Wreck Me - Page 181

My mom fusses around me while my father talks with the crew chief. Neither of them understanding how this could have happened.

I’m not saying who was responsible. I’m going to take care of that personally.

“Your job is to protect him when he’s in that car,” my father says through a clenched jaw.

The analysis came back, and there was a leak. That fucking asshole Felix has professionals doing his bidding.

“Why do I have to stay here?” I whine, and my mom takes my hand in hers.

“Dane, please.”

Why do a mother’s pleas work on you as if they hypnotize you into doing what they ask?

“Just tonight.”

She sighs but nods, sitting in the chair beside my bed.

“Abigail looked so scared. She reminded me of me.”

“Mom, she’s it for me.”

“It’s the hardest for the people who love race car drivers. The fear, love, and pride—that’s a potent mix.”

“She can handle it. She’s strong.”

“She’s with you, isn’t she?”

That she is, and that is the biggest accomplishment of my life.

I ask for my phone, and I type.

If you don’t get your ass here ASAP, I’m coming to you.

I just left.

And I want you to come back.

The dots appear only to disappear, but she’ll return. I was so damn blind not to believe in her love, but I do now, and I will fight for her. I will fight for us like it’s the ultimate race, and I’m going to win that checkered flag.

After my mother asks the doctor twice if I’m fine, she finally breathes a sigh of relief.

Dealing with things like fire is part of the learning curriculum of any race car driver, and my race suit is fire resistant. Still, you have seconds to get out, and staying calm and getting out quickly is imperative.

“Until tomorrow, son. Rest,” my father says.

“Just tonight.”

“Stubborn.”

“You know this is nothing.”

Alone, the quietness envelops me, the room caging me in. I shoot upright and hop off the bed, dragging my IV with me as I pace around, not liking being confined to a hospital bed.

The door opens, and when I turn, Abigail is there, peeking in from the crack before she comes inside.

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Get in bed. Now.”

One second, her eyes flicker with worry; the next, a cry escapes her as she clutches her chest. Seeing her like this punches me straight in my gut, cutting my air.