over there.”
“I don’t fucking care about Indy. I care about Lana,” I say, then rip my hand away before running toward her truck. To my left, a security guard is jogging my way, probably instructed to lock me down, but I don’t care.
Except the guard doesn’t catch up, because instead of following me, Tyler has tackled him to the ground. He looks over his shoulder, a grin on his face, that looks just like when we were kids, getting into trouble for no reason.
“Go!” he shouts. “Check on Lana!”
Relief rushes through me, if only for a moment, and I nod before continuing.
“Roman, you can’t—” Oliver says, not getting close, looking over my shoulder at Tyler, now fighting the guard to keep him away from me and give me the space I need to get to Lana.
“Fuck off,” I say, pushing him aside. And I’m grateful when he doesn’t come for me. Finally, I approach Lana’s truck, on its side. My gut drops, and I swallow back bile, trying to be brave, to stay in the moment, not to remember my own terrifying crash.
As I approach, they’re pulling her out of her truck gently, her body seemingly limp, and nausea roils.
“Rome!” voices call, but I ignore it, shaking off another pair of hands trying to hold me back. If I have to, I’ll hit someone, but thankfully no one stops me again as I reach Lana, now being laid onto a stretcher.
“Lana!” I call, moving to her side, and the world stops when I see her pretty green eyes on me.
“Hey there, pretty boy.” Her lips tip up, eyes a bit dazed, but still, relief moves through me in such a way that I almost become lightheaded.
“You know, if this is your idea of a grand gesture, I think we need to go back to boyfriend school,” she says with a weak laugh.
My throat tightens as I reach out and grab her hand.
When she squeezes, that relief becomes something tangible I can hang onto.
She’s okay.
She’s okay.
My heartbreaker is okay.
“Sir, we have to take her to the hospital,” an EMT says.
“I’m coming with,” I state. The EMT looks around nervously.
“We’re married,” Lana lies, and in that moment, I know she’s definitely okay, scheming as always. I smile down at her, and she returns it. “Let him come with. He’s very protective of me.”
“Damn right I am,” I say, grazing my knuckles over her cheek. When no one argues, he just shrugs and starts pushing the stretcher on all-terrain wheels toward the exit.