“If it was situational—caught up in the heat of things, long drive, whatever excuse makes you sleep at night—say it. Say it and I’ll let it go.”
His jaw works, and he grips the briefing packet hard enough to wrinkle the edges. “Hutch, I?—”
Something tightens in my chest. “Just tell me. Please.”
He shakes his head once, abrupt. “I can’t.”
Everything in me goes still.
“Because it wasn’t just the road,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “And you know it.”
For a second, the garage might as well fall silent. The noise drops away, the world drops away, and it’s just him and me and the truth he’s finally stopped running from.
I catch my breath, trying not keep the sudden rush of relief from lighting me up like an idiot.
“Right,” I murmur. “Good.”
His brows lift slightly. “Good?”
“Yeah.” My voice comes out rough. “Because I thought it was just me going mad.”
His eyes melt in that way that drives me insane. “It wasn’t.”
I take another step closer, but he doesn’t back up. And suddenly qualis feel far away, and the only thing I can think is that it’s about bloody time.
“It wasn’t just the road for me,” I admit, inching a bit closer. “And if it wasn’t for you either?—”
“Hutch!”
The shout cracks through the air, making us jolt apart.
It’s Mason, waving a socket driver like he’s summoning a dog. “Tyres are staged and we need you on guns in thirty seconds, mate. Thirty. If you’re not at your station before they line up for the warm-up lap, I swear to God?—”
“Got it, boss,” I call back, but my voice has a ragged edge I can’t hide. “On my way.”
Mason narrows his eyes. They flick from me to Kip and back, calculating and far too perceptive. It should bother me more—the rumours, the gossip, the whole circus that’s sure to follow when people find out Kip and I are together—but surprisingly, it doesn’t. One way or another, we’ll figure it out.
“Everything good here?” Mason asks.
“Peachy,” I answer.
Kip coughs into his fist. “No worries.”
Mason looks like he absolutely does not believeeither one of us but has too much work to do to care. “Brilliant. Thrilled for you both. Hutch, let’s move.”
He disappears into the garage bustle, leaving a vacuum of noise behind him—air guns, comms chatter, engines rumbling awake.
I drag a hand through my hair, trying to pull myself back into work mode, but Kip’s still standing there, eyes wide, breathing uneven, and it does something awful to my ribcage.
“You need to go,” he says, quietly but not coldly. “They need you.”
“I know.” I hesitate just long enough to look stupid. “We’re not done.”
His throat bobs. “I know.”
I feel the words press on me, and for a second I seriously consider staying, consequences be damned. But then Mason shouts my name again, twice as sharp.
I step back, heart hammering, adrenaline doing double duty for entirely the wrong reason. “Later.”