Page 21

Cam

Look who’s back. – caption from Cam’s social media post – a video compilation of Sadie at the track before today’s race, May 19th

This race is mine. I can taste it.

Twelve laps left, and I’ve already passed Ludlow. Chad Green is next. I haven’t raced with him as much, but he hasn’t raced with me either .

My favorite set of turns on this track is coming up. I’ll find my line and—heat nips at my heels, and not the usual heat of racing in Texas in the summer. I chance a quick look behind me.

Fire.

My bike is on fire.

Sadie must be terrified.

The heat intensifies on my heels and calves, moving up my legs.

Shit.

I’ve got to get this bike off the track.

My leathers are almost unbearably hot as I pull to a rushed stop on the concrete shoulder. The second I’m off the track, I set the bike down, but the heat doesn’t stop.

My suit is on fire.

I have to get to her.

Flames lick further up my legs, intensifying the heat. Instinct kicks in, and it’s a good thing because she’s all I can think about. Dropping to the ground, I roll and pat the fire with my leather-gloved hands, but my attempts are barely enough to keep the fire from spreading. It’s not going out. A rare twist of fear tightens my throat.

I have to get to her.

I have to put out this damn fire so I can get to her.

The corner marshals reach me, spraying foam from fire extinguishers all over my bike and suit. It’s less than a minute before they have the fire out, but knowing she’s watching— and she’s scared —it feels like an eternity. If they hadn’t been here, I might not have made it. But they were here.

I’m okay, but is she?

I have to get to her.

The overwhelming heat slowly ebbs as the guys help me to my feet, but the temperature inside my suit is the furthest thing from my mind.

She has to see that I’m okay.

I have to see if she is.

Medics rush toward me, but the second I’m up, I’m running toward her .

They threw a red flag to halt the race— most likely because I leaked oil on the track —but it clears my way as I cut across it—covering grass, concrete, asphalt, and jumping over barriers. Even cutting across it sideways, the track feels a hell of a lot bigger when I’m running than it does at two hundred miles per hour.

She’s here, and I have to get to her.

My heart hammers as my pit finally comes into view.

I don’t see her.

Pulling off my helmet as I step over the low wall that separates the track from the pit, I call out, “Where is she?” My voice betrays my panic.

My team is simultaneously asking if I’m alright while prepping my second bike so I can finish the race. No one answers my question.

“Where is she?” I repeat, breathless from the race, adrenaline, and the run.

“Over here,” my best friend Luke’s voice calls from the other side of the pit—by the screens—where he’s sitting on the ground with his arms wrapped around Sadie’s quaking figure.

She’s here.

Her shoulders shake as she burrows her face in Luke’s chest.

And she’s not okay.

Luke is my lead mechanic, but he’s not prepping my bike. He’s taking care of what matters most— her .

The charred and warped leather of my suit protests as I fall to my knees in front of them, reaching for my girl.

“You good?” Luke asks, carefully shifting her out of his arms and into mine.

“I’m good,” I assure him, pulling her to my chest and kissing the top of her head over and over.

He nods solemnly before walking away.

“You hear that, sunshine?” I squeeze her shaking body close, stroking my hand up and down her back, but she doesn’t respond. “I’m good.” I kiss the top of her head again. “I’m okay.”

“No, you are not ,” she says, her voice weak and impassioned at the same time.

“Look at me. I’m here. I’m alright,” I urge, but she keeps her face buried in my chest, refusing to look up.

Tearing off my gloves, I shift us both so I can draw her into my lap. She leans into me but still won’t meet my eyes.

“I’m not hurt.” My fingers twine into her hand, which she has clutched at her chest. “Touch me. Feel me . You can tell for yourself that I’m alright.”

She doesn’t budge, but that same pained voice says, “You are not .”

Trailing my fingers through her hair, I joke, “At least I didn’t crash.”

It has the desired effect—pissing her off enough that she looks up at me and glares. Her eyes are glassy, but her flushed cheeks are dry—like she’s too angry to let a tear fall.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Her voice cracks on the question. “You were on fire , Cam.”

“The suit did its job. It got really hot, but I’m not burnt.”

Her glare shifts from angry to skeptical. “ Really ?”

Of course, she doesn’t believe me. I was on fire. She saw me on fire.

“Here,” I say, carefully lifting her from my lap and into a nearby folding chair.

Her brows furrow as she watches me stand and reach for the zipper at the neck of my leather suit, pulling it all the way down.

“ Cam ,” she whispers my name in a confused scold—too overwhelmed to manage feeling only one thing at a time.

“I’m showing you,” I say, peeling one arm out of the suit.

Racing leathers feel somewhere between armor and a second skin. Under normal circumstances, she’d probably laugh her ass off watching me work my body out of them. Today, it isn’t until I get my second arm free and I’m shirtless, with the leather suit folded at my hips, that she cracks the slightest hint of a smile.

“ Cameron .”

“It wasn’t my upper half that was on fire,” I say, unzipping each of my boots and throwing them aside.

“People can see you,” she hisses, pointing behind me when I begin to push the suit past my hips.

Not caring, I push it further down.

“Cameron Hacker, there are cameras!”

Looking over my shoulder, I see we’ve drawn a crowd. My team is continuing to prep my second bike, Luke is keeping medics and Ian from Incite Energy away from us, and there are staff, interviewers, and cameras from the track gathered at the edge of the pit.

Looking back into Sadie’s caramel-brown eyes, I push the suit all the way down my legs, so I’m standing in front of her, covered in nothing but sweat and black boxer-briefs.

“Clearly, I’ve built my reputation on modesty,” I smirk.

Her hand flies up to cover her mouth as she giggles. Good . That’s what she needed.

“Look at me, Sadie. I am okay.” I spin in a one-eighty for her, catching sight of the even larger crowd behind us as I do. “Not hurt. No burns.”

“You’re not supposed to make me laugh,” she pouts.

“Since when?” I ask. “I love the way you laugh.”

“Stop it,” she sighs, then her jaw sets and her voice grows serious again. “This still isn’t okay.”

Surrounding her soft hands with mine, I draw her out of her chair and into my arms.

“Tell me what’s not okay. Tell me so I can make it better,” I whisper into her hair. “Please?”

“It’s not that easy. This isn’t okay,” her voice cracks, and she reaches a fist up to wipe away a tear.

“I am not crying,” she insists.

“Of course not, love,” I reassure her, but my heart cracks. I made her cry.

For a little while, she stays silent in my arms while I trace soothing patterns on her back. Her breaths come and go in a deliberate pattern that I’m able to match with my own, so our chests rise and fall in tandem.

Luke catches my eye and nods toward my second bike with a questioning look. Behind him, Ian delivers a look that implies I’d better get my ass back on the track. I shake my head to both of them and look back to the scared woman in my arms.

“I hate this,” she says, her head tilting so her eyes meet mine. “It’s not okay. It’s—it’s—this is not okay.” Her words grow more determined. “You can’t keep doing this. It’s not safe. It’s never going to be safe.”

My gut wrenches. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“Is going fast really that important?” Her voice rises, drawing attention from our audience at the edge of the pit. “Can’t you just take up running or something?”

I get the sense that her questions are rhetorical, so I stay quiet, letting her get everything out.

“Go karts,” she continues. “Go karts are safe. That was fun. Is there a professional go-kart racing league you can join?” She sighs, and I hear a low chuckle from my crew. “But that’s not what you want. It won’t make you happy, and you deserve to be happy.” A weak fist falls against my chest. “Why can’t you be happy doing something safe?”

Even though that was rhetorical, too, I answer. “I don’t think of it as dangerous.” I step back just enough to make sure I can see every ounce of reaction on her beautiful face. “I know that’s what’s on your mind, but it’s not on mine. I wasn’t afraid when I realized my bike was on fire. I was prepared. I know how to handle anything that happens on that track.”

She narrows her eyes. “You weren’t scared at all?”

“I was scared for you.”

She digs her teeth into her bottom lip, eyes narrowing even further. “Why would you be scared for me? I wasn’t on fire .”

“Because of this,” I say, rubbing the back of my hand along her soft cheek—cold and wet from the tears I caused. “I knew you would hate it. I don’t know how to make it better for you. I wish I did. Fuck , I wish so much I could take all your anxiety away.”

She watches me for a long time, taking those deliberate, counted breaths. When I match them this time, her lips pull into a weak smile.

“I like it when you do that. If we’re breathing together, I can feel that you’re alive.”

“Of course, I’m alive,” I say with a low chuckle.

Her usually soft face hardens into severe lines as her voice rises loud enough I’m sure we’re not the only ones who hear her next words.

“It’s not an of course , though, Cam. It’s not a given. That is the risk. That’s it. You could die .”

She’s been careful not to say crash around me since the first time we talked about it—always whispering if she ever had to say the word. But now all bets are off, and it’s a punch to the gut that I deserve.

“I could.” It’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to voice anything like that to her, and her mouth drops open in shock.

“And you’d just be okay with that?” she asks.

It does happen. I’ve known of a couple of guys who haven’t survived crashes. It’s a heartbreaking tragedy—an extremely rare, but possible outcome for any racer. It’s a possibility I came to terms with a long time ago—long before I knew Sadie.

“No, I wouldn’t be okay with it. I don’t want to die this way. I have no intention of dying this way. That is how I live .” I say, pointing at the track where the racers are gridding up again.

“Shouldn’t you be out there?” she asks, caught between confusion, concern, and anxiety.

If I’m not out there, I won’t get any points for this race. Ludlow will likely win, which means I’ll be down fifteen points for the season. With only two races left, I’ll have to win both, and he’ll have to place lower than second on one if I want the championship. Ian is pacing where Luke has him blocked away from us. Even if I finish second for the season—when they said I only had to make top three—I’m showing everyone, including Incite Energy , that racing isn’t always my top priority by staying in my pit and not finishing this race.

I may lose my spot on their team.

“No,” I say, resting my forehead against hers before pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. “I should be right here.”

She huffs a frustrated sigh. “You make it so damn hard not to fall in love with you.”

Fall in love with me?

“I keep telling myself I cannot fall for you. I can’t let myself love you because it would hurt too much. If I love you, then this,” she gestures frantically at her heart, “is how I always have to feel. But I already feel like that all the time, so…” she lets her words trail off.

“That’s not what I want it to feel like for you,” I say, running my thumb along the pink edge of her hair. “You deserve so much more than that.”

The engines on the grid start up—my friends, colleagues, and competition ready to launch and finish this race. It’s been a long time since I was sitting in the pits for a green flag, and my soul longs to be out there. But more than being on the track, my soul longs to be right here with her.

“Do you want me to stop racing?” I ask, my heart thudding as the bikes on the track take off without me.

“What the fuck?” she asks, a bewildered whisper.

“I’ll do it. That can be my last race if you want.” My heart breaks at the suggestion, but I mean every word.

Her head tilts with skepticism. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” I say, the words landing solemnly between us. I know we’re still being watched, but this part of the conversation is only for her and me. “You are the only thing that matters more than racing. So yes, if that’s what you want, I’ll quit.” I swallow thickly. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” her response is immediate, but her lips curl in distaste as she says the word. “No—I don’t know.” She sighs, resting her head heavily on my shoulder. “I want you to race, and also never be in danger. Is that so much to ask?”

A low chuckle fills my chest. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“You could die out there,” she repeats.

“I could die in here,” I say, pressing a flat hand over my heart.

Her teeth dig into her lip, and she blows a heavy breath out through her nose. “That’s why I can’t ask you to quit.”

“I meant what I said.” I rub my hand up and down her arm. “I will quit, and I will work through whatever the hell that looks like in my life if it means I get to keep you. I’m choosing you. I want you. I love you.”

She blinks, rapidly shifting from shock and confusion to a joyful blush, then back to her concerned frown. “I don’t want you to have to give it up for me. If being with me would make you unhappy, it wouldn’t be worth it.”

Placing this decision on her shoulders is not fair, but it’s the only way I know to show her my reality. “I don’t think it’s what you want, either,” I say. “I won’t be the same man you know—the same man you’ve been trying not to love.” My fingers lift her chin, bringing her bright caramel eyes into focus.

“You could die out there,” she says for a third time, “But I think you’re right. You’d sacrifice something in here if you stopped.” She rests her hand over my heart. “I don’t want that. I can’t allow that. I’m supposed to protect your heart.” Sadie Winslow wants to protect my heart? How did I get so lucky? “If you’ll keep doing this with me,” she says, waving her rose-nailed hand in the narrow space between our bodies, “I think I can keep working out how to be okay with it.”

Weaving my hand through the hair at the base of her head, I pull her body flush with mine and drop my lips to hers. Cheers sound from the audience at the edge of the pit, but when she kisses me back, all the sounds of the track and the worries that come with it fade away. I nip her ear, then whisper, “So does that mean you’re not pretending?”

“I haven’t been for a while,” she giggles.

“Good,” I say, kissing her again. “Because I never was.”