Chapter 8: Finish Line Fallout

Early the next morning, Mason called to remind me to watch his race.

His voice was all swagger, as usual. I could hear engines revving in the background, the distant cheers of the pit crew.

"You don't know yet, the Lee family's son joined at the last minute to race me. You think I'll let him win?"

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help smiling a little. Mason was a pain, but he knew how to put on a show.

"Just watch me crush him."

I perked up.

I punched the air, grinning despite myself. "Go for it, go for it!"

The stadium was buzzing. ESPN banners hung over the bleachers. The crowd was a blur of Yankees caps and phone cameras. Mason, flamboyant in red, walked over surrounded by people.

His racing suit was custom, his helmet tucked under his arm, paparazzi trailing like flies. He flashed a peace sign, soaking up the attention.

Dazzling, full of swagger.

He looked every bit the rich kid with something to prove.

The Lee family's son looked refined, but there was a calculating glint in his eyes that made me uncomfortable.

He wore designer sunglasses, his jaw set. The kind of guy who never lost—not in business, not in life.

I walked over to Mason, pretending to tidy his collar.

My hands shook a little as the cameras flashed. I tried to remember my lines, remembering that every move was for show.

The media snapped away.

Reporters called our names, the clicks of their cameras relentless.

Just as I was about to pull my hand back, Mason suddenly grabbed it and brazenly lifted it to his lips.

He grinned for the cameras, then squeezed my hand just a little too tight, like we were in on the same cruel joke.

My eyes widened, almost unable to stop myself from punching him in the face.

I shot him a warning glare. He winked, all bravado, and for a second, I almost admired his shamelessness.

Luckily, he didn't actually kiss it—just brushed it with his nose.

He was always toeing the line, just enough for the cameras.

But it was still gross.

I had to force a smile.

My cheeks ached, and I wondered if anyone could tell how fake it was.

"Mason, just you wait."

I whispered it through clenched teeth, knowing the microphones wouldn’t pick it up.

I smiled on the surface, but was grinding my teeth inside.

Mason smoothed my hair, smiling insincerely.

He patted my head a little too hard, as if daring me to mess up our act.

"You think I want to act? If you hadn't made such a scene years ago, hm."

It was well known that Mason and I didn't get along.

People watched us, half-expecting fireworks every time we were together.

When news of our engagement broke, everyone was shocked, saying it was impossible.

Even our old teachers had called, certain there’d been a mistake.

So we had to put on a show.

We’d agreed: smile for the cameras, grit our teeth behind the scenes.

"Get lost."

I yanked my hand back and wiped it on my clothes.

Mason also used the excuse of grabbing his helmet to wipe his hand hard.

He shot me a look, half-amused, half-challenging. I grinned, flipping him off behind my back.

Before getting in the car, he turned back, full of bravado:

"Wait for me at the finish line."

He raised his voice, making sure the cameras caught every word.

"Remember to bring flowers."

I waved at him, grumbling inside.

It was all theater, but I played my part.

So fake.

But when I turned around, I suddenly froze.

My heart skipped a beat, the stadium noise fading into a dull roar.

Behind me, the crowd was packed, and in the throng, my eyes suddenly met Derek's.

Everything else went fuzzy. He stood at the edge of the chaos, hands shoved in his jacket, eyes burning into mine. For a heartbeat, the whole world stopped.

And in that split second, I realized: neither of us was ready to let go. And that terrified me more than anything.