Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“Scotty.”
Scott shivered. No one said his name like Cam. “What?” he said, buttoning his shirt up.
“You’re angry with me.”
Scott laughed sharply. “What clued you in, Richter?”
The mattress dipped and then strong arms wrapped around him from behind as Cam buried his face against his nape.
Closing his eyes, Scott took a shaky breath. “Let go.”
“Tell me why you’re angry so I can fix it.”
That insufferably bossy tone should have made him angrier, but a rush of unbearable fondness welled up inside his chest, making his throat tighten.
“If you can’t figure it out yourself, there’s no point talking about it,” Scott said, forcing himself to wrench his body free from Cam’s arms and get to his feet. Swallowing, he turned around and finally looked at Cam, taking him in.
That horrible, gut-wrenching longing twisted up his insides again as he stared at that handsome, achingly familiar face, those broad shoulders and disheveled dark hair. Every fiber of his being wanted to climb into his lap—climb into Cam’s chest and never leave.
Swallowing hard, Scott forced himself to say, “Good luck tomorrow—and for the rest of the season. I hope you win the championship. I really do wish you all the best.”
Cam frowned, a deep furrow forming between his brows. “Scotty—”
Scott laughed a little. “Look at me being all selfless and mature. Will would never believe it!” He bit the inside of his cheek and met Cam’s eyes. “Life is funny, isn’t it? If it weren’t for Will, I never would have gone to the Abu Dhabi race. I never would have met you. I would’ve gone on with my life without ever knowing you existed. I envy that alternate version of myself.”
Cam’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You don’t mean that.”
Scott didn’t. Not really. Despite all the heartache, he didn’t regret meeting Cam. The mere thought of never having known him made his stomach knot. That version of Scott would have been blissfully unaware of what he was missing. He would have gone on “falling in love” every other month, only to fall back out of love just as easily. Scott envied him. And pitied him.
Stepping back to the bed, Scott leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to Cam’s scruffy cheek. His eyes stung as he breathed him in one last time, committing the scent of him to memory.
“You’re the best mistake I’ve ever made,” he said hoarsely, his throat painfully tight. “Have a good life, darling.”
Cam went absolutely still.
Scott turned and walked away while he still could.
Chapter 26
Scott blocked Cam’s number.
Not because he wanted to. God knew he didn’t want to.
But after leaving Cam’s hotel room the previous night, after everything that had happened between them, he’d come to a painful realization: he wasn’t strong enough—not where Cam was concerned.
If Cam texted him again—if another message appeared on his screen saying I need to see you—Scott knew exactly what would happen. He would go. He would always go. No matter how little Cam gave him back. No matter how many times Scott reminded himself that a one-sided love for a closeted, famous athlete could never end well.
So he’d blocked the number before he could change his mind.
The act had felt strangely final, like amputating a limb. It didn’t make sense—he and Cam had barely texted lately—but there was a difference between leaving a line of communication open and cutting it off completely. It made him feel a little bit sick. And he hated that some small part of him still hoped Cam would find a way around it.
By morning, he’d seriously considered leaving Vegas altogether.
The temptation had been strong. Getting on a plane and disappearing sounded infinitely preferable to spending an entire weekend watching Cam from a distance and pretending he meant nothing to him. Unfortunately, leaving would create questions, and questions were dangerous after that Daily Mail article. Scott Palmer suddenly abandoning the race weekend after publicly appearing in the paddock for the first time in weeks would attract attention, and attention was the last thing Cam needed.
So Scott stayed. Because apparently, even heartbroken, he couldn’t stop putting Cam’s needs above his own.
The thought made him smile bitterly into his coffee.
Years ago, he’d heard someone say that true love wasn’t selfish, that if you genuinely loved someone, their happiness and well-being mattered more than your own. Scott had always dismissed the idea as sentimental nonsense.
Look at him now. If it were nonsense, Scott wouldn’t be sitting in the Ferrari garage watching a qualifying session he had no desire to watch for the sake of the man who’d broken his heart. If this was true love, it fucking sucked.
But when qualifying started, Scott forgot all about his depressing thoughts.
There was something wrong with Cam. Scott noticed it almost immediately.
At first it was small things—a missed apex, a correction mid-corner, an unusually scruffy exit—nothing dramatic on their own. But Scott had watched enough Grand Prix over the last year to recognize when Cameron Richter wasn’t driving like Cameron Richter. Cam’s greatest strength had always been consistency. Even on bad weekends, he was precise and controlled, incredibly clinical.