“I told you I was superior, American.”

“I never doubted you, Kitty.”

“Hmm.”

Swallowing a laugh, I glance over at our table to find Shane watching me with a strange look in his eye. I’m positive I’m looking at him the same way, almost like a reflection. He looks like he’s actually coming to join us when Orla shouts his name behind the bar, holding up the phone to indicate he has a call. With a regretful look in my direction, he heads behind the bar and picks up the phone. For some reason, I keep watching him. There’s a prickling at the back of my neck that I’ve gotten regularly since childhood, a sense that I need to be on my toes. That my guard needs to be firmly in place. I try to ignore it, put my attention back on Kitty, but when Shane’s face slowly loses color, I know I was right. He looks up, gaze zeroing in on me through the crowd to where I’m dancing. He’s talking into the phone, jotting notes down onto a pad of paper.

A minute later, he hangs up and makes his way toward me slowly. I fight back the need to turn and run out the door. Something is coming and I don’t want to face it. When he reaches me, I realize I haven’t been dancing in long minutes. I’ve just been standing motionless amongst the group of swaying bodies.

“What’s up?” I manage.

He’s staring at me so hard, it’s a wonder I can stand under the weight of it. “That was my racing coach. Their driver was injured this morning during practice. They have an alternate, but he has no experience on this particular track.”

I nod, as if I could even process that information. I need him to rip off the Band-Aid. To give me the bottom line. “Okay. What does that mean?”

“They need me for the Italian Grand Prix. Tomorrow afternoon.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

There’s a horrible feeling you get when you wake up on a Monday morning thinking its Saturday. Then you slowly remember, as you enter wakefulness, you have a whole week ahead of you instead of a lazy day off watching television and eating bagels. This moment, where Shane is telling me he’s leaving tomorrow, it’s that Monday morning feeling multiplied by a thousand. Only, I didn’t get my week. I didn’t have a chance to prepare myself before Monday morning blindsided me. I’m in the deep end with no time to make it back to the shallow side. And if I’m honest with myself, this feeling I have right now, the cantaloupe-sized crater in my stomach, tells me I was fooling myself if I thought I could have readied myself for this.

“Willa.”

Shane snaps me back into myself, his panicked voice telling me he’s been saying my name for a while. His handsome face is a mask of worry, instead of elated, the way it should be. This is his dream. He has a serious offer on the Claymore and his racing team needs him back behind the wheel. In a matter of days, his future has been sorted out for him. Yet he looks like his world just caved in. It hits me, then. It’s because of me. He doesn’t want to leave me. For a split second, I ponder if I could be selfish enough to keep him here. Make him stay and give me the week he promised. Maybe…more, even. If he stays, there’s nothing stopping me from extending my time here. We could have even longer. If he says no to the race, that is.

Disgusted, I push that idea over the side of a cliff. If I’m even partly the reason for the fear in his eyes, I will never forgive myself. And this will only be the beginning. There will be more races. More offers. I can’t expect him to turn them down. This is what he’s wanted his whole life.

Underneath all these valid reasons is the one that I’ve been trying to ignore. But it’s there, circled and underlined with a black Sharpie. It’s the ugly monster that has been hiding under my bed, finally crawling to join me among the sheets, suffocating me until there’s nothing left.

I’ll ruin him. I can’t make another human being happy. I’m incapable of it. What I did to Evan, the way I wore him down until the spark left his eye when he looked at me. If I did that to Shane, if I changed a single thing about him for the worse, I would never recover. I could have handled a week. Even I can’t screw up something that quickly. The thought of him altering his path—for me, a girl who can’t commit to a brand of gum—it’s terrifying.

“Willa, say something.”

“Sorry.” I force a smile onto my face. “That’s great, right?”

He rocks back on his heels. “Great.”

“When do you leave?” I ask, then hold my breath.

“It would be early in the morning, but I haven’t agreed to go yet,” he answers slowly. “I told them I’d call back after I thought about it.”

I try and look perplexed, even though my heart wants to jump out of my throat. “What is there to think about?”

“Is this really how you’re going to play it?”

Dammit. This is going to be even harder than I anticipated. Not only am I battling the selfish urge to throw myself into his arms and beg him to pick me, but Shane is far too astute. In a short space of time, he’s learned what makes me tick. He knows me. He’s disappointed in me already. It’s there in his eyes. He was hoping for more from me, a much-different response. Good. The sooner he realizes I’m not what he wants, the better.

When I don’t have an answer to his question, he takes my elbow. “Let’s go upstairs and talk in private. I’m not going to get a damn thing from you otherwise.”

No. I can’t be alone with him. I’ll crack. “I said, there is nothing to talk about. You’re being ridiculous. Let go of my arm.”

Shane’s jaw tightens as he considers me. He nods once, as if he’s come to a decision. Then I’m being thrown over his shoulder. For a second, all I can do is gape as the room turns upside down. Kitty doesn’t stop dancing, but waves at me as if her son carrying me from the room like a sack of flour is the most natural thing in the world. I marvel over that briefly. Are these people all f**king crazy? Oh, but then, I get pissed. He’s taking away my ability to avoid him, my feelings. That is unacceptable. I rely on avoidance. It’s all I have.

We’re halfway up the stairs before I find my voice. “When you put me down, I am going to claw your goddamn eyes out.”

“Good.” He pulls a key ring out of his pocket and unlocks my door, then kicks it open with his booted foot. “Anything will be an improvement from that bullshit you attempted to feed me downstairs.”

He hefts me off his shoulder and sets me on my feet with such little effort that my outrage boils over. I shove against his chest with both hands. Hard. He leans into it, not backing away, but coming toward me. That look I saw in his eye at the airport, the breathtaking anger I’d first noticed, is there. Only this time, it’s directed at me, and it’s tempered with hope. Determination. I can’t take it. It hurts. It feels like a fist to the gut.

“That’s right, girl. Fight me. Show me you give a damn.” He keeps walking, and I keep shoving, but he won’t give me an inch. Finally, my back hits the wall and with a sob, I make one final attempt to push him away. He stands firm, trapping me between the wall and his body. I can feel the tears burning in my eyes, but I pretend they don’t exist as I glare up at him.

“Why don’t you tell me what the hell you want from me?” I shout up at him.