CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Asher
“Why did you do it?” Russell braced his palms on the desk, looming over me while I sat flanked by Dawson and Ale. Ethan was in the hospital, and my career now hung on the extent of his injuries—and what he chose to do with them. My future was in his hands, and I had no one to blame but myself.
At least he’d been conscious when the ambulance took him.
“Why. Did. You. Do. It.” Russell repeated, stressing every word as if asking five times would magically produce a different answer.
I couldn’t tell him Kaia and I were together. But Ethan’s filthy comments had crossed every line, and I’d lost it.
“Because he deserved it.” My chest tightened as I pulled in a shaky breath. Fuck it. Russell needed to know what kind of man he’d allowed on the team. “And because he disrespected your daughter with inappropriate comments.”
Russell barked a dry, disbelieving laugh. “My daughter? Why would he disrespect someone he’s seen once in his life?”
Asshole. Didn’t he care about Kaia at all? Words today, but what if Ethan tried something when I wasn’t there? Bile rose in my throat. I might lose my spot mid-season, but I’d rather face the fallout than stand by while anyone hurt her.
“Ethan’s been with this team much longer than you, and we’ve never had problems,” Russell went on, his condescending tone scraping my nerves raw. “A team is about camaraderie and respect. You must think you’re better than everyone, but being your father’s son doesn’t give you the right to—”
“Russell.” Dawson’s voice thundered, cutting him off. “Not the time. Let’s wait for an update on Ethan.”
Russell slumped into his leather chair, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re all dismissed. I’ll contact Alejandro once Ethan’s agent or lawyer calls.”
I rose and shuffled out. My legs felt numb, my chest too tight to breathe. Ale and Dawson caught up, and we walked the hallway in silence.
“You need ice,” Ale said once we were outside. “For your cheek and your hand. Let’s go to my place. You too, Dawson. We need a strategy to handle this mess.”
“It’s over.” I tossed the words over my shoulder, heading for Ale’s SUV. “No strategy can fix it.”
Ale unlocked the car. “Let me do my job, mi nino.”
I stayed silent on the drive. At his place, he handed me an ice pack and pointed at the couch. “Sit. Want something to drink?”
“Water. Thanks.”
Dawson dropped beside me. “I’ll take something stronger.”
Ale returned with a bottle of water for me and whiskey for himself and Dawson. He set the glasses down and settled on the other side of the sectional.
“It’s going to be all right, Ash,” he said. “Doing bad things for the right reason isn’t the same as doing them for none at all.”
I scoffed, pressing the ice pack to my cheek. “You heard Russell. I go through life punching guys because I think I’m better than everyone.”
“He’s obviously wrong.” Dawson swirled his drink, ice clinking. “But you did well telling him.”
“Hopefully.” Ale exhaled, sinking back into the couch. “Does Ethan know about you and Kaia?”
“I’m not sure.” My gut told me he’d used my weakness against me. Even if he hadn’t had proof before, he sure as fuck did now. And what he chose to do with it could wreck my life.
Dawson sipped his whiskey. “What worries me is that, as team owner, Russell will probably be forced to sanction you for the fight.”
No lies there. My recklessness had handed Russell the perfect excuse to get rid of me once and for all. He already thought I was a law maker and a hothead—and I’d proved him right.
Ale snorted. Dawson and I both looked his way.
“What?” Dawson asked. “Am I wrong?”
Ale lifted his glass. “Regardless of what Asher did, he’s the team’s most valuable asset.
Not letting him race—or worse, kicking him out—would cost a fortune.
Forward Racing is climbing the charts for the first time in over a decade.
Russell might hand out a sanction, but it won’t touch Asher’s place in the remaining races. ”
Relief loosened my chest enough for a full breath. “So you think he’ll still let me race?”
Ale shrugged. “Unless I’m wrong, and he’d rather lose money. Still possible—especially if Ethan presses charges and makes it public.”
“He might,” Dawson said. “Nobody but us knows it was to defend a girl’s honor. To everyone else, Asher just lost his temper.”
“I don’t care.” I adjusted the ice pack against my cheek and took a sip of water.
Ale finished his whiskey. His gaze locked with mine—no judgment there, but the worry was plain. “But you should care, mi nino. Bad publicity could tank your career. If you want to move to another team one day, your record matters.”
Fuck. He was right. If the press caught wind of this, nothing would save me. Dad never would’ve gotten into a fight—his image was spotless. I was risking his legacy as much as mine. My stomach churned. “So what do you suggest?”
“There’s not much to do yet. Not until Russell updates us. The fact he didn’t call the police is a good sign. Let’s hope Ethan’s okay.”
The last of my adrenaline drained, leaving nothing but fatigue. It was late, but I couldn’t go home.
Fuck. I’d promised Kaia we’d watch a movie. I grabbed my phone. A few unread texts waited.
Mi nina: Ash, my father said you attacked Ethan. Are you okay?
Mi nina: Don’t worry about anything, just come home. Please.
Guilt gnawed at me. She had an important exam tomorrow, and I was making her worry.
Me: I’m at Ale’s. I’ll be here for a while. Go to bed, mi nina. You need to rest before the PSAT.
Her reply came instantly.
Mi nina: You didn’t say if you were okay.
Me: I am if you are.
She sent me a heart. I answered with one of mine and set the phone aside.
Beside me, Dawson typed into his phone too.
“Texting your girlfriend?” I teased. The air in the room was so thick with tension I had to cut it before we suffocated.
His face reddened. “It was Maricarmen.”
I straightened. “Grandma? You guys keep in touch?”
“Of course. We’re friends. She asked about you, but I didn’t say anything. Better not to worry her yet.”
Their friendship made sense. She’d taught Dawson Spanish when he lived in El Puerto, and they shared the bond of losing their spouses.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “I hope Ethan’s fine.”
The roar of an engine drifted from the TV. “Roy Myers in Ventnor, Australia,” Ale said when he caught me looking. “Rerun of last weekend’s RevGlobe Grand Prix. That guy’s fucking invincible.”
“Vortex is the best team,” I said. “They’ve got the money, the custom bikes.”
“And he makes them richer.”
Vortex and Forward Racing lived in different universes. Forward Racing was small and local. Vortex was international—representing the country and getting compensated accordingly.
“I think we’ve got a few things to learn from them,” Ale said.
“Yeah.” I gave a short laugh. “That’s like my dad’s last team in Spain—only here. He waited years to get the invite.”
Ale crossed his ankles. “I doubt my father ever imagined his son would graduate college, travel the world, and build the business of his dreams. He worked grueling factory shifts his whole life, making just enough to keep us fed and a roof overhead. He did his best with what he had. But that didn’t mean his son couldn’t do more. ”
Classic Ale—always trying to push me forward, even with the ground crumbling under my feet. “Let’s see if I’m even allowed to race after today.”
On Ale’s giant flat screen, Roy carved through the sharpest turn of the circuit like it was nothing. His timing had to be better than mine. I could learn from him, for sure. But right now, my head wasn’t in it.
Ale’s phone rang. “Alejandro,” he answered, pacing as Dawson muted the TV.
“Okay,” he said. “Understood.”
He hung up, tossed the phone onto the couch, and groaned.
My stomach clenched. “Was that Russell? What did he say?”
“A broken nose, two ribs, and a concussion.”
Fuck. Ethan would be out for months. I clenched my fists. “And?”
“Ethan’s agent and lawyer want a meeting Monday. Guess they’re after something.”
Of course. Ethan had leverage now, and he’d milk it. Damn it. Monday wouldn’t bring anything good.
“There’s a tiny silver lining.” Ale’s mouth twisted. “Russell wants you to race this weekend. And in his words—you better win.”