Page 215 of Law Maker
Kaia:You did it, mi niño. I’m so proud of you.
She’d attached a photo of herself, eyes glistening, smile radiant. I typed back fast.
Me:Gracias, mi amor. Te quiero.
Roy cleared his throat discreetly. I forced my attention back to the journalist in the front row.
“Bruno Lopez fromRacing World. To what do you owe today’s victory?”
Easy. I glanced at Roy. “Roy’s advice. Sorry for being such a fast learner.”
The room broke into chuckles. Roy punched my bicep, grinning. The next few questions went to him. Then it was my turn again.
“David Gonzalez fromDeportes Plus. How does it feel racing on this track?” the middle-aged man asked.
At least he didn’t say Dad’s name, though the question was there, buried under the words.
“It’s a challenging one,” I said. “But I did my best.”
Across the room, Miguel held my gaze. A knot swelled in my throat. Why now? Why here? Was he here last year too? Watching every race? Eight fucking years—hundreds of chances—and he stayed silent.
Focusing on the rest of the conference was hell. The moment it ended, I shot to my feet, told Roy I needed to speak to someone, and headed straight for Miguel. He lingered by the door, twirling his cap.
“I’m staying at a hotel here,” I said. “We can talk there.”
“Okay.”
I used our walk to the hotel to tamp down the fury clawing at me. Because fuck, I was mad. Mad he ignored me. Mad he vanished when I needed him most. Mad he left me with memories of Dad and no one to share them with.
In my hotel room, I gestured toward two chairs at a small table by the window.
I sat, jaw locked, heart wedged in my throat. “I emailed you,” I said. “Called you. Went to your place in Madrid like a fucking stalker. Then you sent me a birthday gift like nothing happened. You were his best friend. What the fuck did I do for you to write me off?”
He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them, pressing folded hands to his mouth. “Nothing. And I’m sorry. I watched every race you’ve done. Came to every one in Spain. When you highsided”—his voice shook—“it was like watching Sergio again.”
“I was there.” My voice cracked, rising. “Remember who saw him die? Me. And you were the only one who could’ve made it bearable. We could’ve leaned on each other, but instead you… hid like a coward.”
Miguel shot to his feet, the chair scraping back. “And I regret it every single day. Do you think it was easy watching you struggle?” He pressed a fist to his chest. “I lost my best friend, my brother—but you lost your dad. I didn’t want you to lose your mother too. And you would have, if I hadn’t kept my distance.”
I dragged my hands down my face. “You make no fucking sense. If I lost my mother, it’s because of her choices. She moved on three months after Dad’s death without a second thought.”
He scoffed, tossing his cap onto the bed. “No, she didn’t.”
Iron bands cinched around my chest. “What do you mean?”
Miguel paced, breathing hard. “She and Russell were together long before that. Sergio found out about her affair the night before he crashed. He was devastated. And it was my fault. I shouldn’t have let him race. He loved her with everything in him. He—”
“Heraffair?” No. Impossible. My throat closed. I forced myself to breathe, but it barely worked.
“Please,” I exhaled. “Explain.”
He sat again, clasping his hands on his knees. “He found pictures of them and confronted her. Turns out your mother and Russell went way back. They dated, then she met Sergio, and Russell married someone else. You’d think they’d moved on, but no. They’d been seeing each other on and off for years. Each time he came to Madrid, he stayed at the hotel where she worked.”
“No.” I shook my head. I refused to believe it. If he was telling the truth, she’d lied to me all my life. Lied to Dad too. And then there was Kaia and her mom.
I rubbed my chest. This couldn’t be true. “Why tell me now?” I asked. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth—”
“When you were fifteen and grieving? You wouldn’t have forgiven her, and rightfully so. You would’ve been alone. You would’ve felt guilty, like me—thinking if only I’d stopped him from getting on that bike, he’d still be alive, laughing at my stupid jokes, riding, watching his son grow into a man he’d be proud of. He was proud. You were his pride. Not his achievements. Not the trophies. You. That’s why it hurt so much—because she wasn’t faithful, and there’s a possibility you might not be—”
