Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
Nash
M elbourne in March is something else. The weather is perfect—warm days with a crisp edge to the evenings. The vibrant city hums with energy, a mix of urban sophistication and laid-back Aussie charm. The Yarra River cuts through the heart of it, flanked by gleaming skyscrapers on one side and sprawling parks on the other. Everywhere you turn, there’s art, street performers and the buzz of people heading to cafés or one of the trendy pubs tucked away in the narrow alleyways known as laneway bars.
And this week in particular, the city comes alive with formula racing fever. Banners for the Melbourne Global Prix drape across every street corner, the air electric with anticipation. Fans meander in their favorite team apparel, and I’m pleasantly surprised to see many in the Titans purple and silver.
We’ve been here two days and we’ve all been hard at work. The garages and temporary hospitality suites have been set up by the logistics team. We’ve had strategy meetings and press events and had our track walk yesterday. I strolled behind Bex, listening in as she analyzed and strategized for every possible scenario. She was hyperfocused and I was pleasantly surprised to see Hendrik defer to her, but that was probably only because Luca was in attendance. It told me that Hendrik knew Luca wouldn’t approve of the way he’s undermining the chief race strategist.
Overall, the team has been a well-oiled machine, and even Matthieu has managed to keep his arrogance in check—mostly.
The nights, though, have been a different kind of intense. I’ve spent them in Bex’s hotel room, because she’s a magnet I can’t resist. Being with her feels easy, natural, like slipping into an old rhythm I thought I’d forgotten. But every morning, I wake up with the same gnawing thought: I can’t promise her a future.
The truthful part of my conscience corrects me. I’m afraid to think of a future with her.
The struggle to keep emotional distance between us is difficult to navigate, as she has been clear her feelings never dulled for me. I can’t truthfully admit the same to her, so I keep a bit of a barrier in place to protect myself. The sponsor party is tonight and it’s an opportunity for me to put a little space between us.
Last night as we were lying in bed, she mentioned it casually. “Are you excited about tomorrow night?”
“It’s more of a job than anything,” I’d replied, because it’s mostly to stroke the egos of the sponsors that pour millions upon millions of dollars into the teams. Our job is to shake hands and pose for photos, as if it’s the part of the job we love the most.
“Will we… um… go together?” she asked, and I hated the uncertainty in her voice. I put it there by telling her I couldn’t promise anything.
I remember all the sponsor parties we’d attended together in past years and how fucking good it felt to have her on my arm. She fit. We belonged, and while I knew how good that felt and wanted to feel it again, it just wasn’t a good idea.
And I told her exactly that. “I don’t think we should blatantly advertise that we’re…”
I didn’t know what we were.
“Fucking?” she suggested in her perfectly posh British accent.
It was a crass acknowledgment that this is only a sex thing. Still, I remembered how I hugged her at Silvercrest and I did so without caring that anyone was watching.
I know I’m sending mixed messages, but I said, “We should go separately. I don’t want your authority diminished by our actions.”
Yeah… that sounded like a good reason and she didn’t question the guise of professionalism, but really, it was to prove to myself—and maybe to her—that I still have control over whatever the hell this is between us. She’d said it was fine, but I caught the flicker of hurt before she squashed it with a pretty smile.
The party is already in full swing when I arrive—alone. It’s a dazzling affair, held at one of Melbourne’s premier rooftop venues and luckily only a few blocks from the hotel we’re staying at, so it was a pleasant stroll over. String lights twinkle overhead, the skyline stretches beyond the glass railing, and a DJ spins a good mix. The air hums with chatter, laughter and the clinking of glasses.
One of the best perks of being a formula driver is traveling the world. With races in the Middle East, Asia, Europe, North America, South America and Australia, you get to immerse yourself in the local culture. Tonight is so different from the event in Jeddah where dancing and alcohol were not allowed because of religion. But Melbourne is progressive, the women dress in revealing clothing, and the liquor flows freely, although I’m not partaking this close to the race. It’s one of my pet peeves, although many of the other drivers party pretty hard.
I weave through the crowd, shaking hands with sponsors and exchanging polite greetings with other guests. I’m stopped for what seems like a million selfies with VIP fans and I’ve perfected the smile. My presence here is part of the job—making connections, promoting the sport and keeping the team in good graces with the people who bankroll this whole operation. But my attention is elsewhere, scanning the room for one person.
And then I see her.
Bex is on the dance floor with Carlos, laughing as he twirls her around to some upbeat pop song. She’s wearing a long-sleeved dress in shimmering white silk that clings to her curves. The shoulders are padded, and the front is cut in a V that falls just below her breastbone, barely exposing the rounded inner globes of her breasts. It’s sexy and elegant and my mouth waters. Bex’s hair is loose, framing her face in soft waves, and there’s a glow about her that makes my chest tighten.
And then my stomach rolls as I watch Carlos dip her dramatically, earning a burst of laughter from her and a few onlookers. The slit in her skirt exposes a toned thigh and calf, and I never minded her dressing like that when we were together. But now… she’s not wearing that for me. She’s wearing it for herself, or possibly Carlos, or possibly for every fucking man in here.
My jaw tightens.
I know Carlos well enough to understand that he’s harmless—he’s like a puppy, playful and friendly—but seeing his hands on her ignites something primal in me.
Before I can stop myself, I’m moving toward them without a clue what I intend to do. People try to stop me for a word, but I ignore them, shouldering my way through the crowd.
Just as I step onto the dance floor, the song shifts to a slower tempo, and I seize the moment. “Mind if I cut in?” I ask Carlos, my tone even but leaving no room for argument.
Carlos grins, ever the gentleman. “All yours, amigo.”
He steps back, but not before feathering a kiss over Bex’s knuckles and shooting me a sly wink. I glare at him before taking her hand and pulling her into me.
My free hand goes to her waist, hers to my chest, right over my heart. We sway together, her body fitting perfectly against mine, just as it always has. I’m sure if anyone were to look at us and not know I’ve spent every night in her bed the last week, they’d sure know it now, but I don’t give a fuck, all that bullshit about professionalism is thrown right out the window.
“You’re full of surprises,” she murmurs, her eyes searching mine.
“Figured it was my turn,” I reply, keeping my tone casual.
“But we’re not supposed to be here together,” she points out, glancing around, but I can tell it’s only with interest, not worry. “What will everyone think?”
We dance in silence for a moment, the world fading into the background. But I can’t ignore the flicker of jealousy still simmering beneath the surface. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself with Carlos.” I try to sound indifferent and fail.
She tilts her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “He’s a good dancer. And fun.”
“I’m fun,” I counter, raising an eyebrow.
Her laughter is soft, almost wistful. “You used to be.”
The words hit harder than I expect, and I realize she’s not just talking about dancing. I pull her a little closer, my hand tightening on her waist. “Maybe I’ve still got some fun left in me.”
“Prove it,” she challenges.
I don’t respond, just hold her gaze as the music swells around us. There’s a connection here, something unspoken but undeniable. For a moment, I forget about everything else—the past, the future, the walls I’ve built around myself.
When I dip my head to look at her, I muse, “I wonder how much trouble we’d get in if I just kissed you right now.”
Bex glances around. “I imagine it would shock some, others not so much.”
It’s true. While Bex and I are careful not to display affection while we’re working, no one can mistake the easygoing relationship we’ve established, the pointed looks exchanged that we can read without words being spoken, the bantering that extends beyond the normal working relationship. People likely suspect, but they don’t know exactly what’s going on between us.
Hell, neither do I.
The song ends but we don’t break apart. I’m loath to let her go, for someone else to step in and put their hands on her.
Before I can say anything, a voice cuts through the crowd. “Nash!”
I turn to see Reid Hemsworth approaching, his easy Aussie smile firmly in place and that bleached-blond surfer hair sticking up in a million different directions. Beside him is a tall, broad-shouldered man with a slicked-back hairstyle and who looks so similar to Reid, there’s no doubt they’re brothers. With them is a woman with flaming red hair and gray eyes that seem shuttered with worry.
Reid and I shake hands, and I introduce him to Bex. He pumps her hand vigorously. “The new Titans strategy phenom,” he exclaims. “You’re the talk of the circuit these days.”
Bex laughs it off. “I’m not all that interesting, but it’s great to meet you. I’m a big fan.”
Reid turns to the couple with him. “This is my brother, Lance, and his fiancée, Lara Candlish.”
We all shake hands and I don’t miss that after I break apart from Lara’s soft grip, Lance pulls her into his side with a hard squeeze to her waist. So hard she winces, and I glance at Bex who saw it too.
Reid doesn’t and launches into a story about one of the sponsor’s daughters who’s been hitting on him all night, and not in a good way. “She’s all handsy and won’t leave me alone. In fact, I think we’re going to bug out early.”
Even though he’s clearly distressed about it, not wanting to offend the sponsor who controls the purse strings, I can’t help but tease him. “Come on, mate. It’s a perk of the job, right? To get as many track kittens after you as possible.”
The minute the words are out, I regret them. They were nothing but banter, but I’m immediately reminded that it was a photo of me at a party with scantily dressed women that was the catalyst for the demise of my relationship with Bex. I glance at her, and she’s clearly transported back there as well, if the dullness in her eyes is any indication.
She catches my look and immediately shakes it off, putting a bright smile on her face. “How about you just tell her you’re gay and that should nip it in the bud.”
Reid barks out a laugh. “That’s a great idea. If she approaches me again, I’m going full-on gay mode. Guess those big strategy brains of yours are good for more than just winning races.”
We continue talking, Reid, Bex and I lapsing into race talk. It’s not meant to exclude his brother though, and I attempt on a few occasions to include them in the conversation. But his brother is standoffish and his fiancée is eerily quiet, and I wonder what the story is.
“I need to use the restroom,” Lara says, looking up at Lance, and it feels like she’s asking for permission. That makes my hackles rise.
Before he can answer, Bex steps in. “So do I. Come on, let’s go find it together.”
Lara’s expression is nothing short of grateful and she doesn’t look at Lance as Bex leads her away. He watches her closely, glare narrowed and unapproving. “If you’ll excuse me,” he says, not looking at either me or Reid.
He takes off following Lara and Bex through the crowd.
Never one to sugarcoat things, I glance at Reid. “Your brother isn’t the friendliest.”
Reid’s expression is guarded. “It’s complicated.”
“Let me guess,” I say, tucking my hands in my pockets. “He’s jealous of your success.”
Reid blinks in surprise. “Yeah… how’d you know?”
“Only a lucky guess, but it’s usually the cause of strife in most sibling relationships.”
“He races too but never could make it out of FI3.”
“But he came here to support you, right?”
Reid laughs without a hint of amusement. “He’s here to make contacts. Thinking he can talk his way onto a team, but honestly… he’s washed up and has a bad reputation for being too inconsistent to take a chance on.”
“His fiancée seems nice though,” I muse.
A fond smile transforms Reid’s face. “Yeah… Lara’s the best. The three of us all grew up together in Torquay, been surfing since we learned to walk. Lara’s quite good. Better than me and Lance.”
I wouldn’t have pegged the red-haired beauty as a surfer as her pale skin and freckles suggest that the sun would not be her friend, but it certainly makes her more interesting.
We move on to talk about the Jeddah race, Reid having placed third in that Global Prix. I learn a little more about his rise through the formula ranks and there’s no doubt he’ll be in the running for the championship this year. He’s going to be one of my biggest competitors, but I like the guy’s laid-back Australian charm and affable sense of humor.
Bex returns alone and jerks her thumb over her shoulder. “Reid… your brother said they were going back to their hotel and he’d catch you sometime tomorrow.”
“No worries,” he replies genially and then spots something through the crowd. He claps me on the shoulder. “I see someone I need to talk to. It was great catching up with you.” He then turns to Bex, and just like Carlos did, kisses her knuckles. “Bex… it was an absolute pleasure to meet you and hope I’ll be seeing you around.”
I suppress a growl forming deep in my belly, because Reid can’t hide that he’s interested in far more than talking race strategy. Bex is charmed, I can tell by her flirty smile, and it burns up my insides.
But when Reid walks away, her expression turns serious. “There’s something funny going on with his brother and fiancée.”
“Yeah… I noticed that. Like she was…”
“Afraid of him?” she queries. “I can’t put my finger on it. She was perfectly lovely and outgoing when we were in the bathroom, making small talk, but when we exited, and he was there, she sort of just… shut down.”
“Think we should say something to Reid about it?” I ask, wondering if we’re reading into something that’s not there.
“I don’t know. I mean… what do we say? We got a vibe? And Reid didn’t seem to notice anything unusual. Maybe that’s just the way they are.”
I nod, hesitant to stir up something if it’s not necessary and without proof of anything nefarious.
“So, the goal is to get as many track kittens as possible?” Bex asks, and I blink at her in surprise, the rapid change in subject spinning me off-kilter. “And for the record, I’ve never heard that term before.”
Her smirk tells me she’s teasing, but this subject has proven to be pure poison to us in the past. It was a conversation we never finished. “I can’t speak for Reid or any other driver, but I’ve never been interested in track kittens. Or grid girls, pit stop princesses, or whatever the hell they’re called.”
Bex just stares at me.
“Never,” I reiterate. “There’s only been one speedway sweetheart I’ve ever been interested in during my racing career, and she’s standing right in front of me.”
She glances away a moment before looking me straight in the face. “That was obviously hard for me to believe… once upon a time. You always wanted to be in that environment.”
I step closer to her, take her hand in mine but hold it loosely at our sides. “I might have liked that environment back then, but I always wanted you with me.”
“And I was always working,” she says bitterly.
“Bex,” I say, but she averts her gaze, looking out over the crowd. I take her by the chin, forcing her attention back to me. “I’ve got a theory.”
“What’s that?” she whispers.
“That you and I were young, dumb and foolish back then. We apparently couldn’t have a calm conversation the way we are now. Maybe… we just needed to grow up a bit.”
I see the hope in her eyes, flaring with interest. “And what about now? What does that mean for us?”
“I don’t know,” I say truthfully. “I’m not sure about anything.”
She sighs and offers me a small smile. “Why does it have to be so hard?”
I don’t have an answer to that, and I have no way to make this easier on either of us. I wish I could promise her a happily ever after, but I don’t even know if I believe in them anymore. “Losing you, surviving the crash… everything was taken away from me. Now I’m standing with two opportunities before me—a new formula career and a second chance with you, and Bex… I don’t know if I have the bandwidth to aim for both.”
“Of course not,” she says quickly, putting her hand on my chest to reassure me. “You should be concentrating on your career. That’s the most important thing before you. You’ve got your first race day after tomorrow and you should rightly be focused on that.”
Is she telling me I should let her be? It seems that’s what I was asking, but the thought of cutting her out isn’t acceptable. “I still want you,” I say earnestly.
“I know,” she says. “I want you too, and that will be enough for now.”
I should feel relieved, but for some reason, unease settles in my core.
“Ready to call it a night?” she asks softly.
“Yeah,” I say, grateful for the excuse to pivot to something other than revisiting our past.
Because when Bex asks if I’m ready to leave, that means we’re going back to her room and we’re going to get lost in each other’s arms where none of this matters.