CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Asher
Aweek later, after making me swear I’d take care of myself, Javi left.
Another seven days passed, and I was still at Ale’s—eating his food, wearing his clothes.
He’d offered to bring my stuff from Russell’s, but I needed to get it myself.
Ale had done enough already. Packing one-handed was a pain in the ass, but I wanted to do it alone.
I wasn’t wearing the sling all the time anymore and could handle small tasks like eating and dressing with both hands.
The cab pulled up to Russell’s gates. I paid the driver, climbed out, and unlocked the gate with the remote I still had. Walking the driveway, I guessed nobody was home. I hadn’t seen my mother since before the accident, and I preferred it that way.
The citrus tang of the cleaner Russell’s housekeeper used clung to the air as I crossed the foyer and headed upstairs.
One step into the familiar hallway, and my legs shook. A knot pulled tight in my stomach. Her room was here—full of her scent, her things, her memories I never wanted erased.
Our first kiss. Her laughter. Her warm body curled against mine in her pink bed. Before I could stop myself, I drifted to her room. I pressed my back against the door once inside.
She must’ve been here recently. The shelf above her bed was bare. So was her desk.
My chest squeezed. An empty bottle of watermelon body spray sat on the nightstand. I uncapped it, inhaled the sweet scent like an addict, then set it back.
I walked out. It hurt like hell to stand in that room—surrounded by her things but knowing she was far away. Knowing that even if she wasn’t, nothing between us would ever be the same.
My room looked the same as always—Dad’s trophies lined up on the shelf beside my books, most of my clothes still packed in the suitcase. Kaia had been right. I never unpacked because I’d never seen this house as home.
But for those few months we had, she’d turned it into the closest thing to one.
On my bed lay what looked like a photo album. An envelope rested beside it, my name written in her familiar hand. I tore it open, pulled out the folded sheet inside, and breathed in her scent.
Ash,
I’ve been gathering the courage to write this since the day of your accident. I hope you’re healing. I read clavicle fractures are common in motorcycle racing— please don’t skip rehab. I know you’re impatient to ride, but wait until it’s safe.
You’re probably worried about next season, but trust Alejandro. He really cares about you. I’m sure he’ll find a great team.
You’re destined for big things. I remember the day your mother said you were coming back. My first thought was, why would he choose Stetbourg when he can have the world? Why pick my father’s small, unremarkable team?
Don’t get me wrong—thirteen-year-old me, who had a massive crush on you the first time you wandered into the garden, older and furious at the world, was thrilled you were back. I also knew you wouldn’t stay with me forever. It hurts to be right, but I get it.
My mom is gone, but I still look for her approval. I want to study at her dream school. You still want to make your dad proud—and you do. I’m proud of you: your willpower, grit, and how humble you are despite everything you’ve done. I know you’ll do even more.
One day every track in the world will be yours, peque. You’ll claim them like you claimed my heart.
Please don’t give up. Don’t let anything hold you back.
We both knew you couldn’t keep racing and me. Losing you ripped the heart out of my chest, but comfort comes from knowing I lost you to the thing you’ve loved since you were a little boy.
I love you, Ash. I always have, always will. I’m not ashamed of that—maybe that’s why I decided to give you the scrapbook I made years ago.
I don’t need it to remember you, but I thought it might remind you who you are through my eyes.
Be happy. Be safe.
Thank you for being my first love.
Kaia
My sob shattered the silence. Tears soaked my face as I curled on the bed, clutching the letter to my chest.
She hadn’t lost me to racing—she was more important than any sport, any achievement, any trophy. She hadn’t lost me. She never would. But this letter was her goodbye, on her terms.
Fresh tears blurred my vision when I opened the scrapbook she’d made. The first page held a photo of me with Dad, published years ago on a Spanish website. I was six, holding his hand on the track in Jerez, standing beside his bike after training.
I remembered my mother telling him not to bring me. She’d hoped I wouldn’t want to race. But fighting what was in my blood had been useless.
The next pages showed me older—already racing under Dad’s guidance, holding my first trophies he cherished. Kaia had collected photos and articles from every competition, every small victory.
Each page was covered in pictures, clippings, hand-drawn hearts, quotes about perseverance and success.
What the fuck had I ever done to deserve her love? Her faith? What had I done to deserve her?
The last photo was recent—my first win with Forward Racing. My grin wasn’t for the victory. It was for her, standing near the podium, looking at me like I was her hero.
She made me want to do better. Be better.
And I let her down.
Carefully, I closed the album and forced myself to pack. Staying here longer was pointless.
I wrapped Dad’s trophies, shoved my clothes into a bag, and laid the scrapbook gently on top.
Laughter drifted up from downstairs—my mother’s and Russell’s. My hand froze on the zipper. Shit. So much for leaving unseen.
Sighing, I slung the duffel over my good shoulder, grabbed my suitcase, and headed down.
On the stairs, I caught them gaping at me like I was a ghost.
“Asher.” My mother smoothed her hair, voice tight with surprise. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?”
Would it have mattered?
“I just came to pick up my stuff,” I said. “I was leaving.”
Russell’s arm cinched tighter around her shoulders, protective and smug all at once. “Stay. We need to talk.”
“About what?” The duffel strap bit into my palm as I gripped tighter. “I broke up with Kaia like you wanted. Isn’t that what you’ve been waiting for?”
His expression didn’t flicker. “Your mother and I are getting married.”
That’s when I noticed the massive rock glittering on her hand. She shifted her weight, cheeks flushed, as if she knew exactly how obscene it looked.
A fortune on her finger. And this bastard had complained about paying for his kid’s school.
“Congratulations,” I said, my voice flat. “Guess you don’t need my blessing. And you sure as hell won’t need me at the wedding.”
Her smile faltered. Russell’s jaw tightened, the mask cracking for a heartbeat.
I hated that some part of me still cared. They’d been together almost six years. Marriage was inevitable. But the timing wasn’t. They’d waited until Kaia was gone and I was out of the way.
“Does your daughter know, Mr. Demeri?” I asked, letting the title cut.
My mother pressed her lips together, eyes flashing irritation. “Asher, please. You can’t call yourself an adult and then behave like this.”
Russell’s mouth curved into a thin smile, cold as stone. “Not yet. We’ll tell her when we visit the school.”
“Yes, by all means, do it in person. It’s the least you can do after rifling through her diary with your fiancée’s help.”
My mother’s hand twitched on Russell’s chest, her shame flickering through her painted smile. He, of course, didn’t flinch.
Kaia might forgive my mother because she was too kind for her own good. I never would.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Russell said, bland and dismissive, as if none of this mattered. “The season’s almost over. We expect to have you as our racer again next year.”
My laugh was sharp, bitter. “Are you for real? You think I’ll crawl back to you? Pretend none of this happened?”
His eyes narrowed, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of silence.
“Talk to my agent, Mr. Demeri,” I said, spitting his name like poison. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—congratulations again. You deserve each other.”
I didn’t mean it as a compliment.
And judging by the flicker in my mother’s eyes and the way Russell’s jaw clenched, they knew it.
***
I sat on the couch in Ale’s dim living room, nursing a second glass of whiskey. City lights flickered beyond the window, throwing a thin glow over the open scrapbook on the coffee table.
I’d treasure it—Kaia’s letter, the album—like I treasured Dad’s trophies.
The key turned in the lock. Ale strolled in and flipped on the foyer light. He peered into the living room, then stopped in the doorway. “Ash? Why are you sitting in the dark?”
“My mother and Russell are getting married.”
Ale crossed the room and snatched the bottle. “Guess this isn’t a celebration. I’ll join you anyway.”
He poured, clicked on the floor lamp, and sat beside me.
“Salud.”
I clinked my tumbler against his. “To . . . I don’t know. The happy past?”
He shook his head. “To your bright future.” Ale sipped, then ran his fingers over the scrapbook. “May I?”
“Yeah. Kaia left it for me at Russell’s.”
He leafed through the pages and smiled. “I’d give a lot to be loved like that, mi nino.”
I took a long pull. “Make sure you don’t fuck everything up if you ever are.”
He closed the album gently and set it aside. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you did the right thing. You put her first, even if it hurt you both. She’s too young, Ash. She needs to spread her wings. Study. See the world.”
“I fucking know that, okay?” Tears blurred my vision; I didn’t care Ale saw.
“I want that for her. But if what I did was right, why does it feel like there’s a giant hole in my chest?
It’s been weeks, and it’s only worse. She left me a letter, Ale.
She loves me even though I hurt her. I did nothing to deserve that. ”
He sighed. “She clearly disagrees. The best thing you can do is make sure your sacrifice wasn’t for nothing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the accident didn’t have to end your career. Think about what’s next. Decide what you want and go for it.”
“Did you get an offer?”
“Not yet.”
It was always not yet with him. His stubborn optimism used to piss me off; now I clung to it.
“I don’t know what I want, Ale,” I whispered. “I feel numb. Lost. Like nothing matters anymore.”
He twirled the glass, nodding. “You won’t feel like that forever. Once you’re healed, we’ll try our luck with Vortex.”
Vortex? RevGlobe GP team? No fucking way.
I laughed.
Ale didn’t.