The Pretense

Chapter 6

           The morning was beautiful. Peaceful. The air was crisp, but already warmed by the sun beating down from the royal blue sky and the fresh scent of saltwater was tart on the silky breeze. Seagulls flew in graceful circles while others just squatted on the white-gold sand, unaffected by the gentle, almost indolent nature of the waves sweeping towards them.

The beach arched around in a gentle curve towards a rocky outcrop and it was in an unpopulated area, it's completely deserted at this time of the morning.

After a few quick stretches, Harper set off at an easy jog along the dark, wet packed sand left behind as the tide went out, sure that Matteo would get bored and surge ahead. But he didn't. Then she remembered that he'd complained about his knee and wondered if she really did hurt him this morning.

Feeling hot already, Harper turned her head to look at him, her ponytail swinging around her face. "I didn't really hurt your knee, did I?" she panted between her breaths.

He glanced across at her, only a light sheen of sweat lining his brow. His breathing seemingly unaffected by his exertions. "No. The knee is fine."

"Was the accident that bad?"

When he didn't respond, she flicked her eyes over his profile just in time to see him tense almost subtly.

"Which one?"

What the heck? "There's been more than one?"

He glanced toward the ocean, and she didn't think he'd answer.

"Three this year."

She wasn't sure if that was a lot for his profession. She imaging they must crash all the time at the speed they drove. "The one where you hurt your knee?"

He didn't look at her. "Bad enough."

His voice was gruffly blunt. Very unlike his casual eloquence. "Was anyone else hurt?"

"Yes."

"Wh–?"

"I thought you said you didn't like to talk while you ran?"

It was pretty clear he didn't want to tell her about it so she let the subject drop. But of course, her curiosity got the best of her. Frank's comment about his next race being the race of the decade was making her wonder if it had anything to do with his accident. She really didn't know anything about Matteo De Luca, other than the fact he was called Maverick and he dated legions of women but she wouldn't mind knowing what secrets she was beginning to suspect lay behind his devil-may-cry attitude to life.

Matt had never run with anyone before. Not even his personal trainer. Running was meditative and something he liked to do alone so he hadn't expected to enjoy Harper's company as much as he was.

Despite his large family, he wasn't the type to need other to be close to him. He was a loner. Maybe not always but certainly since his father's death. And yes, he knew a shrink would say the two were connected but he was happy with the way he was and saw no reason to change. If he died one day, pushing his limits as his father had, and Hamilton Jones had last August, at least he knew he wouldn't be leaving a devastated family behind him.

The image of Hamilton's wife and two young daughters – teary and slightly accusing at the funeral because he'd survived and their father hadn't – cause guilt to fluctuate inside him.

Survivor guilt.

The team doctor had warned him about it afterwards and while he'd never admitted to feeling it, he knew that on some level he did. But he also knew it was something that would wear off if he didn't think about it because the accident hadn't been his fault. Hamilton had tried to overtake on one of the easiest corners on the track but had somehow managed to clip Matt's rear wheel and hurtle both of them out of control.