Chapter 4: Watching

I didn’t stay for dinner.

I left Rex’s house with my pulse still racing and Ethan’s message burning on my phone. Rex didn’t try to stop me. He just stood in the doorway watching me go, that same unreadable expression on his face, like he already knew this wasn’t over.

I drove straight to my mother’s house because I had nowhere else to put the panic. Ethan was already there, sleeves rolled up, helping set the table like nothing in the world had changed. Mom kissed my cheek and asked about work. I smiled and lied and somehow made it through the entire meal without looking like I was about to come apart.

Rex never showed.

Ethan checked his phone once and shrugged. “Guess he got busy. You know how he is during the season.”

I nodded and forced another bite of food past the tightness in my throat.

That night I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying every word I had said in his kitchen. The admission sat in my chest like a stone. I had given him everything—how long, what I had taken, what I did with it—and he had simply watched me break open and then let me walk away.

I hated him for it.

I hated myself more.

The next morning at the circuit felt different. The air was sharper. Every sound seemed louder. I kept my camera up and my head down, moving between the garage and the pit lane like muscle memory could protect me.

It didn’t.

I felt him before I saw him.

Rex was standing near the front of the garage, helmet in one hand, talking to Marcus. But his eyes weren’t on his teammate. They were on me. Not the quick, dismissive glance he used to give me when we argued in public. This was slower. Heavier. Like he was cataloguing every detail—the way I held the camera, the tension in my shoulders, the exact second I realized I was being watched.

I looked away first.

I spent the next hour photographing everything except him. The tires. The engineers. The way the light hit the rear wing of the car. Anything that kept the lens pointed somewhere safe. It didn’t matter. Every time I lowered the camera, his gaze was waiting.

During the first practice session I positioned myself on the outer edge of the pit wall, far enough that I could pretend I was focused on the track. Rex’s car flew past in a black blur. Even through the viewfinder I could feel the familiar rush of watching him drive—the precision, the aggression, the complete control. For a few seconds I forgot to be careful.

When the session ended and the cars rolled back in, I made the mistake of lingering.

Rex climbed out of the cockpit. He pulled off his helmet, ran a hand through his damp hair, and immediately looked in my direction. Our eyes locked across the busy garage. He didn’t smile. He didn’t look away. He just held my gaze while one of the engineers spoke to him, nodding at whatever was being said without ever breaking eye contact with me.

My skin felt too tight.

I turned and walked toward the media room before I could do something stupid.

I didn’t make it far.

Rex caught up to me near the back corridor that led to the storage areas. He didn’t grab me this time. He simply fell into step beside me, close enough that his arm brushed mine.

“You’re avoiding me,” he said.

“I’m working.”

“You’re running.”

I stopped walking and faced him. The hallway was empty. Somewhere in the distance a power tool whined and then cut off.

“What do you want from me today, Rex? Another confession? Should I write it down this time so you can keep it?”

His mouth twitched. “Tempting. But no.”

“Then leave me alone.”

“I can’t.” The words were quiet, almost thoughtful. “That’s the problem.”

Something in my chest tightened. I hated how easily he could do that—say one simple thing and knock the air out of me.

“You got what you asked for last night,” I said. “I told you everything. The price is paid.”

“Is it?” He tilted his head. “I don’t remember saying we were even.”

“You’re enjoying this.”

“I’m trying to understand it.” His eyes moved over my face. “You spent years building a version of yourself that hates me. I’m wondering how much of it was real and how much was armor.”

I had no answer that wouldn’t give him more of me than I could afford.

Rex stepped closer. Not enough to touch, but enough that I could feel the heat of him again. The same heat that had pinned me to the door two nights ago.

“I’m going to keep watching you,” he said softly. “Every time you pick up that camera. Every time you pretend I don’t exist. Every time you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention. I’m going to notice.”

“That’s stalking.”

“That’s interest.” His voice dropped. “And you should get used to it. Because I’m not going back to the way things were. Not now that I know.”

My pulse thudded hard in my throat. I wanted to tell him he didn’t get to decide that. I wanted to shove him back and walk away. Instead I stood there, caught in the quiet intensity of his stare, remembering the way his hand had felt on my waist and the way his thigh had forced my legs apart.

Rex’s gaze flicked down to my mouth for half a second, then returned to my eyes.

“Practice is over in twenty minutes,” he said. “I’ll be in the lounge after. The same one.”

“I’m not coming.”

“I didn’t ask.” He stepped back, giving me space that somehow felt worse than the closeness. “But I’ll be there anyway. In case you change your mind.”

He walked away without waiting for an answer.

I stayed in the hallway until the sound of his footsteps disappeared, then leaned against the wall and pressed the heel of my hand to my chest like I could slow my heart by force.

I didn’t go to the lounge.

I packed my gear, left the circuit early, and drove home with the windows down, trying to clear my head. It didn’t work. The entire drive I kept seeing the way he had looked at me across the garage—like he was already imagining the next time he would get me alone.

That night my phone lit up on the nightstand.

One message from Rex.

You didn’t come.

I stared at the screen for a long time before another message appeared.

Next time I won’t give you the option of walking away.