Page 13

THIRTEEN

Brody

The code wasn’t working. I punched it in again, the worn buttons clicking under my fingers. Nothing. Just that stubborn little beep telling me to try one more time. The code for the gate had worked fine, but this one? Of course not.

I sighed, dragging a hand down my face. The last thing I wanted to do was call Logan at one in the morning to let me in. He had to be asleep. My other option? Sleeping in the secondhand SUV I’d bought yesterday. The same SUV that was supposed to give me anonymity so I could slip into the parking at the arena unnoticed and be at the game unseen.

And look how that went.

So here I was, stuck outside my brother’s house after my face ended up plastered across the goddamn Jumbotron at the hockey game in Atlanta.

I pulled out my phone and hesitated. There it was—the message I’d ignored in the car. Hovering over it, I tapped it open, expecting some pissed-off lecture from Noah. Instead, I got this:

Feeling your fears deep in my heart. See you when I get home. - N

What kind of nice was this? How was he such a good person? I stared at the words until they blurred, my chest tightening in a way I didn’t want to name. Then, I slumped onto the cold steps outside Logan’s place, dragging my jacket tighter around me. It was chilly for September, a sharp chill that crawled under my skin and made my bones ache. Fitting, really.

The door opened behind me, and I heard Logan’s voice, groggy but familiar. “Brody? Are you coming in?”

I shook my head. “I might just sit here.”

There was a pause, and then, the door clicked shut again. Footsteps padded across the porch, and Logan sat down next to me, wearing sweats and a jacket he’d probably grabbed on the way out. “I thought you were going to a hockey game?”

“I did,” I muttered. “The Jumbotron showed my face, so I left.”

“You left.”

“Uh-huh.”

Logan sighed. “Let’s go inside and talk.” Logan punched a code into the keypad by the door. “New number is 8829,” he said. “Left the main gate open and had someone come in we didn’t want.”

I frowned. “Who?”

“Grandfather and some guy in a suit,” Logan said, his voice tight. “Looking for you.”

“Fuck,” I muttered, my gut twisting. “Tell me you didn’t tell him about my head.”

“I told him fuck all, then threw the bastard out.” I followed him in, kicking off my boots in the entryway as the warmth of the house seeped into my cold skin, then headed to the living room, where Logan sat in his usual chair. “What's up?”

I shrugged, running a hand through my hair. “Nothing.”

Logan’s expression softened, but his tone stayed firm. “Brody. Come on. You look like shit. Talk to me.”

I sank onto the couch, the exhaustion hitting me all at once. “I didn’t think anyone would notice me at the game,” I admitted. “Guess I was wrong.”

“You think?” Logan said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“I just wanted to see Noah, and we were supposed to meet up later,” I said. “But the cameras found me, and I freaked out. I didn’t want to answer the questions or face tomorrow's headlines. I know I'm being stupid; I mean, who the hell would care about me being at a freakin’ hockey game?”

“So, you ran.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you talk to Noah first?”

“No.”

Logan sighed, sitting down next to me. “You know, Brody, running isn’t going to fix anything. You can’t keep hiding from the media forever.”

“I’m not,” I snapped, my voice harsher than intended.

“Aren’t you?” Logan said, raising an eyebrow. “You don't want people knowing about the aneurysm, but this isn't that is it? You like Noah, but you're scared people will find out? You don’t want the world to know you’re bi or pan or whatever, and falling for a guy.”

“Bi, and no, I’m not falling for Noah.” The denial was automatic.

Logan snorted. “Your expression whenever you mention his name says otherwise.”

I hesitated, glancing away. “He sees me.” The words felt dangerous, too honest, but they slipped out anyway. “He told me he's happy for us to do what we’re doing, but said he wouldn't wait around if I’m not out.”

“He's trying to force you to come out?” Logan sounded horrified.

“No! Jeez, no. He says we'll have the friends-with-benefits thing until he wants more, which he will. And I can't give him more.”

“But you like him?”

“It’s only been a few weeks; I mean, we don't know each other,” I stopped and stared at Logan—my brother was the only one I could tell the truth to. “That’s bullshit. I know he has a big heart and is everything that would make me want to live my truth. He’s snarky and positive, fighting his own battles and winning. Kind. Supportive. Sunshine.”

Sexy as fuck.

Mine.

“And you want to be with him,” Logan murmured.

“I don’t know how to be with him.”

The silence that followed was awful. My heart pounded, and I dropped my gaze to the floor, unable to face Logan.

Coming out as a driver felt impossible. Motorsport—especially Formula 1—wasn’t the kind of world where one could be open and out. It was a realm dominated by egos, tradition, and the relentless pressure to uphold an image of perfection. In that image, there was no space for what I desired.

I’d spent years in the paddock, and never once had I seen a current or retired driver come out. Not one. It wasn’t because there weren’t any. Statistically, that was impossible. It was because the culture didn’t allow it. The pressure to conform, to play the role, was suffocating.

I’d lived with that for so long that I knew no different.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry, as I forced myself to keep going. “You know how it is in motorsport. There’s no space for… for someone like me. And with my fucking head, I’m lost, Lo, I’m so fucking lost with what comes next.”

“Brody, I know I’m not supposed to ask this,” Logan said, as if he were treading on eggshells. “But… are you okay?”

I sighed, leaning back against the couch and scrubbing a hand over my face. “I had to call the doctor.”

Logan’s posture shifted, his focus sharpening as if a spotlight had been flipped on. “Why?”

“Dizziness. Some headaches. Nothing major.” My voice sounded dismissive, even to me. “Overdid it with… things.”

Twirling, dancing, living, loving.

Logan’s brows knitted together, the corners of his mouth turning down. “What did the doc say?”

I hesitated, my fingers curling into the edge of the cushion beneath me. “He wants me to come in for another MRI when I can.”

“Then you do that.” His tone left no room for argument, his gaze steady as it pinned me in place.

“What if it’s getting worse?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, low and shaky. “Just when I think I’m falling in love with Noah.”

Logan blinked, startled. “‘Love’?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I waved a hand, my frustration boiling over. “What if this thing in my head steals that from me? From him? What if I can’t give him a future?”

Logan sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he met my gaze head-on. “What if you can?”

“As a caregiver?”

“Oh, fuck you, Brody—you’re not done yet. Hell, I’m still doing my job as your manager, Brody. I’ve got contracts for you.”

“What?”

“I didn't stop after you retired. I'm not sitting here on my ass twiddling my thumbs. I have offers for sponsorships and at least three teams that want you on their roster in a technical or ambassador role if you want to return to the industry.”

Hope flickered but faltered as the familiar doubts crept in, sharp and unrelenting. I dropped my gaze to the floor. “But Noah… he could be… I'm…” I didn’t want to say it; I didn’t want to give life to the fear that had been eating at me since my first attraction to a man. But its weight was too heavy to carry alone. “They wouldn't want me if they knew about my head or if I came out.”

I glanced up at Logan, half expecting him to look away, to confirm the fears I couldn’t shake. But he didn’t. His expression hadn’t changed. If anything, the determination in his eyes had grown stronger.

“You don’t know any of that,” he said. “If anyone has a problem with who you are, then they’re not worth your time,” he said, calm but unyielding. “But you see the doc; you get your MRI; we face whatever happens there, and then, after, there’s a new career out there for you. You don’t need to hide, and you sure as hell don’t need to apologize for it. And even if some wouldn’t go for it, others would. Times are changing, Brody. Maybe not as fast as they should, but they are. And you don’t need to hide who you are to have a future. Not anymore.”

Hope stirred in my chest again, fragile and uncertain, and I wanted to believe him so much. But I couldn’t ignore the years of conditioning, the weight of an entire industry that thrived on image and conformity.

“Maybe,” I said, my voice a whisper. “But it’s not just about me. If I come out, it affects everyone around me. My team, my sponsors… you.”

I felt Logan’s hand on my shoulder, solid and grounding. “You don’t have to carry all that alone,” he said. “You’ve spent your whole life living for others, trying to be what they wanted. Maybe you come out and live for yourself, and maybe no one wants you, but Jesus, you’re worth nearly a hundred million. You don’t need the F1 circus if they don’t want you.”

His words hit me harder than I expected, and for a moment, all I could do was nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat. Living for myself? I wasn’t sure I even knew how to do that.

But it might work out. I could have a purpose.

I could date Noah.

I could have something real for the first time.

“How would it work?”

“What?”

“The medical things, and me coming out.”

Logan sat next to me on the sofa. “You want the logistics of how we'd do that from your manager's perspective or your brother’s?”

“More about whether I’m honest about the aneurysm and come out, even if I am retired; it's news. Noah is… he's… I can't do that to him.”

I braced myself for judgment, for Logan to flinch or pull back. Instead, his hand came down on my shoulder, solid and steady. “Maybe you need to talk to him and ask him? If it is just friends with benefits, he'll back off with any pressure, and you'll know. If he wants more, then he’ll live in the spotlight. The pressure is too much, and the whole thing crumbles. But maybe it works, and it’s all good, and maybe?—”

“Stop doing that ‘maybe thing’,” I warned, and he smiled. Everything felt so hopeful, but I had a headache and…

“What about the…” I tapped my head, unable to say the word out loud.

Logan’s brows furrowed, as he crossed his arms over his chest. “What about it?”

I hesitated; the words stuck in my throat. How could he not see it? How could he act like it wasn’t this enormous, immovable thing between me and the rest of my life? “It changes everything, Logan,” I said, my voice low.

“Why?” he shot back, his tone sharp. “Why does it have to change everything? It’s a medical condition, Brody, not a death sentence. We’ll get on top of this, and hell, it doesn’t define you unless you let it.”

“You don’t get it.” I shook my head, my chest tightening. I almost blurted out the whole worst-case-scenario-after-an-operation thing, but I wasn't sharing that with anyone—not even my brother. “If I started a relationship with Noah, it's not fair to keep it from him, and as soon as I tell him, it would change everything.”

Logan frowned. “It doesn't have to.”

I took a breath, my hands balling into fists at my sides. “He’d start looking at me like I’m fragile and might break at any second. He’d stop laughing with me the way he always does, stop arguing about stupid crap. He’d stop being himself. He’d hover. He’d worry. And then, worst of all…” I trailed off, swallowing hard.

Logan’s voice softened, but it didn’t lose its edge. “Worst of all, what?”

I hesitated. “He might say he wanted to be with me.”

Logan blinked, confused. “And that’s bad because…?”

“Because it wouldn’t be real!” I snapped, my voice cracking. “What if he only said it because he felt sorry for me? Because he thought it was what I needed to hear? I couldn’t handle that, Logan. I don’t want to be someone’s charity case, their guilt-driven responsibility.”

“You're spiraling, Brody.”

“I can’t risk it,” I shot back, my voice rising. “And I don’t want to find out. If he stayed out of pity, I’d never forgive myself. And if he didn’t stay—if he left because it's too much to handle—then what?”

Logan’s voice was low but firm. “You can’t decide what’s too much for anyone. That’s their choice, Brody, not yours. You're giving yourself worst-case scenarios and believing them to be true.”

“Fuck. What do I do!”

“Breathe, Brody.” Logan pressed a hand to my arm. “Just breathe. Okay? In. Out. Count with me. In. Out.”

I listened to Logan's voice, counted my breaths, and at last, the panic began to recede.

“What do I do?”

“Talk to him.”

“It’s that easy?”

“Yep. Talk to him, and then, take the next step, and the next.”

“Can I stay here tonight?”

“You have to ask?” Logan smirked. “You can get up early with Avery, and I can get me some Sadie smooching in, and then, we both call the doc, yeah?”

I stood, feeling determined, happy, and unhappy, a little weird and a lot stressed, and hugged Logan.

“Thank you.”

“Always.”

An hour later, when the house was quiet, I was still staring at my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen. I typed out a message to Noah and backspaced it so many times it was ridiculous.

Brody: I’m sorry. Can we talk when you’re awake?

I pressed send and went to put my phone on the side table next to the bed, but a reply came almost instantly.

Noah: I’m here.

My chest tightened. I hesitated, then called him before I could overthink it. He answered on the second ring, his curls in disarray and his eyelids heavy with sleep. The screen barely lit his face, but I could see the faint curve of his lips as he said, “Hey.”

“Hey.” Silence stretched between us, thick and weighted. I cleared my throat. What did I say now?

Noah tilted his head, his smile teasing. “Is this a booty call? Because, dude, I’m wiped.”

“No,” I said, heat rising to my face. “Sorry, I just… It’ll be a thing if I come out, particularly in the European media and the US. The whole Jemima’s ex thing. Reporters will want to know everything—who I’m with, why, when, how. Our sex lives will be dragged through the press. Your dads, your sisters—it’ll all come up. It’ll be hell.”

“Uh-huh,” Noah said, unconcerned. “And?”

“It could end up destroying whatever we think we have.”

“Or,” Noah said, his voice steady, “it could be the best thing that ever happened.”

“You’re not freaking out?”

“Nope. Are you?”

“A little bit,” I admitted, my voice more gentle than intended.

“Well, Brody, you should know something,” Noah said, his gaze locking on mine through the screen. “I was fucking angry I didn't get to see you tonight because I miss your face when you're not around, and hell, I have feelings for you.”

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. “Okay.”

“And?” Noah prompted, his eyes sparkling with challenge. “This is where you tell me how you feel.”

I hesitated, words tangling in my throat. His sleepy, disheveled appearance made him all the more irresistible—his curls wild, his smile gentle, his presence magnetic. He was strong and steady, even when I wasn’t. He was everything I hadn’t let myself want.

“Feelings. I have them,” I said.

Noah’s lips curved into a small smile, his expression softening. “Feelings. Right.”

I felt embarrassment creeping in as I hesitated. My words felt clumsy, too big for my mouth. “When are you home?”

“Three days,” he said, his voice low and warm, carrying that sexy sleepy rasp that tugged at something deep in my chest.

“Can I be there when you get back?” The question came out quieter than I intended, as though I feared the answer.

“In my apartment?” he asked, one eyebrow lifting in amused surprise.

“No, I’ll get a hotel and—” I started, but he cut me off with a laugh, the sound light and teasing.

“I was joking,” he said, his smile gentle. “I’ll send you the code. Make yourself at home.”

“You trust me with your place?” I asked, the weight of his offer settling over me like a warm blanket. It wasn’t just a casual invitation; it was something I wasn’t sure I deserved but desperately wanted.

His gaze was steady. “Right now, I trust you with everything.”

His words hit hard, and I couldn’t speak for a moment. He didn’t look away; his eyes locked on mine, and I could see the sincerity there, the strength that made him Noah. Then, he yawned, and it made me smile. He had a cute yawn.

I have it bad.

“Night, Noah,” I murmured.

“Night, Brody. See you in three days.”

He ended the call, and I stared at the screen for the longest time.

Three days.

That was a long-ass time to wait.