I can't .

~20~

POV Carlos:

I took her off the paddock grounds to find somewhere quiet—somewhere we could actually talk without everyone watching or interrupting. While she waited at the table, I grabbed us two coffees and came back, placing hers gently in front of her before sitting down across from her.

"Can we talk?" I ask, my voice lower than usual.

"Yeah. You start. I don't really have anything to say... not yet," she replies, eyes fixed on her cup.

I take a breath, deciding to go straight into it. "Can we talk about George first?"

I hadn't even figured out how I was going to explain Isa yet.

"There's nothing going on between me and George," she says calmly, but firmly. "You know we had that fight, and... he took it harder than I did. We talked it out today. He cried, and I gave him a hug. That's it. Just a hug, Carlos. Nothing more."

I stay quiet, letting her words sink in. I feel kind of stupid for getting so worked up about it. I can't expect her to avoid him forever, not when they're still part of the same team.

"What about you and Isa?" she asks, her eyes flicking up to mine for just a second.

I exhale. "I don't even know what she wants from me anymore. After practice, she was waiting outside my locker room. I pulled her inside to talk."

"Just talk? Or...?"

"I changed while she was there," I admit. "She asked me questions. About you."

Her brows furrow. "About me? Why would she want to know anything about me?"

"I have no idea. But when I told her to leave, she said she'd wave at me if I made the podium this weekend." I shrug, still not understanding what Isa is really playing at.

Silence settles between us, thick and tense. She stirs her coffee slowly, not looking up.

Then she speaks—softly, almost like she's confessing something she's been holding back.

"It hurts, Carlos."

"What does?"

"Loving you. It hurts so fucking much," she says, and now her voice cracks. "It's like I can't breathe without you."

The words knock the air out of me, and for a moment I don't know how to respond. Her eyes stay fixed on the cup, but I see a tear trace its way down her cheek. I reach for her hand.

"Mi amor... don't cry."

"You don't get it," she says, pulling her hand away gently. "I want to be with you. But it's like... there's always something. We've been together for less than two days, and already we're fighting over stupid things. How are we supposed to build anything if we don't trust each other?"

"I don't know," I admit, quietly. "But I want to try."

She nods slowly. "My father. Your ex. George. Lewis. Why do we keep letting everyone else decide how we feel? Why do we let them get between us?"

She's right. It's the people around us that make everything more complicated. I didn't doubt her because of what she did—I doubted her because of what Isa made me feel. That's on me.

"You're right," I say. "I shouldn't have let seeing Isa mess with my head like that. I was angry. I didn't give you a chance to explain. I panicked."

"And maybe I shouldn't have walked away either," she murmurs. "I should've stayed and let you explain right then."

We're quiet for a beat. Then I speak again, more certain this time.

"Let's make a deal—when something's bothering us, we talk. No running, no accusing. Just honesty. Deal?"