Page 21 of Broken Track
She turns her head slightly toward me, meeting my gaze, and the smile she gives me radiates confidence. “Don’t jinx it, Sweeney.”
I chuckle, squeezing her hand. "I'm not. I’m just… proud."
She looks at me, really looks at me, before her gaze returns to the stage.
The DJ grabs the mic again, drawing out the suspense. “And your Homecoming Queen is… Izabella Jones!”
The room erupts in cheers, the crowd’s excitement spilling over. Izzy freezes for a second, her lips parted, eyes wide with disbelief. But then, as if it’s instinct, her smile breaks across her face, and she steps forward, pulling me toward the stage.
My heart pounds in my chest, and for a moment, the world feels still as I stand beside her, watching the crown placed on her head. She glows under the bright lights, her beauty undeniable, but it’s something more. It’s her energy. It’s her strength. Izzy isn’t just stunning. She’s untouchable.
“And now,” the DJ continues, building the drama, “Your Homecoming King… Xavier Sweeney!”
The applause is deafening, but I can barely hear it over the sound of my pulse hammering in my ears. I step forward beside her, and they place the crown on my head. It’s another part of the ceremony, but it’s nothing compared to the way Izzy is looking at me right now. There’s something in her eyes. Pride,admiration, and something deeper I can’t quite name, but it feels like everything.
Izzy leans in close as we stand at the center of the stage, the lights dimming around us. “Guess we both got what we wanted,” she says, her voice full of a mix of triumph and disbelief.
I lean into her, brushing a strand of hair from her face, and then, because I can’t help myself, I pull her into a slow kiss right here in front of everyone. The cheers are louder this time, but I barely notice.
All I can focus on is her.
Chapter Eleven
Izzy
Winter settles in like an old friend, cozy and quiet, yet with a chill that makes me want to stay wrapped in the warmth of my garage. The days are getting shorter, and the nights longer, but Xavier and I find ourselves more often than not buried in grease and tools rather than anything else.
The race cars are the one thing that keeps us connected in a way that feels... safe. Amid the snow and the cold, we’ve spent the last few weeks working on our cars, fine-tuning everything for the upcoming racing season. It’s easier this way. It keeps us distracted and fills the space between us with something tangible.
I know we both feel it. That pull. The one we don’t talk about. But we don’t have to. It's there, unspoken, between us like a quiet hum, always below the surface, especially when we're working together. His hands are on the engine, his eyes focused and intense. I catch myself watching him more than I should, like when he wipes the sweat from his brow or when his muscles flex as he pulls a stubborn part free. It’s frustrating, honestly. I’m supposed to be focusing on my own car, but somehow my thoughts always wander back to him.
“Izzy, you good over there?” Xavier’s voice cuts through my haze, and I realize I’ve been standing in front of my car, holding a wrench, doing nothing for the last few minutes.
“Yeah, just thinking,” I answer quickly, snapping back to reality.
He glances at me, his brows furrowing, but I flash him a quick grin and dive back into the engine. The familiar hum of the tools and the sound of the car parts shifting under my hands help push the thoughts of him aside for a moment. It’s like a mental reset.
But then Xavier’s there. That damn proximity. He’s on the other side of my car, working on his own, and I swear I can feel the heat of his body against mine even though we’re not even close. Every once in a while, our fingers brush as we pass a wrench back and forth, and my skin burns like it’s been set on fire. I hate how much it affects me. I try to shake it off.
"Let me know if you need help," he calls out casually, like he doesn’t share the same tension between us that I do. I know he does. He's too quiet, too careful around me. Just like me. We're both pretending to be okay with this.
"Thanks. You too," I say, keeping it light.
The truth is, I can’t decide whether it’s better to keep things this way. Friends. Complicated enough as it is without me starting to feel things I shouldn’t. There’s too much riding on the upcoming race season. Too many risks, too many ways to screw it all up. And Xavier? Well, he’s racing for himself, sure, but we both know he’s also racing for something bigger. I get it. And I’m not going to be the reason he throws it all away.
Still, every time he looks at me like that, every time his eyes meet mine under the hood of a car, I feel like I might break. It’s not even the physical pull. It’s the way he makes me feel like I’m the only thing that matters for a split second. It’s the way he makes me laugh when I’m frustrated, and the way he knowswhen I need silence and when I need someone to talk to. I don’t know what to do with that.
I don’t think he knows either. At least, I hope he doesn’t. It would make things a hell of a lot easier if he didn’t. We’ve built this routine, this delicate balance where we’re friends. Honestly? I don’t want to mess it up. Not now.
But the way he talks to me when he’s not trying to hide what’s underneath it all gets to me. The way his voice softens, like when he says my name a little too slowly, a little too... personal.
“B,” he says, stopping in front of me after we’ve spent hours working. “You need anything before we call it a night?”
It’s the way he looks at me again, like he’s trying to figure something out, and my stomach flips. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s asking more than whether I need help fixing my car. But I do know better.
“Nope, I’m good,” I say, trying to sound breezy. “We’ve got a long way to go before race day.”
He nods, a small smile pulling at his lips, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. We’re both pretending.
