“Maddox, please cut the meat.Otherwise, everything else will be cold.”Her frown deepens for a beat, then her expression softens.“You’re right.I should’ve told you sooner, and I apologize.You’re busy, and I hate putting more on your plate.”
“I appreciate that, but that’s what I’m here for.”
Her hand settles on my forearm, grounding me in a way I shouldn’t need.“No, sweetheart.That’s not why you’re here.”Her brown eyes bore into me.“You’re here to live your life.We’re delighted you chose to come back to Winslow Grove, and I’m thrilled you’re living with me.”Her grip tenses, needing me to hear her.“I don’t want to be a burden.I meant to tell you about the leak, but it slipped my mind.You can look at it after we eat.”
She pats my arm and gestures toward the roast, her silent code forjust finish carving, and I nod, getting back to it.
“Mom, we’re all here to help.”Raf drops into a chair at the kitchen table.“You can holler anytime.I’m happy to split the work with Mad.”
“Appreciate it.”I nod and finish plating the meat.
He means well, but Raf has his own house, a small fixer-upper, and his own list of things falling apart.This—taking care of Mom, the house, the bills—this is mine to shoulder.
Halfway through dinner, my phone vibrates across the counter, and the conversation stalls.Katie stares at me when I don’t grab the phone.“Aren’t you going to get that?”
“Nah.”I dig into another forkful of potatoes, willing the phone to stop.“I’ll call them back.”
The ringing cuts off, only to start again.Mom and Katie trade the same tight-lipped look, exasperation written all over their faces.
“This is silly.”Mom strides to the counter and snatches the phone.“Someone clearly needs to talk to you.”She squints at the screen.“It’s Ginny.”
My former assistant, although she acts like she still works for me.For nearly a year now, Ginny has been forwarding every sponsorship pitch and appearance request that crosses her inbox as if my life didn’t change the second I came home.She means well, even if she’s clinging to a version of me that ceased to exist the moment I left the track.
Fortunately, even retired, thanks to several significant sponsorships while racing and a shrewd investment advisor, I don’t need to entertain any of those opportunities.Financially, I’m good.More than, even.I can take care of my mother and sister as well as live a comfortable life, even with hefty house repairs.
Mom hands me the phone, and the ringing snaps me out of my musings.
“Ginny, I’m in the middle of dinner.Can I call you back?”
“Maddox, finally.”Her voice tumbles out in a rush.“I’m sorry, but I just got a call from Marcos?—”
She pauses, knowing he’s the last person I want to hear from, and the silence on the line stretches.
Marcos Madrigal.Former boss, team owner, and the billionaire who used to call us “family” right up until the moment I stopped making him money.He’s still fuming because I chose retirement over his demands.He doesn’t think my walking away was a mistake—he views it as an act of desertion worth punishment.
“What did Marcos want?”
The room quiets.Mom’s fork hovers, Katie’s mid-bite, and Raf studies me.I drop my gaze and roll my shoulders.They know we didn’t part on good terms.
They still have questions about my sudden exit, the vague press release about my retirement without any real reason for walking away at the peak.I gave them the version that keeps them sleeping at night.
If they knew the truth, it would hurt them both—for not telling them, and for the choice I made.All the years I spent holding the line, shielding them from the fallout, would feel like they were wasted.My silence is the only thing I still control and the only thing that still protects anyone.
“The final interview has been arranged.”Papers shuffle on Ginny’s end.She’s stalling, an old habit when she has news I’m going to hate.“The reporter is Grace Buchanan.Five-thirty Thursday afternoon.I sent the details.”
“ThisThursday?”My shoulders lock.“Can’t we cancel?”
“It’s in your retirement deal.”She exhales, bracing for the inevitable pushback.
Right.The damn concession.
I needed out, and Marcos knew it.He could have let me go with a handshake, but instead he spent weeks boxing me in, upping the pressure until I was gasping for air.This profile isn’t about the sport or a win for the team.Nope.
His voice creeps into my head, oily and paternal.Maddox, one last contribution for the team.It’s the least you can do for all the fans you’re letting down.Your team.
He always knew where to stick the knife and didn’t care about the fans.What he cares about is the millions he’s losing with my exit.
When I retired, a two-time champion at twenty-seven, he wanted me to stay so he could keep his trophy on a leash.I was poised to win again and had years of racing ahead of me.But I dared to do what was best for my family, and now, he takes any opportunity to make me pay for it.