Beautiful Mess.

I pulled myself out of bed this morning and laced my boots—not the ones i wear at the track, but the ones that smelled like earth and leather and freedom.

Boots i wore when i was sixteen. Back when i'd sneak out at five in the morning just to ride Mercury before the sun came up and the world remembered i was supposed to be someone else.

I was going back.

Home, in a way.

To horseback riding.

Four wins, one loss.

That was my record there and it wasn't about winning anymore.

It was about… breathing. Feeling alive.

Mercury huffed against my palm as i stroked his mane. "You remember me?" I whispered, forehead against his. "It's just you and me again. Let's try not to fuck it up this time."

I let Jupiter rest.

He'd done enough for me last season.

It's Mercury's turn now, my first horse. My oldest comfort.

No cameras, no engines, no burnouts.

Just hooves on dirt and my heart learning how to beat steady again.

I didn't tell Lorenzo right away.

I kept it to myself until the third day of training, when my thighs ached and my hands were blistered and i finally felt the weight lift off my chest.

He found me by the stable, brushing down Mercury in silence.

"You're not showing up at the track," he said, arms crossed, tone unreadable like always.

I glanced at him. "Yeah. I'm done."

He didn't move. "Done for now?"

"No," I said simply. "Done, done."

Lorenzo stepped closer, hands now in his pockets. "Why?"

I looked back down at Mercury's coat. "Maybe it's not for me."

"That's not what you said three weeks ago."

"I know." I swallowed. "But i guess i was wrong."

Lorenzo didn't argue.

He just nodded once, slow, and walked away. No lecture. No sarcasm. No questions.

But something in his silence lingered longer than i wanted to admit.

-

The next few nights, I started going out again. Bars.

Cheap ones.

I didn't want to bump into racers or old teammates or anyone who might ask me what happened.

I just wanted to sit in a corner and sip a drink i wouldn't even finish.

Something about the way the ice clinks inside the glass… it helped me think.

I didn't take a driver.

No luxury car. I commuted like i always did before.

I didn't want to be noticed.

I didn't want to be wanted.

And i definitely don't want to talk to anyone.

But the world had other plans.

Some guy tried it.

Loud laugh, flashy watch, fake accent.

The type that thinks leaning too close makes him more attractive.

"You don't look like you're waiting for someone," he said.

"I'm not," I replied flatly.

He ignored that.

Put his hand on my arm. "Come on, sweetheart. One dance."

"I said no," I said again, sharper.

But the guy was persistent.

Touchy. Grabby.

I stood up to leave, and he caught my wrist.

"Let go."

He didn't.

So i pushed him. Hard enough to make him stumble back.

He cursed. Came forward again, hand raised like he might actually try something and then it happened.

A fist flew past me.

Connected with the guy's jaw.

And he dropped.

I turned.

Lorenzo.

Of course.

His jaw was clenched. Knuckles red. Cold eyes fixed on the guy now groaning on the floor.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I snapped—not at him, but at everything.

He grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of the bar. I didn't resist. Not really. I was too tired to argue.

Outside, the air was cold, and i finally felt like i could breathe.

"You always keep yourself in trouble?" he asked, voice low, almost disappointed.

I blinked at him. "And what are you, my babysitter?"

He didn't answer.

Just stared at me like he was trying to figure out what the hell was going on in my head.

I sighed. "Can you just drive me home?"

But Lorenzo didn't bring me home.

He brought me to his condo.

For the first time ever.

And i was too exhausted to care.

His place was colder than i expected. Modern. Black counters. Gray sheets.

Clean. Lifeless.

I stood in the middle of the living room, dripping with the weight of everything i'd been pretending not to feel.

"You live like a ghost," I muttered, kicking off my boots.

"I like it quiet."

"Of course you do."

He raised an eyebrow. "You want noise?"

I laughed dryly. "No. I've had enough of that."

There was a beat of silence.

Then—

"Why'd you really quit?" he asked.

I sat down on the edge of his bed. "Because every time i drove, I felt like i was chasing something that wasn't even there."

Lorenzo didn't speak.

"And maybe," I added, eyes on the floor, "I stayed in it for all the wrong reasons."

"Like?"

"Maybe it was just something we had in common."

That made him pause.

For the first time, I saw something flicker behind his eyes.

A shift. A crack.

But he still didn't say anything.

"I don't even know what this is anymore," I whispered.

He moved closer, stopping in front of me.

"What?"

"You and me."

Stillness.

I looked up. "Is it just sex? Is that all we are?"

His jaw tightened. "You want honesty?"

I nodded.

"I want you," he said.

Plain. Simple. Brutal.

"And not just in bed?" I pressed.

His chin dropped to my shoulder.

His breath was shaky like something was cracking open inside him, like he was trying not to fall apart but didn't know how to stay whole either.

"I think about you all the damn time, Anastasia," he said, voice rough against my skin. "Even when i don't want to."

I didn't move. I couldn't.

"I try to focus. On work. On whatever distraction i can find. But you're always there," he said, each word thick, like it was tearing out of his chest. "You haunt every fucking corner of my brain."

I turned my head slightly, just enough to see his face.

His eyes weren't cold anymore.

They were tired. Raw. Terrified.

"I hate that i care this much," he muttered, more to himself than to me. "I hate that when I don't hear from you, I can't sleep. I can't breathe. I keep checking your socials. Calling your old number. I even—"

He stopped.

I blinked. "You even what?"

He hesitated for a long moment before answering.

"I put a tracker on your phone."

My breath caught.

He stepped back like he'd just confessed to a crime, both hands running down his face.

"Not to control you. Not to invade your space. I just… I just needed to know you were safe. That you were okay. That you were somewhere real and not just a ghost again."

I stared at him.

Heart pounding.

Head spinning.

He looked broken.

Not in the dangerous, sexy way i used to joke about.

But in the way people look when they've been waiting for someone who keeps leaving.

"I'm losing my mind over you," he said quietly. "I walk around pretending i don't care. I flirt. I fuck around. I drink. But at the end of the night, it's always you."

But instead of melting, instead of softening into his words, something inside me snapped.

"Then why don't you show it?" I asked, my voice low but sharp.

He blinked, thrown. "What?"

"If i'm always in your head, if i mean that much to you—why don't you show it, Lorenzo?" My voice cracked, chest tightening. "Why do you act like i'm the one thing in the world you can't touch without burning?"

He didn't speak.

Just stood there, eyes wide, stunned.

"Why is it so easy for you to laugh with other girls? Huh? With Jazz? Or Jade or Jas or whatever the hell her name is?" My voice was shaking now. "You smile with her. You joke with her. You treat her like they matter."

He opened his mouth, but i didn't let him speak.

"But with me? You're cold. You shut down. You keep me at arm's length like I'm poison, like you're afraid I'll break you just by being in the same room."

I stepped forward now, the tears finally starting to rise. "So don't just stand there and tell me you want me. That you're scared to lose me. You say all these things and then act like I'm disposable the moment we're not in bed."

He looked like he didn't know whether to fight or fold.

I kept going.

"You think i don't see it? The way you flinch when i get too close? The way you change the subject when I ask what we are?" My voice was barely holding together. "You say i haunt your brain? Well, you haunt mine, too. Every fucking day and i keep waiting for you to look at me the way you look at them."

My voice cracked. "But you never do."

He opened his mouth to speak again, but all i could see was everything he hadn't done.

Every time he turned away.

Every time he stayed quiet when i needed him loud.

Every time he made me feel like wanting him was a mistake i couldn't stop making.

"I'm not asking for flowers or promises," I whispered. "I'm just asking you to stop making me feel like i'm something you're trying not to love."

He looked shattered.

But i didn't need him to fall apart.

I needed him to choose me.

Not just in secret.

Not just when the lights were off.

Not just when it hurt.

"I'm sorry," he finally whispered. "I'm—fuck—I'm so sorry."

I looked away, blinking hard.

And then his voice broke again.

"Do you know what it felt like when you left after that night in US.?" he asked, this time softer, as if his chest was caving in. "You didn't even look back!"

I swallowed hard.

"I kept telling myself it was just sex. Just a mistake. But it didn't feel like a mistake." He exhaled sharply. "It felt like the first time i let someone see me and you just… vanished."

I turned back toward the window.

The lights outside blurred.

I didn't know if it was from the glass or from the tears welling up again.

"I'm scared, Anastasia," he said behind me. "I'm scared of what this could be. Of what it already is. Because if we become something real… and you leave again… I don't think i'd survive it this time."

I closed my eyes.

And then he said it.

"I want you so badly it hurts. I want you in ways I don't even have words for. But I'm fucking terrified of you."

I turned slowly.

He looked back at me like i was both the fire and the flood.

"I'm scared i'll ruin it," he added. "Or that you'll wake up one day and realize i'm not enough. That this isn't enough. That i'm not worth staying for."

His voice cracked on that last word.

And i swear, I felt something deep in me—something i thought i'd buried—start to pulse again.

"But i still want to try," he said. "Even if i mess it up. Even if it scares me. I want to try. Because no one has ever made me feel this alive. This seen. This fucking real."

We stood there in silence.

Nothing between us now but breath and fear and truth.

And for the first time in a long time… I believed him.

Not because he said all the right things.

But because his voice trembled when he said them.

Because he was shaking.

Because he was still here.

Still holding on.

To me.

To this.

To something that might just break him.

But he wanted it anyway.

And for now…

That was enough.