Breaking the Grid

C session

"When are you going to Lyon?" she asks suddenly, her voice lighter now.

"The day after tomorrow," I answer. My thumb brushes her temple.

She hums and nods, thoughtful, then tilts her head again. "Can I come?"

I blink down at her. "Yes, of course. But..." My brows pull together. "Aren't you supposed to be in Italy?"

She shakes her head, a little grin tugging at her mouth. "No, I have a break. Since after, we fly to Miami, I've got time for you."

Her tone is so matter-of-fact, so casual, like it's obvious that this is where she wants to be—on me, with me.

I let out a small laugh. "You just won a Grand Prix yesterday in Saudi Arabia, flew halfway across the world, and today you had a photoshoot and a show but instead of resting you're already planning more traveling?"

She lifts her shoulders in a lazy shrug, her cheek brushing my collarbone. "Winning feels better when I can celebrate it with you. The trophy's nice, but..." she glances up, eyes twinkling, "this is better. And I would do anything to see my girl play"

My hand stills in her hair, and I stare down at her like she's unreal. "You're insane, you know that?"

Her smile widens. "Insanely in love with you."

I groan, pressing my palm over my eyes. "God, you're so cheesy."

She laughs softly and buries her face back into my chest. "And you love it."

And I do. So much it hurts.

We talk for a while—about her race, about how she overtook on lap twenty like it was nothing, about how her team was practically dancing in the paddock. About Lyon, about how she wants to see the old town again and sneak away from everyone just to eat crêpes at midnight.

Her voice fades in and out as her exhaustion pulls at her, but her fingers keep curling around mine, grounding me in that familiar warmth.

The world outside can wait. For now, it's just her and me, tangled together, hearts beating slow and steady in the same rhythm.

Her breathing had almost evened out into sleep when suddenly she shifted on my chest, lifting her head just enough to look at me with that sharp glint in her eyes—the one she always gets when she's about to say something that matters.

"Ky," she murmured, her voice softer than usual, almost hesitant. "Can I tell you something? Not about... us, not exactly. But about what I've been thinking for a long time."

I brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and nodded. "Of course. What is it?"

She took my hand, her thumb grazing the back of it as if the motion helped her gather courage. "I've been thinking about it for months."

My brows pulled together.

Her lips parted, and I could see the small tremor in her jaw before she smiled almost shyly. "You know the association I support, the one for children who play sports?"

I nodded, of course I knew. Blair was always giving her money, her time, her name—she never turned her back on kids who dreamed of something bigger.

"I want to make it bigger," she whispered, her voice gaining a little strength now. "I already give funds, but... you know, there are millions of children out there, and I can't help them all. But—"

I cut her off with a grin, raising my eyebrows. "So you want to use my name, Blair Becks?"

She blinked, then rolled her eyes so hard I thought they'd stay stuck. "I knew you'd make a joke."