Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
ROME
Vince slides his phone across his desk. “Did you do this?”
I already know what it is before scanning the photo on the screen.
“I didn’t peg you for someone who reads GRID,” I say.
Vince makes a noise that resembles a chuckle, though there isn’t much humor on his face. “I don’t. An old colleague sent it to me. Apparently, when asked, Beau answered by telling them that another driver—who shall remain anonymous—came into his quarters and sucker punched him.”
“Or my dad slapped him around like he used to do to me.”
Vince leans back in his chair.
Instead of meeting him eye to eye, I scan his office and every last accomplishment he has achieved.
It’s impressive.
“My dad really couldn’t stand that you were better than him,” I joke. “He'd probably burn this office to the ground if he saw it.”
“He also can’t stand that you’re better than him,” Vince stresses. “You need to be careful out there. Watchful.”
I grip the sides of the chair I’m sitting in, my hands wrapping around the arms tightly.
He has no idea just how watchful I have to be—on and off the track.
“And you should keep your hands to yourself too.”
My chest tightens, and all I can think about is my hands on his daughter. The curve of her hips, the tight buds of her breasts against my palms, her soft, velvet-like skin.
“The FIA won’t tolerate physical violence,” he adds.
What about a driver becoming obsessed with his engineer?
Or how he’s sleeping with the team owner’s daughter?
I shove the thoughts away and say, “But the FIA tolerates illegal modifications to cars and cheating?”
His lips pull into a hard line. “His time will come, Rome. Like I always say, what goes around comes around.”
I’m not sure about that.
Things are getting worse, and the secrets I’m continuing to keep because of a flimsy little piece of paper that tells me to have begun weighing on me. It wasn’t so much of a problem when I was only worried about myself. But things have changed.
“Grandpa!”
I swing around in my chair. Vivian skips into Vince’s office without so much as a knock, carrying a cow-print plastic cup with a purple straw coming out the top.
“A milkshake for me?” His eyebrows rise to his hairline.
She nods. “Yeah, but it's sugar free.”
“Of course,” he mumbles grumpily. “Whose idea was that?”
She hands over the cup. “Grandma.”
“Excuse me…” I throw my hands out. “Where’s mine?”
Vivian smiles with smeared ice cream surrounding her mouth. “Tessa took it because she said she was in the mood for chocolate instead of strawberry.”
“She took my milkshake?” I narrow my gaze at Vince’s opened office door.
Vivian giggles when I stand up and pretend to be angry.
She climbs on Vince’s lap to steal some of his milkshake. “I told her she better hide from you.”
“Where is she?” I ask.
Vivian scrunches her nose. “I can’t tell you where she is! Remember…girls rule and boys drool!”
“Fair enough. I’ll find her myself.”
“Good luck!” Vivian calls from behind.
I leave Vince’s office and stand against the wall next to the door. I pull out my phone and click on the Halston Siblings + Rome group text.
Me
If Tessa were hiding with my milkshake, where would she be?
Van
Ask Vivian.
Me
I did, and she hit me with ‘girls rule and boys drool’
Tessa
That’s my girl.
I grin.
Me
Don’t drink my milkshake.
Tessa
Too late.
Beck
When we were kids, she used to hide in the dryer.
“I forgot Tessa used to hide in the dryer,” Noah laughs from the living room. “She never did it again after I turned it on that one time.”
“Noah!” Rose scolds her son. “What?”
“It was for, like, three seconds,” Graham adds. “And she was six.”
Beck
Check the towel closet upstairs. She’s short enough to fit in there.
Suddenly, there’s a thump from above and then quick footsteps that follow it.
I chuckle and make my way to the stairs.
I’ve never been upstairs, and I can’t help but wonder what Tessa’s room looks like. Is it the same as when she was young? Or have Rose and Vince turned it into something else? A guest room? Another trophy room?
With every step I take, I look at each framed photo of the Halstons.
The first was taken on some sort of ski trip, with a young Tessa on Vince’s shoulders, her brothers in the snow below.
The next is a camping trip–all the kids with a marshmallow on the end of a stick, except for Beck.
From the looks of his puffed cheeks, he has several stuffed in his mouth.
There’s a beach photo beside that one and then one of Tessa in a cap and gown with her pink cheeks and bright smile, her brothers standing beside her with their arms around each other.
The last one makes me pause.
It’s as if the picture comes to life right in front of my eyes, with Tessa reaching out of the photo to squeeze my heart.
She’s holding a baby wrapped in a pink blanket, who I assume is Vivian, with tears in her eyes as she smiles into the camera. Van stares at his daughter from behind Tessa’s shoulder with the rest of her brothers in the same stance.
Fuck me.
The first wall I ever built around myself is starting to crumble, and Tessa is right at the center of it.
I want a family and a home full of laughter. I want someone as worthy as Tessa to be there at the end of the day with soft eyes and a warm heart. I want our children to be exact replicas of her, and I want them to be able to count on me for encouragement and strength, not disappointment and fear.
A thick swallow works itself down my throat, and I continue on my way up the stairs. I move from room to room, searching high and low for Tessa.
Never mind the milkshake—I want her.
“Where are you, Princess?” I whisper.
My heart beats for something other than myself, and I chase it like I’ll never survive without it.
I push open the last door and smile to myself at the light-purple walls.
There’s a checkered-print blanket on the bed and a bulletin board above a tidy desk that is full of inspirational quotes.
There’s a certificate hanging crookedly by a single pushpin that says, Tessa Halston, Voted Most Responsible, with her high school name and the year she graduated below.
I trace my finger over her dresser and pause to look into the mirror. In the reflection, I spot her crouched beneath her desk, tucked behind the chair.
“Ugh!”
She scoots the chair away to stand and rolls her eyes playfully with the cow-print cup thrusted in my direction. “I guess you can have the rest since you found me.”
I reach for the cup, our fingers brushing as I take it from her. “I don’t want the milkshake,” I say.
A quizzical look takes over her face, but it’s gone as soon as I grab onto her wrist and haul her into my chest. Her sweet, chocolate-scented breath hits my face, and I breathe her in.
“I want you, Tessa. Fuck the milkshake.”