Chapter 42 The Dream
THE DREAM
EMMA
I drift toward the central hub. A conference table with a view on one side looking out at the three founders' offices, and on the other, a huge panorama of Silverpoint. The business district gives way to the harbor area and the glittering ocean in the distance.
Kai is wrapping up his day to come home with me. Home. It feels right.
Logan is at his desk, hunched over his laptop, running a hand through his long hair in a gesture I've seen Kai do a hundred times. They've known each other so long they've absorbed each other's habits.
“Hey.”
Logan looks up, his face breaking into a grin. “There she is. The woman who made my best friend sprint across a lobby like a lovesick teenager.”
“I don't think he sprinted.”
“He would have if his ankle wasn't fucked.” Logan leans back in his chair. “I'm glad you two made up. He's been a nightmare to deal with.”
“He's been through a lot.”
“Yeah, well. He's not the only one.” Something flickers across Logan's face. A shadow that doesn't match his easy smile.
I pull a chair over and sit beside him. “What's going on?”
He hesitates, then angles his laptop toward me. On the screen is a sleek logo in red and black. Team Blaze. Images of motorcycles, riders in leather, a pit crew in matching gear.
“The acquisition,” he says. “It's been my dream for years. Finally got them to the table, and now...” He sighs. “I'm worried all this shit with Kaiden's family is going to blow back on the deal. The Hammonds have a long reach. If they decide to fuck with me to get to him...”
“Have they made any moves?”
“Not on this, but in the past they interfered when I tried buying other teams. I'm thinking of flying back to Spain. Be there in person. Show them I'm serious.”
I lean over his shoulder, studying the images. The team colors. The logo. The bikes gleaming under stadium lights.
“You're going to look great in that gear,” I say.
Logan blinks. “What?”
“The team colors. Red and black. They’ll suit you.” I tap the screen where a rider stands on a podium, trophy raised. “When you take over, what's the first thing you're going to change?”
He stares at me like I've grown a second head. “You're talking like it's a done deal.”
“Isn't it?”
“I mean, there's still negotiations, and the financing, and—“
“Logan.” I turn to face him fully. “What's the first thing you're going to do when Team Blaze is yours?”
He's quiet for a moment. Then something shifts in his expression. The worry lines smooth out, replaced by something brighter. Hungrier.
“There's this rider,” he says slowly. “Gabriel Lopez.
He's young, hungry, stuck on a mid-tier team that doesn't know what they have.
I've been watching him for two seasons. His instincts are insane, but his current team keeps putting him on shit bikes with shit strategy.” Logan's eyes light up as he talks.
“First thing I'd do is sign him. Give him the equipment he deserves. Build the team around his strengths.”
“See? You already know exactly what you want.”
“How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Get me out of my head like that.” He shakes his head, almost laughing. “I was spiraling, and you just...”
“Visualization.” I shrug. “I'm a chronic worrier. Anxiety loves to spin worst-case scenarios on repeat. If I force myself to picture the good outcome, to actually live in it for a minute, it breaks the cycle. Focuses me on what I'm working toward instead of what I'm afraid of.”
Logan studies me with new appreciation. “Kai said you helped him when he was stuck at home. I'm starting to see what he meant.”
“I have my moments.”
He stands and pulls me into a hug. He’s warm and solid.
“Thank you,” he says into my hair. “And thank you for being here. For him. You're such a change of pace for Kaiden. Maybe he'll finally stop brooding.”
“I wouldn't count on that.”
“A man can dream.” He releases me with a grin. “Now go collect your boyfriend before he wears a hole in his office floor.”
Kai insisted on stopping by my apartment before we go to his place. He leans against the doorframe of my bedroom, watching me pack.
“What do you want to do with this place?” he asks.
I pause, a sweater half-folded in my hands. “What do you mean?”
“The lease. Do you want to keep it? Let it go?” His voice is carefully neutral. “No pressure either way. I just want to know what you're thinking.”
I look around. The secondhand furniture. The prints on the walls covering the humidity marks. The tiny bed where I cried over James, where I rebuilt myself piece by piece, where I dreamed of a better future.
“I'm not ready to let it go yet,” I admit. “Is that okay? I know it probably seems silly, keeping an apartment I won't use, but—“
He pulls me into his arms. “It's not silly. This place is yours. Your independence. Your proof that you can stand on your own two feet.” He kisses my forehead. “Keep it as long as you need. We go at whatever speed you want.”
I melt into him. “Thank you.”
“Besides,” he murmurs against my hair, “I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?” I perk up.
“You'll see.”
The elevator opens directly into Kai's penthouse.
My sweater is still draped over the arm of the couch where I left it two nights ago. The room smells different than usual, and it takes me a moment to place it. Jasmine and vanilla. The fragrance I prefer.
“You changed the diffuser,” I say.
“The cleaning crew did. I asked them to.” He watches my face, gauging my reaction. “Is that okay?”
I look around the space with fresh eyes. The blanket I always reach for is folded on the ottoman. A box of my favorite tea sits on the kitchen counter. Small changes, barely noticeable unless you're looking. Unless you're the person they were made for.
It feels like home.
“It's perfect,” I say, and mean it.
He drops my bags on the couch but doesn't let me linger. He takes my hand and leads me back to the elevator.
“Where are we going?”
“Down one floor.”
The elevator descends, and I step into a space I've never seen before. It's been renovated recently. I can tell from the fresh paint smell. New fixtures.
“I bought the floor below the penthouse,” Kai explains, guiding me down a hallway. “Part of it is for security. A team on call around the clock.” He stops in front of a door. “This part is for you.”
He opens the door.
I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth. “Oh my God.”
It's a studio. An art studio. Natural light floods the space from windows that span the entire wall. A massive desk that looks like it can rise, lower, and tilt to any angle. Oversized monitors mounted on articulated arms. A drawing tablet that makes my current one look like a toy.
I look around, unsure what to check first. An easel in the corner. White canvases stacked against the wall. A cabinet that, when I open it, reveals rows of paints, brushes, pencils, charcoal, pastels. Everything organized by color and medium.
“Kai,” I whisper. “What is this?”
“Your space.” He stands in the doorway, watching me. “I asked Celeste what you might need. She helped me put together a list. I hope I got it right.”
I move deeper into the room, trailing my hands over surfaces. The smooth wood of the desk. The soft bristles of a brush. The cool glass of the monitors. I touch everything like I need to prove it's real.
“These pencils,” I say, picking up a set of Caran d'Ache Luminance. “These are... Kai, these are at least two hundred dollars a set.”
“Are they good ones?”
“They're amazing.” I put them down and move to the easel, running my fingers along its adjustable frame. “This easel, this is a Mabef. I've wanted one since art class. I used to stand in front of them at the supply store and just... dream.”
My voice cracks on the last word.
I spin in a slow circle, taking it all in. The quality of the light. The height of the ceilings. The way the room seems designed to inspire. Then I'm not spinning slowly anymore. I'm twirling like a child, arms outstretched, laughter bubbling up from somewhere deep in my chest.
“Emma?”
“It's perfect,” I gasp, still spinning. “It's so perfect, I can't—“ I stop, dizzy, and press my hands to my face. “Oh God, I'm crying. Why am I crying? This is ridiculous.”
I laugh again, but tears are streaming down my cheeks now. I can't tell where the joy ends and the overwhelm begins. I wander to the cabinet and pull open another drawer. Watercolors. Professional grade. Every color I could ever want.
“You got me Windsor & Newton,” I sob. “The whole set. Kaiden, this is too much. This is—“
I can't finish the sentence. I'm laughing and crying at the same time, wiping my face with my sleeve while I open another drawer to find charcoals and pastels arranged like precious gems.
“Is this okay?” He asks from the doorway, sounding genuinely uncertain. “I can return things if I got it wrong. Celeste said these were good brands, but if you prefer something else—“
I cross the room at a run and throw myself at him. He catches me, stumbling back a step, and I'm kissing his face everywhere I can reach. His cheeks. His forehead. The corner of his mouth. His jaw.
“I love it,” I say between kisses. “I love it so much. I can't believe you did this. I can't believe you got me a studio. I can't believe—“ Another sob escapes, and I bury my face in his neck. “No one's ever done anything like this for me.”
His arms tighten around me. “You deserve a place that's yours. Somewhere you can create without worrying about anything else.”
I pull back, face wet, mascara probably ruined, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. “When did you do this?”
“I had it ready for the gala,” he admits. “I was going to show you that night. A thank you for everything you did on the campaign.” He trails off. We both know what happened then.
“You built me a dream,” I whisper. “Even when you didn't know if I'd ever see it.”
“I hoped you would.” He brushes a tear from my cheek with his thumb. “I always hoped.”