I can't .

~21~

POV y/n:

I woke up this morning wrapped in Carlos' arms, the warmth of his body a comforting contrast to the chaos of yesterday. I'd told him everything—about being fired, about Bottas looking out for me. For the first time in a while, I didn't feel rushed. We'd ordered room service, so I didn't have to face the awkwardness of a hotel breakfast—or worse, the chance of running into Toto.

Carlos returns from setting our breakfast down, flopping onto the bed beside me with that soft smile of his.

"I'm really curious about your day today," he says.

"Me too," I admit, stretching. "Especially curious to see the look on my father's face when we arrive together—and he sees me heading straight to Alfa Romeo."

Carlos chuckles, shaking his head. "That's funny."

"What is?" I ask, raising a brow.

"Yesterday, you made me call him Toto because you couldn't even bear to hear the words your father."

I laugh now too. "Yeah, well... he's still my father. It sucks how things ended, but being here with you? It makes up for a lot."

I lean in and press a kiss to his lips. He deepens it almost instantly, gently pushing me back onto the pillows. My hands slide into his hair as his body presses against mine, his kiss growing hungrier. I feel his tongue graze my lips and I part them, letting the kiss deepen, letting myself get lost in him. His hands roam down my body and a soft moan escapes me as I arch into his touch. I can feel him growing hard against my thigh—and just as my fingers start trailing down his back—

Knock knock knock.

Carlos groans, burying his face in my neck.

"Let it go," he whispers against my skin, his voice husky. "It's probably not important."

I tilt my head back into the pillows, willing whoever it is to just walk away.

"Y/N, I know you're in there! You missed breakfast this morning!"

Lewis.

Carlos swears under his breath in Spanish as he reaches for his sweatpants.

"Dios mío..."

I sigh and swing my legs off the bed, slipping into one of Carlos' oversized shirts before heading to the door.

When I open it, Lewis raises an eyebrow, eyes immediately scanning the room.

"Is it true? Did Toto really fire you?"

"Not in the hallway, Lewis," I say, stepping aside. "Come in."

As he walks in, the sound of the shower kicks on in the bathroom.

Lewis smirks. "Is that who I think it is?"

I give him a look, but don't answer. "But you didn't come here to snoop, right? I'll tell you what happened—but then you're leaving."

"Deal," he says, still grinning. "I just wanted to check in. See if you're okay."

I tell him everything—how it went down with Toto, how Bottas offered me a place at Alfa Romeo, and how I'm going to be in their garage today during practice. I admit that, deep down, I hope my father sees what he lost—and regrets the way he handled things.

Lewis listens quietly, then nods. "Good. I'm glad you stood your ground. And... good luck today."

Just as he turns to leave, Carlos walks out of the bathroom, toweling off his hair.