Chapter 49
ALARIC
Istorm off stage, ignoring everyone who attempts to talk to me. There’s only one person I’m interested in speaking with right now, and like a coward, he’s taken off. I have tunnel vision as I wind through the corridor, stalking toward the exit.
My every cell screams at me to check on Evangeline, to go back and support her in any way I can.
But that’s not an option.
Not here. Not like this.
At least she’s with her friends. I don’t know them well, but every person on that stage was visibly outraged by Luca’s outlandish comments, and they were quick to come to her aid.
They’ve got her for now. I have to trust that. Tonight, after I deal with the ripple effect of the bullshit Luca just unleashed, she’ll be back in my arms and I can take care of her properly.
A bright light cuts through the dark corridor, momentarily blinding me as a door is pushed open.
“Luca,” I call out as he darts outside.
I break into a jog, running after him.
“Luca,” I hiss, squinting as I barrel into the small alley. “Don’t make me chase you through the paddock like you’re a fucking child.”
He spins, eyes blazing. “What’s wrong, Pops? You didn’t like being forced to answer asinine questions about keeping it in the family up on stage?”
I halt in front of him, blood pounding in my ears. “Your tirade was out of line and uncalled for. You disparaged me, my company, and one of my employees. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
He smirks. “No. I have nothing to say to you.”
I bark out a laugh. “You don’t get to pull a stunt like that and just walk away.
That was an official Formula 1 media event.
I can’t protect you from the consequences the FIA, your team, or even Granata brings down on you.
Your commentary was beyond inappropriate.
Forget fines or penalties; you could be sued for libel. ”
He freezes, staring right through me. “It’s only libel if it’s not true, Ric. And you and Evan were looking awfully cozy on that couch together.”
I press my fingers against the side of my head where a throbbing pain has already started.
This isn’t about Evangeline and me. This is about his erratic behavior, and the damage he’s done and continues to do.
Regardless of the shade he cast on Granata, his claims were reckless.
They shed a poor light on him, and on his team.
“Your words and actions have consequences,” I say, keeping my voice low. “I wish you’d step up and take some goddamn responsibility for once in your life.”
“So you’re not denying it, then.” He scoffs. “Fucking unbelievable. She’s got you pussy-whipped already. You’re probably eating up her whole hot-mess-express routine.”
Without conscious thought, I clutch the collar of his kit and shove him against the wall.
Nimbly, he spins out of my hold, reversing our positions.
He pulls his arm back, clearly ready to hit me, but before he can throw the punch, a flash fires off behind him.
We both freeze.
Fuck. If they’d gotten a shot of him hitting me… And what the hell was I thinking, shoving him like that?
Chests heaving, we school our expressions.
God dammit.
We have to fix this.
Slowly, I angle closer. “Don’t fight it.” I lock eyes with him, desperate for him to listen instead of defying me for sport.
He may be cruel, but he’s not dumb.
He lifts his arms and meets me halfway, the two of us hugging for the prying eyes and cameras.
Sorrow floods my veins as we embrace. This is the first time I’ve hugged my son in months. Maybe even a year. Tears well in my eyes as he lets me hold him. I catalog every detail. Because despite all the animosity and the constant pushback, at the end of the day, he’s still my flesh and blood.
I squeeze him tighter, hoping I can get through to him. I’ve played it too safe over the last year. I’ve allowed him the space he wanted, and I didn’t push back when he told me he wants nothing to do with me.
Regardless of that, what if what he really needs is his dad?
I’m desperate, honestly, to break through and resuscitate our atrophied relationship. I raised this man, yet right now, I feel like I don’t know him at all.
Luca shifts, prepared to pull away, but I hang on, not ready to let him go, unwilling to allow this moment to pass without at least attempting to make amends. Maybe if I hold him a little longer, or love him just a little harder—
But before I can utter a word, he drops his arms and hisses, “Hope she’s fucking worth it.” With that, he turns on his heel and storms away.