Collided: Dirty Air (Book 2)(95)

My eyes dart to the side, focusing on the textured wall instead of my brother’s intense gaze. Wetness gathers in my eyes. “I let you down, and I’m sorry. I was a shit brother, disappearing because the pain was too much. I despised how much it hurt to look at Kaia and not think of Johanna. I hated the way it made me feel. Guilty, disgusted, hurt. And I can’t stand myself for doing that to you. I’m really fucking sorry.” My voice cracks.

“I forgive you. But the way you can help me forget is by not making some shitty mistake because you’re afraid. I’ll give you one last piece of my mind, for old time’s sake.” He shoots me a weak smile. “Don’t be an idiot. Get the girl because those who have an issue with it shouldn’t be the same ones you trust while driving a car at three hundred kilometers per hour. If I could have one last day with Johanna, I would in a heartbeat, despite knowing when she leaves, I would break again. If you don’t feel that way about Sophie, then let her go for good. But I have a feeling you’re coming to your own realizations about her. So, by all means, pick the contract or pick her. But when you do, please ask yourself: if you let her go, can you look yourself in the mirror in your McCoy race suit without flinching? If so, then you really never loved her to begin with.”

And with that, my brother shines a light on my darkest secrets, highlighting the lies I kept hidden from the world. But most importantly, while banishing the darkness, he sparks something inside of me I hadn’t realized I was missing.

Hope.





33





Sophie





I only agreed to attend a Bandini sponsor event because my dad forced me earlier. He rejected my request to book a flight back home early, claiming no daughter of his will miss the Championship after all this time.

We sit together at an empty table in a dark corner. I shove my food around my plate while my dad stares at me, his watchful eyes narrowing at me after my fork clatters against the fancy plate for the third time this evening.

“What’s wrong with you? You love pasta.”

I lift a shoulder in a half-assed shrug. “I’m not hungry. Just not feeling well today.”

“You said the same thing yesterday and the day before. Ever since you had a sleepover at Maya’s.” His pointed stare does nothing to me. “You know, being full of bullshit isn’t a sickness. It’s an allergic reaction to not sharing your feelings.”

Oh, Dad. So perceptive.

“Catch flights, not feelings.” Do I make sense anymore? The jury’s still out.

I take a sip of wine. My dad grabs the glass once I put it down, holding it hostage. My lip juts out while my eyes plead for him to let go of the subject.

“This has to do with that boy. I refuse to let you whimper around like a kicked dog when I raised you better than this.” Ouch. “Either you tell me what happened, or I’ll go talk to him. Don’t put it past me, Sophie Marie Mitchell.”

Under no circumstance do I want him to go talk to Liam, so I give in to protect us both.

“I ended up falling for Liam.” Those six words take every ounce of courage from me.

“So what? Everyone knows that.”

My head snaps from my plate to my dad’s face. “What do you mean?”

Either I’m about as transparent as the wine glass he holds, or my dad really is some undercover Interpol agent.

“You’re my daughter. Whenever you look at Liam, you get this look in your eye that I’ve never seen before. Not even when you check out pasta. It’s obvious how you feel about him. And he looks at you similarly.”

“How are you so nonchalant about this?”

“What do you expect me to do? Yell at you? You’re twenty-two now.”

“Uh, yeah. Maybe even storm out of the ballroom after we have at it.”

My dad sighs. “I’ve been dealing with enough drama this year with Noah and Santi. You and Liam have kept your own stuff under wraps for the most part, minus the slipup with the press conference.”

“So, you’re not mad about me breaking your rule?”

“Oh, I’m mad. But I can’t exactly say ‘I told you so’ when you’re about one wine glass away from crying into your dinner.”

I sigh at my dad’s wakeup call. “Wow. You need to work on your delivery. No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.”

He chuckles. “Look at you, making a joke. Why don’t you talk to me about whatever’s going on? Your old man here used to deal with his own lady problems before I married my job and became a single dad. I made plenty of stupid mistakes growing up. But I’ll tell you one thing: anyone who earns your love better be worthy because your heart takes up more than half your body. You carry more soul in your pinky than some people have in their whole bodies.”

My dad’s kind words bring a small smile to my face.

“Well, it all started with a terrible princess costume and a party you forced me to go to.”

He rubs a hand across his face. “I better grab us more wine; I have a feeling this is going to be a long one.”

I let out a laugh at my dad’s retreating form. For the first time in days, I feel relief.





Speaking to my dad yesterday about Liam opened up a whole new set of wounds. I didn’t realize how far I had fallen until I shared my story from start to finish, leaving me vulnerable and lost. Despite my confessions, my dad handled it like a champ, offering a few pieces of advice, along with denying my request to fly home early yet again.