Racer (Real Book 7)

Lana

After kicking ass in Singapore, Malaysia, and Japan with two P2’s and one P1, we arrive on U.S. soil.

I’ve always loved traveling from track to track, but I have a soft spot for the U.S. Grand Prix simply because it feels a little bit like home, even though we have been living abroad for several years now.

Now we’re close to the end of the season, ready for the United States Grand Prix at the Circuit of the Americas in Austin, Texas.

I walk along the stands with Racer before the race, and he’s pointing out his people to me while they wave at him or are too busy looking for their seats.

“So that’s Melanie and Grey, a couple of my parents’ friends.”

He points to a beautiful blonde and a distinguished-looking dark-haired man in a black suit.

“And that’s their other friends.”

He points to a sable-haired woman with a guy wearing a diamond-stud earring.

“Pandora and Mackenna. And that’s their daughter Eve.”

He points to a late-twenties dark-haired girl, and then to a younger girl standing next to her.

“And their other daughter, Sophie.”

He moves his finger down the aisle to another couple, him in about his forties, her a little younger with light honey hair.

“That’s Maverick. He’s a fighter, like my dad, he holds the record of most wins and is still at the top of his game. His wife is Reese. She was my babysitter.”

“Really?” I laugh.

“Really.”

“She’s beautiful. Did you have a crush on her?” I ask, trying to keep the jealousy out of my voice.

“Nah. But she had a crush on me.” He smirks and we watch them suddenly come over to say hello. Racer introduces us.

“Very nice to meet you, Lana,” Reese says, and she won’t stop staring at me with this knowing smile that makes me shift a little nervously.

“Tested your theory the other day,” Racer tells Maverick, and Maverick’s eyebrows rise in instant interest.

“And,” Maverick prods.

“I fucking was ready to eat my competitors’ heads off.” Racer’s lips twist into a wry smile as he shoots a meaningful look in my direction. “But I’m not sacrificing some time with my girl again.”

“Only when it matters.” Maverick steps beside him and lowers his voice so that maybe I don’t overhear. “Besides, it’s sweet to celebrate with your girl after.”

“Yeah. But I intend to celebrate winning this championship by walking her down the aisle in a fucking white dress.”

“Wow! Look at him,” Reese says in amazement, obviously able to overhear like me. She confides to me in a whisper, “He never wanted to get married.”

I’m surprised by that, but then realize Racer’s intent blue gaze is fixed on me, as if he’s curious as to my response to this, so I direct my question to him.

“Why didn’t you?”

A naughty spark appears in his eyes. “I didn’t want anyone to have to deal with my shit.”

“Then what happened?”

“Then I met you, and I wanted to take care of you.”

I bite my lip, and I see Reese take Maverick’s hand and pull him away while Racer continues looking at me as if we’re not in the track—as if there’s no one but us here.

“And I knew myself enough to know that for the one time I’d need you to be patient with me, I would be a hundred times patient for you.” He clenches his jaw as passion and lust and love glow in his eyes. “I’ve never loved anything in my life the way I love you. My crasher. You looked at me with these two eyes … and I haven’t been able to see anything else. You little witch, you crashed my single party.”

“Racer,” I laugh, and he runs his thumb along the back of my arm as he starts leading me back to our tent.

I shiver head to toe, side to side; even inside of me there are tiny delicious shivers.

His mom is telling something to his dad close to our tent, and he’s smiling, laughing at something she says. He’s an older version of Racer, a little thicker, with blue eyes as dark as Racer’s, two dimples, and a bit of silver at his temples. I feel my stomach clutch in yearning, and I never realized how much I want that. What his parents have.

“Your dad’s a DILF.”

Racer bursts out laughing, then shoots me a jealous look. “Thanks. I really didn’t need to know that.”

“Well, it’s true.”

He smiles and shakes his head, and I resist the urge to reach out and grab his fingers and tug him back to me and kiss him, tell him that I want that—the kind of relationship his parents have with each other—with him, and I’d never, ever, wanted it before in this way.

As we walk forward, his mom looks at me and pulls away from his dad.

She studies me as she approaches, and a part of me feels vulnerable—because I’ve never been studied this way by another woman. By a mother figure. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard from my mom, and she never did really look into my eyes—my expressive eyes, as Racer calls them—and try to figure out what was up with me.

His mom looks at me. “Remy told me you were with Racer at the hospital. Thank you for taking care of him.”

“Oh god, you don’t need to thank me at all.”

“Yeah, well”—her lips tilt a little—“I know it’s frightening.”

I nod, dropping my eyes.

“I could tell you that it’s always worth it. But sometimes it’s hard; it’s hard for the both of you. He wants to be better, you want him to be better, and sometimes there’s nothing either of you can do but hang on and ride the wave. And it is a wave. It passes. And then the water is calm again, and you can see the reflection of what you have, and that’s when it’s worth it. Every wave is worth it because one wave doesn’t reflect the whole ocean.”

A tear slips and I wipe it away.

I glance at Racer and see him sitting with his dad, his racing suit covering his thick thighs and the sleeves tied at his waist.

I want to go to him, I want to put my arm around him and tell him that I can’t deny it, that he’s my guy, that we don’t get to choose the tests we will have in life, all we can hope for is to pass every one, and to hang on to those who matter, those who love and love you back. I want to tell him that maybe I don’t deserve him, that I’m not as strong as his mom. But that I want to be. That I want to learn.

“You’re a sweet girl. You’re stronger than you think,” his mom says.

“It’s just that it all comes at you together. Like it’s never a single wave; it’s always two or three. My dad …”

I swallow, and she comes to sit by me and puts her hand on mine. “You can talk to me, really.”

“Thank you.” Another tear slips, and I wipe it away.

We’re silent for a moment as his dad and Racer walk up.

“Mr. Tate,” I greet, on my feet.

“I think we can skip to the part where you call me Remington.” He shakes my hand.

“Or Dad.” Racer’s gruff voice reaches me.

I feel my mouth part in surprise and maybe even a little excitement, and when he looks at me with a dark primal glimmer in his eyes, I feel myself blush.

His father slaps his back. “You’re in trouble,” he whispers to Racer, winking at him.

Racer suddenly is staring at me so possessively I feel a little bit impaled on the spot. A little bit … fucked. In the best ways. He moves up to me, and his body heat envelops me as we watch the other cars on the track as his parents head to their seats.

“I talked with your mom.”

“I know.”

“I embarrassed myself. I got super emotional.”

“Lucky her.” His voice is low and husky, tender.

I laugh.

“I’ve fallen for you, so hard, harder than ever. I’m obsessed with you, Racer. With everything about you. Your hot bod, and your gorgeous eyes, and your confidence and how fun and good you are,” I say, breathless at my admission. “And I’m really scared.”

He curses under his breath and laughs a bit, one hand running down that gorgeous face before he looks at me sideways, his blue eyes twinkling as he reaches out and embraces me, pulling me to his side. He peers down at my face. “I’d have given anything to hear you say that.”

“Anything?” I ask with a frown.

“Anything.”

“Not the championship,” I tease.

“Not that or what will I impress my girl with?”

“You don’t need to impress me.”

He reaches out to rub his thumb along mine. I lift my index finger, and he takes it in his and draws me close, and then his big hand is engulfing mine.

His sister comes over, and Racer signals.

“And that’s my sister Iris, as you know. Pain in the ass, this girl,” he says as she comes over, and he rumples her hair and she scowls at him, but looks at him with love in her eyes.

“There’s nothing as exciting as this, but this is absolutely nerve-wracking, I don’t know how you do it,” she says.

“I’m asking myself the same question and coming up blank,” I admit, laughing.

“Racer!!” I hear his family yell from the stands, even to where my dad and I stand in our pit area, waiting for Racer to get weighed and the official results to be announced.

“U.S. rookie driver Racer Tate is drawing the crowds today at the F1 Grand Prix at the Circuit of Americas, and with his first-place finish, something formidable is happening, and that is that the top, record-holding team of most F1 championships has something to worry about …” the announcers are saying, and I smile to myself, my chest swelling with pride as he finally steps off the scale, removes his helmet, and heads straight for me.

I’m already up on my toes, waiting for the quick peck on the lips he always gives me before he lets the rest of the team hug and congratulate him.

Except this time he reaches for my hand and draws me to his crowd, “Let’s go out to dinner. All of us. On me.”

The dinner with his family is fun, and delicious (we’re at a famous U.S. steakhouse and eating protein and carbs like starved people), but it’s also a little crazy. We occupy nearly half the restaurant, and between my brothers and father trying to get to know his parents and sister, I barely get to see Racer—we’re both too concerned with our parents getting along to pay attention to anything else.

Racer ends up heading over to where my brothers are, and I get a chance to talk to Iris, who I instantly like because she not only looks like him, in girl version, but because she seems genuinely sweet and concerned for him.

“Dad told us you helped my brother when he was at the hospital. I think that’s great of you,” she says, still seeming to be wary around me.

“I’d have killed him if he didn’t tell me,” I admit, scowling at the mere thought as we have the best steak and potatoes I’ve had in ages.

“Really?” She laughs. “Most girls wouldn’t want to bother with these things. I know twenty-two-year-old girls who are out just partying and having fun, not as driven as he is.”

“I’m not most women. And I love him,” I admit, saying the last with emphasis.

After that, she seems to warm up to me. “Is he a bully?” She glances at her big brother with love in her eyes but seems to want to have something to talk about with me. “He’s such a bully with me, always scaring off any guy who wants anything with me,” she complains. “I even promised him that one day, when he really liked a girl, I’d scare her away too. But I don’t want to scare you away.” She pauses, her voice softening. “You’re good to him. I’d never seen him hooked on a girl. Never would be with the same one for more than a night out or two.”

Her gaze turns wistful, and my heart is melting in my chest, then Iris goes on laughingly, “But for my pride’s sake, because once he scared away a guy that I really liked—I need to say that I at least tried to scare you away. So please know that he’s terribly bossy. And so confident it’s irritating because I’m quite awkward and the opposite.”

I burst out laughing. “You’re not awkward, not in the slightest.” I think she’s charming and honest, and I’d have loved to have a sister like her to balance out my three brothers. Now there’s a set of bullies for you. “Why did he scare the guy you like?” I ask, confused.

“Because he wasn’t good enough for me. He said that if he’d cared he’d have been impossible to scare off in the first place.”

“Hmm,” I say, pursing my lips, terribly amused about my protective Racer. “Well I agree with you,” I say, and him, I think to myself, trying to keep our interaction going. “He’s a bully, over-confident, and completely bossy,” I state, noticing Racer raising his eyebrows across the room, and I realize he heard every word I said because he winks—proudly—as if all of this were a good thing.

“He just heard and winked at me,” I tell his sister.

She groans, glances past her shoulder, where he winks at her too, and she laughs and shifts back to me. “Yep. That’s my brother. You could be saying the worst things about him, and he’ll still puff his chest out like everything about him is golden.”

I laugh, confiding in her, “He’s wanted me to admit to him being the best driver in the world for so long, but I wouldn’t budge an inch until recently.”

“Good for you. Now prepare for him to get you to marry him. He’s been announcing it since you met.”

“Oh wow, seriously?”

“Yes!” she cries.

I think I look like a cherry because my cheeks and neck and whole face start to burn, like the rest of me, because the thought of marrying Racer Tate—of him truly making me his wife and telling everybody he plans to do this—gives me more butterflies than anything in my life has given me before.

If his sister thinks he’ll be getting his way …

Then I’ll play it cool and classy, but secretly in my heart of hearts and right in my soul which is so deeply connected to his it’s scary, I’ll desperately hope that he does.

After a fun evening, we all head back to the hotel, and I notice that my father looks beat. “Daddy, do you feel well?”

“Yes, I’m enjoying every moment.”

I shoot a pleading look at Drake.

“Let’s get you to rest. So much excitement won’t help your body stay strong,” Drake tells him as we all step off the elevator on our floor.

“I think the excitement is helping,” Dad jokes.

I laugh. And when we take him to his room, and say goodnight and head back, Racer takes my hand and gives me a squeeze. Noticing my worry and concern.

“How much time does he have?” he asks.

“I don’t know. He didn’t tell us and forbids the doctors to. It’s cancer, but he doesn’t want treatment.” I shake my head. “He says he doesn’t want to be feeling sick for the remainder of his life. But the doctors said he had a good chance if he got treated, he’s just stubborn.”

“I know someone like that,” he says, tender.

“Really? Me too.” I smile, because obviously I mean him, and Racer smiles too, his dimpled smile and his presence making me feel better.

Drake once told me that I had to respect my father’s wishes, that people let go when they are ready, and I needed to learn to let go too. But feeling as if something you love with your whole heart is being taken from you, the truth is, human beings hang on tighter—and it only hurts more.

What I want doesn’t matter.

Not really, not in these things. So I just tell myself that I, too, will enjoy every moment, because whenever my dad leaves, and I leave, and my brothers, and even my immortal Racer Tate leaves, we will always take these moments with us.

I follow him to his room; it just seems handier that we be where he has all his racing gear, etc. I also really like simply being in his space and feeling … well, safe and welcome there.

Racer rummages through his duffel and takes out his bottle and pops back his medicine, and downs a half glass of water.

“You’re taking them every day now?” I ask as I watch him set that aside and give a hard yank to his T-shirt, his chiseled, perfect male chest in full view.

“I feel good. Feel fucking golden.” He cracks his neck side to side, and stretches his arms, then drops them when he notices me ogling. His eyes gleam and he raises his brows. “Especially ‘cause I’ve got you right here.” His lips start to curve, and he reaches out, pulling me to his chest. I start to go up greedily on my toes and Racer just lifts me up higher, kissing me like only he knows.