Chapter 93
Blaze
3 years later
“You gonna stand there admiring your trophies all night or are you coming to eat?”
Alexi’s voice snaps me out of it. I blink, dragging my gaze off the shelf. The gold glint of the new championship cup stares back at me—another fucking win. Another proof I clawed my way back to the top. No.1 again.
But standing here… it doesn’t feel like enough.
I grab a beer from the fridge and head to the couch where Alexi’s sprawled with her girl. Taylor—sharp eyes, half-shaved hair, a smirk that says she could wreck anyone in her way. They’ve been together a year now. The longest Alexi’s stuck with anyone.
“Finally,” Alexi says, pulling her legs off the cushion so I can sit. “You’re worse than an old man staring at his war medals.”
I grunt. “Better than having none.”
Taylor snorts. “Cocky as fuck, aren’t you?”
“Comes with being the best.” I take a swig, letting the cold bite through the dull ache in my chest.
Alexi leans her head on Taylor’s shoulder, looking smug as hell. “Well, Mr. No.1, when’s the next big one?”
“Couple weeks. Tokyo.”
“You gonna win it too?” Taylor asks.
“Of course.”
The words come easy, automatic. I know I will. I’m fucking unstoppable now. After everything that happened... after losing him… I made damn sure nothing would take me down again. Not a crash. Not a ruined leg. Not a broken fucking heart.
But still—when the laughter fades, when the beer’s low and the apartment gets too damn quiet—it creeps in. The emptiness.
I still fucking miss him.
No matter how many times I tell myself I’ve moved on. No matter how many races I win. Carlo’s still there in the back of my fucking mind. A ghost I can’t shake off.
Three years. Three fucking years since that morning when they dragged me out of the penthouse. Three years of hearing nothing but the bullshit stories in the press. The perfect marriage. The happy family. The heir.
I grind my teeth.
“Thinking too loud again,” Alexi says, nudging my knee with hers.
I glance at her. “Was I?”
She studies me. “Yeah. Looked like you wanted to throw that bottle through the wall.”
I exhale hard, leaning back. “Just shit in my head.”
Taylor gets up, stretching. “I’m gonna crash early. Gotta open the shop tomorrow.”
Alexi smacks her ass as she walks past. “Don’t forget the oil shipment.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Taylor tosses a wink over her shoulder and disappears down the hall.
Alexi turns back to me. “You know… it’s okay to admit you still miss him.”
I glare at her. “I don’t.”
She raises a brow. “Bullshit.”
I rub my face, annoyed. “Even if I did… what the fuck does it matter? He’s gone. Married. Probably playing house with that bitch and their perfect little heir by now.”
Alexi watches me, quiet for a second. “I don’t think he was ever really gone, B.”
I shake my head. “Don’t start.”
“I’m just saying. You’ve built this whole life again—you’re No.1, your mom’s doing better—you did all that with no one’s help. But that look you get every damn time someone says his name?” She shrugs. “It says you’re still waiting.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. Because maybe she’s right. Maybe some fucked-up part of me is still waiting.
But waiting for what? A man who let me be ripped out of his arms without lifting a fucking finger? Who stayed married to that bitch for three goddamn years?
Fuck him.
The apartment goes quiet again. I finish my beer, chuck the bottle in the bin, and grab another.
I walk down the hall toward Mom’s room, peeking in like I always do. She’s asleep, TV still flickering on low. She’s better now. After the surgeries, after months of rehab. But she still can’t walk. I wheel her out in the mornings, help her around the house. It’s slow, but she’s fighting. Just like I did.
At least I didn’t lose her.
I lean in the doorway, arms crossed.
“You’re not fooling me, you know,” her voice comes soft from the bed.
I blink. “Thought you were asleep.”
She smiles weakly. “Hard to sleep when my son’s pacing the halls like a caged lion.”
I exhale. “Wasn’t pacing.”
She gives me a look. The kind only mothers can. “He’s still on your mind, isn’t he?”
I shut my eyes for a beat. “Mom…”
“I may be stuck in this damn chair but I’m not blind.”
I step into the room, sit beside her. “He’s gone. It’s done.”
She takes my hand. “Then why do you still sound so angry?”
I swallow hard. “Because I never got a fucking choice. They ripped it all away. And he let them.”
Her thumb brushes over my knuckles. “You don’t know what chains he was under.”
I grit my teeth. “I know he had a mouth. He could’ve used it.”
She sighs. “Maybe he thought he was protecting you. Maybe he was trapped worse than you know.”
I don’t answer. Because that’s the part that fucks me up the most.
What if he was?
What if he didn’t leave because he wanted to? What if he still loves me the same fucked-up way I still love him?
The thought knots in my chest. Tight.
Mom squeezes my hand. “Go to bed, son. You’ve got Tokyo coming.”
I nod, lean down and kiss her forehead. “Night, Mom.”
“Night, sweetheart.”
I head back to my room. The city lights bleed through the window, bright and harsh. I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at my phone.
Three years. Not one call. Not one message.
But some dumb part of me still hopes. Still fucking waits.
I throw the phone on the nightstand and strip down. Climb into bed.
But sleep?
That’s a long way off.
Because even now, after everything—after all the wins, the fights, the years—I still can’t stop wondering...
What if he comes back?