Chapter 61
EVANGELINE
AUSTIN, TEXAS
“Done,” I declare, hitting the pay now button on my phone. With that single move, I’ve paid off my final credit card balance in full.
“Fuck yeah,” she exclaims, flooring it on a straight.
We’ve been all over Austin today, enjoying a rare day off in our hometown. I’ve been focused on my phone for the last several minutes, so I have no idea where we are now, but I trust that Mia knows where she’s going.
“That’s all of it, right? You’ve officially received all reparations from Luca Steele?”
I blow out a long breath, nodding. That was it.
Over the last two weeks, I’ve gotten notification after notification regarding my ex. First came a slew of apologies, most of which sounded like they were written by a fifth grader. Then the money started rolling in.
His first payment was thirty thousand dollars.
I nearly passed out. After that, he sent smaller amounts randomly.
As if every time he remembered something else I had paid for along the way, he’d log into his bank’s mobile app.
Three hundred and forty dollars for private standup paddle board lessons in Mexico City.
Eight hundred for bottle service at the Australian Open.
Eighty for a Brazilian Feathers massage that I do not remember paying for and have proudly resisted researching.
It was the financial equivalent of love bombing, and it got a bit excessive.
Thankfully, there haven’t been any new deposits in a few days.
If I had to guess, I’d say he’s paid off his debt. And I can imagine he’s busy, gearing up to become a dad. The media is already reporting that if Luca’s son is born ahead of the race next weekend, Waytrek may call up their reserve driver.
As Mia takes a tight corner, I sigh, letting one hand hang out the open window.
I’ve been slowly coming to terms with the depth and longevity of Luca’s betrayal. His actions still hurt, and they probably always will. It’ll take a while to fully unpack everything that happened over the last few years. But at least I’m no longer saddled with debt.
My gut says Luca’s actions were driven by Alaric.
How he finally got through to him is a mystery, and honestly, I don’t allow myself to think about it—or him—much. My heart is still too tender. I thought I wanted closure from Luca. Now, all I want is to put everything that reminds me of Alaric in the past so I can start to heal.
He has technically respected my wishes, making no attempts to directly contact me, but he’s also made significant gestures of his own over the last few weeks.
The first one came in the form of a letter of acceptance into a women’s business accelerator program. According to the document, I was nominated by an anonymous source. The eight-week online program comes with a sizable grant upon completion.
The next two gestures came as paid speaking gigs through Formula 1 Academy.
The female development program invited me to serve on a panel and present at a career fair here in Austin aimed at highlighting opportunities for women in motorsport.
The two engagements paid out the equivalent of a month’s salary.
Between the extra gigs and Luca’s reimbursements, I’ve more than recovered financially.
In fact, my bank balance is larger than it’s ever been.
That little detail brings a level of comfort akin to what I’ve only ever experienced during my brief time with Alaric.
It’s potent and deep; the kind of privilege that lends itself to better mental health days and all-around better quality of life.
I didn’t even worry about where I’d stay in Austin for the two weeks before I could check into the room provided by Granata. Mia and I rented a palatial Airbnb near her parents’ house, and we plan to cohost Sweatpants and Chill there after the next race.
The tree-lined road we’re winding down makes me miss Alaric.
Is he in Austin, or still in Monaco? When will I see him next? And how will it feel to be in his presence once all the dust has settled?
I miss him every day. Deeply.
And despite the distance and my commitment to maintaining my boundaries, a part of me worries that cutting all ties wasn’t really for the best.
I acted on instinct. My actions weren’t rash; I used everything I knew to make the best choice at the time. But I can’t stop replaying that night in my head. I set a clear boundary, and Alaric has respected it. Almost completely.
Yet I miss him so much. I desperately wish he would reach out and try again. I’m the one who erected every boundary keeping us apart. What the hell is wrong with me?
“I think we’re close,” Mia mutters, slowing and crouching lower to peer out the windshield.
I follow her gaze, and as a familiar wrought iron fence comes into view, my stomach plummets. “Wait. Mimi…”
“Don’t be mad.” She pulls her car through the already open gates without bothering to look at me.
“Don’t be mad?” I hiss. “Of course I’m mad. Why are we at Alaric’s house?”
With jerky movements, I unbuckle my seat belt. It’s stupid, really. What am I going to do? Tuck and roll out of the car and reacquaint myself with this familiar stamped driveway?
“Okay, fine. You can be mad. But only after you see it.”
“See what?”
She circles the driveway and parks near the garage. Then, ignoring me, she unbuckles and climbs out of the car.
With a groan, I haul myself out, too.
As I close the passenger door, a bay door slowly rolls open.
A riot of butterflies beat their wings against my insides, the sensation simultaneously overwhelming and distantly dreamy.
I take a step forward, hoping.
I clench my fists together, wishing.
Please let this be real. Please don’t let my hopes be too high.
Once the garage door is fully open and the motor has quieted, Alaric appears.
Instantly, my heart hammers against my chest in a chaotic, riotous rhythm.
Stupid heart. I never stood a chance at holding my nerve.
He’s wearing a T-shirt and jeans, dressed down and barefoot, with his wavy hair unstyled. He looks younger like this—almost bashful with his hands shoved into his pockets and his eyes darting every which way.
He’s nervous.
That makes two of us.
I shoot daggers at my best friend, and in return, she smirks and waves me forward. “Come on.”
I peer into the garage again.
Behind Alaric—where an old car was parked and stacks of boxes were housed the last time I was here—is lightness and abundant space.
Multiple gleaming white worksurfaces are arranged in the center of the garage, a ring light positioned in front of each station.
The back wall is lined with colorful storage containers.
And—my heart leaps—there are five 3D printers lined up against another wall.
In the corner there’s a seating section outfitted with a funky rug, several beanbag chairs and ottomans, and my beloved heirloom couch.
“What is this?” I marvel, walking past Alaric as I catalog the details. I don’t know where to look. What I do know is that if I look at him, I’ll break. I don’t want to break again.
“Take this.” He places a small remote in my hand.
Electricity sparks between us, reminding me of every touch and intimate moment we’ve shared.
I’m frozen in place, overwhelmed and astounded by the sight before me.
“Go on,” he encourages. “Turn it on.”
I snap out of my reverie and fumble with the remote. When I touch the power button, a massive neon sign designed in the shape of my logo for A-Tizket A-Tasket lights up.
“Welcome to your new studio,” he murmurs.
He plucks the remote from my hands and replaces it with a set of keys.
“I’ve got a hotel room near the paddock, so the house is yours for as long as you’re in town. The fridge is stocked, and everything else in the house is ready for you. Please stay as long as you like.”
Words elude me. All I can do is blink.
“Still mad?” Mia asks.
Snapping out of it, I turn to her. She was in on this. Clearly.
“Why did you do this?” I ask Alaric, the question coming out harsher than I intended.
I’m not mad. I’m just… stunned.
He takes a step back, contrition swimming in his eyes, and scrubs a hand over the stubble on his jaw.
I am once again shamefully jealous of his damn hand.
Except my jealousy is significantly worse than the first time I noted that strong grip and those hair-dusted knuckles.
Because now I know what that scruff feels like against my skin.
I’m painfully familiar with exactly how soft and lush his hair is when it’s not styled with product.
I’m intimately acquainted with every part of this man. And I miss him so much it burns.
“You were direct with me about your career aspirations,” he says, rocking back on his heels. “Despite my initial bullheadedness, I heard you loud and clear when you said this business is your dream.”
He peers over his shoulder, taking in the transformed space. When did he find the time to do all this? It’s beyond anything I could have dreamed up for myself.
“Having to create makeshift setups in hotel rooms again and again can’t be easy. You deserve a dedicated workspace. We didn’t work out, and for that, I am truly, deeply sorry. But I want to support you even if I’m not in the picture.”
Silence hangs between us as I study the space again, reveling in the grandness of this gesture.
“Alaric,” I start, tears cascading down my cheeks.
He waves me off, heading for the open bay door. “I had the couch cleaned and fully restored,” he says. As if it’s all no big deal. As if this isn’t the single most caring, supportive, thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.
“I’ll leave you to it. I’m already packed up.” He nods toward a suitcase sitting just inside the door. “All the security cameras and alarms are on timers. I sent the codes and a link to the app to your email. Text me if something comes up or you need anything at all.”
With that, he turns and walks away.