The Full Velocity Series Box Set

by Tracie Delaney

  Then I remembered I was mad at him, that we’d broken up, and the door to my heart clamped shut.

  The earlier rain evaporated, and the track began to dry out. Tate came into the pits for slick tires. Once again, he exited the pit lane in the lead. He was on track to win. Another few laps at that speed, and he’d have enough space between himself and Jared to come into the pits, change tires, and get out again ahead of Jared in second place. It was known in the racing world as a ‘free pit stop.’

  “Easy now,” I said as though Tate could actually hear me. “Be careful through the back markers.”

  The next few seconds happened so quickly that my brain didn’t immediately compute. Tate pulled out to overtake, his car zigzagged, and then he flew through the air.

  I screamed as the aluminum shell intended to protect the fragile human inside—my fragile human—crumpled as it hit the wall. The car rolled over twice before shuddering to a stop.

  I froze, my mind taking me back to the fateful day of Dean’s accident. The mad dash to save him. The sight of his wrecked car, his broken, lifeless body, the burning in my arms as I’d carried out CPR, desperately trying to save him, my attempts proving futile in the end.

  Despair looped around my head until there was no room for anything else.

  And then the practical side of me kicked in. I grabbed my medical bag and flung open the door. The accident had occurred over a mile away, but it’d be quicker to run than to drive through the meandering backroads that surrounded the track. Sirens wailed in the distance, the on-site ambulances and fire crews already spurred into action.

  My lungs burned, but I kept on going. Tate needed me.

  A helicopter flew overhead, hovering above the track before easing to the ground, its blades whirring as the occupants spilled onto the track.

  Almost there.

  One of the marshals saw me coming and opened a gate, allowing me access. By the time I reached the car, Tate had already been loaded onto a stretcher, his neck in a brace.

  He wasn’t conscious.

  Gulping back fear, I scanned his body for any sign of blood. I couldn’t see any. Not a good sign. Lack of blood meant the trauma was internal.

  “Tate, I’m here,” I said, clutching his hand and running alongside the gurney as the paramedics pushed him to the helicopter.

  They loaded him and, without hesitation, I climbed on board.

  We rose into the air. My stomach rolled, but I kept my focus on Tate, talking to him, keeping up the pressure on his hand to let him know I was there, that he wasn’t alone.

  I managed to remain calm during the entire journey, but when we landed on the roof of the hospital building, panic set in. What would they find? God, what if he never regained consciousness? What if the last horrible, hateful things I’d said were the last words Tate ever heard from me? How would I live with myself?

  Regardless of our disagreement over this latest sponsorship deal, I loved him so very much. If he survived…

  No, not if. When.

  Gathering every ounce of internal strength, I swallowed my tears, blew my nose, stiffened my resolve, and followed the paramedics into the hospital. The last thing Tate needed was me losing my shit. My own personal devastation would have to wait.

  We were met by a trauma surgeon who barked orders to a team waiting nearby. They wheeled him inside a waiting lift. I followed. A hand came out, stopping me.

  “Miss, please, wait in the family room.”

  “Doctor,” I corrected. “I’m the track doctor.” And his girlfriend. Except that wasn’t true. Not any longer.

  The surgeon made eye contact with me. “Then you’ll know I urgently need to get him into surgery.”

  His curt response hit me like a punch to the gut. I stumbled back and watched the lift doors close.

  And then I fell apart.

  Sinking to the floor, I hugged my knees to my chest and sobbed.

  This couldn’t be happening. Not again. I’d lost Dean to his love of racing. I couldn’t lose Tate, too. Hadn’t this damn sport stolen enough from me?

  I lost track of time, but eventually, I had no tears left. Taking a deep breath, I pulled myself together and rose to my feet.

  Following the hospital signs, I took the public lift down to the third floor where the operating rooms were located. I strode out of the lift, immediately spotting which one Tate must be in, because outside, stood about fifteen people. Jared, Paisley, Jack, Rob, Ant, Angus, Devon, Zoey, plus a whole bunch of other members of Nash Racing. I choked down a sob as Jared spotted me and marched over.

  “You got my messages then?” he asked.

  I shook my head, only then realizing I hadn’t even looked at my phone since leaving the medical center. “I saw it,” I said. “On the TV. I came in the helicopter with him.” I promptly burst into tears again.

  “Oh fuck,” Jared muttered. “C’mere, honey.” He wrapped his strong arms around my shoulders and hugged me tightly. “He’s going to be fine. He’s a tough one.”

  I took a long pull of air then blew it out slowly. I needed information. I’d waited long enough. Facts were my safety net, my comfort blanket. “Has anyone given you an update?” I asked.

  Jared shook his head.

  “Well, they’ll give one to me.”

  A hint of a smile tugged at Jared’s lips. “I think they’re a little busy at the moment, honey.”

  “Someone must know something.” I slipped out of his arms.

  He caught my wrist as I set off. “Madison, I know you want to scrub up and get in there, but you can’t. Let the staff here do their jobs. You stomping around trying to get answers they probably don’t have yet isn’t going to help Tate. Unfortunately, we all have the toughest job—waiting.”

  He was right, of course, but that didn’t make it any easier. I paced, holding my breath every time I caught a glimpse of a hospital uniform. I questioned Jack to see if he knew what had happened, but it was too early to tell yet. Jack looked absolutely devastated, his expression somber, dark circles beneath his eyes. He’d blame himself, but it was no one’s fault. Tate’s horrific accident proved my point… racing was a dangerous sport, and bad things could—and did—happen.

  I hadn’t been prepared for them to happen to Tate, that was all.

  “Oh, hell, has anyone called his parents?” I asked.

  Jack mashed his lips into a thin line. “Yes, I did.”

  “When are they coming?”

  He shook his head. “They’re not.”

  I widened my eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Apparently, his mother has some function or other that clearly needs her attention more than her own son, and as for his father…”

  Jack turned away, and I swore tears glistened in his eyes. Jack Nash was one of the toughest sons of bitches in this sport. To see such a strong man so close to tears because of the reaction of Tate’s parents further hardened my heart against them.

  I clenched my fists, anger racing through me. What the hell was wrong with those cold bastards? How could they be so unfeeling toward their son at a time when he needed them the most? I caught Zoey’s furious gaze and instantly knew she felt exactly the same. I nodded at her, conveying a ‘Leave this with me’ message. She returned my gesture with a nod of her own.

  “Would you excuse me for a minute?” I said to no one in particular. I walked a fair distance away until I knew I wouldn’t be overheard. It took a bit of research, but I finally located the number for Tate’s parents’ house. Seething, I made the call.

  “Flynn residence.”

  “I’d like to speak to Mr. or Mrs. Flynn, please.”

  “Whom may I say is calling?”

  “Madison Brady.”

  I waited while the maid delivered my message. I didn’t expect, for one second, for either of Tate’s parents to speak to me. They hadn’t liked me on the one occasion we had met and, to them, I was a nobody. So I felt more than a pinch of surprise when Tate’s mother came on the line.<
br />
  “If you’re calling to tell me about Tate’s accident, we’ve already been informed,” was her opening gambit.

  “Yes, I’m aware. I’m also aware you’re not planning to come to Belgium.”

  “That’s right. I have responsibilities here. I can’t simply flit off on a whim.”

  Hate was a very strong word, evoking emotion I couldn’t say I enjoyed experiencing, but right then, I hated this woman with every fiber of my body.

  “Your responsibility is to your son who, this very second, is in surgery after what some parts of the media are calling an un-survivable accident.” I was amazed I managed to stay so calm when voicing my worst fears. I swore it must be the shock kicking in. “What if he dies, Mrs. Flynn?” I flinched, squeezing my eyes closed as pain shot through me.

  I can’t even…

  “Tate is a Flynn. He’s a survivor.”

  “A survivor?” I snorted. “Like Cam, you mean?”

  I knew it to be wrong, maybe even cruel, to bring up the loss of her child, but I’d reached the point where I’d use anything to get a human reaction out of this… this… robot.

  A hitch of breath reached me down the line. “How dare you,” she spat.

  A rush of fury fueled my blood, blind rage scorching through me. I let her have it. “No, how dare you. What sort of a mother are you? Your son has spent years trying to be what you want him to be, to do everything he can to earn your love when he shouldn’t have to do a damned thing. It’s a mother’s job to love their child no matter what. You disgust me.”

  I stabbed at the screen so hard, I broke a fingernail. I wished I’d called from a landline—so I could have slammed the handset down. I’d probably made things a whole lot worse between Tate and his parents, and some people might say it hadn’t been my place to tell that woman what I thought of her. But I didn’t care. She needed to know her attitude wasn’t normal. Was not acceptable.

  She’d done me one favor, though; as soon as Tate woke—and I had to believe he would—I was going to show him some respect, some courtesy, and find out why he’d signed that deal. It might not make a blind bit of difference to the eventual outcome, but I at least owed it to him to listen.

  Five hours, eight minutes, and thirty-two seconds after Tate’s arrival at the hospital, the doors to the operating room opened and the surgeon appeared. I launched out of my chair, my legs barely holding me up.

  “Tate?” I asked.

  “Are you family?”

  I opened my mouth to say no—it was the truth after all—when Jack cut in.

  “We’re all his family. How’s he doing, Doc?”

  The surgeon removed his cap and scuffed a hand over the top of his head. “Mr. Flynn is a very lucky young man. He had a tear in his liver that caused some internal bleeding which we’ve repaired. We also needed to remove his spleen. In addition to his internal injuries, he has suffered a dislocated shoulder, but thankfully, no head or spinal damage.”

  My knees wobbled. Zoey was the closest, and she caught me before I fell, her arm comfortingly cradling my waist.

  The doctor continued talking, but the words came at me through a fog of relief. Tate would be out of action for a few months while he recovered, but he’d suffer no lasting damage. The loss of his spleen was a bit of a worry, but lots of people lived perfectly normal lives without that particular organ. My greatest concern had been brain damage or paralysis.

  “Thank God,” I mumbled.

  “No getting rid of Tate,” Zoey murmured, her eyes alight with relief and happiness.

  “Tough bastard,” Jack said.

  “Hey, I might win the championship now,” Jared contributed.

  A brief moment of silence cut through the air, and then laughter filled the hallway.

  “Don’t count your chickens yet,” Rob, Tate’s engineer, cut in. “If I know Tate, he’ll be back behind the wheel before you know it.”

  A bolt of fear rushed through me. Until Rob had said that, I hadn’t considered for even a moment that Tate would return to the track, but he would. Of course he would. Racing was his life.

  “He’s in recovery,” the surgeon continued. “We’ll get him settled, and then you can go and see him. No more than two of you today, please. He’ll be tired and will need to rest.”

  I stumbled over to the chair and sank into it. Even if I could forgive Tate for signing his latest sponsorship deal, I didn’t think I had it within me to be in a relationship with a racing driver, to live under the constant worry of a repeat occurrence of what I’d gone through today.

  To be forever on edge, waiting for the next crash.

  “Madison?”

  Jared’s concerned voice reached me, and his fingers touched my arm. My breathing labored, coming in gasps now.

  Oh, I know what this is; I’m hyperventilating.

  My dispassionate thought process must be because of my medical training.

  “Someone get a doctor?”

  This time it was Paisley who spoke. I gestured to her and shook my head. I didn’t need a doctor. I needed to replace the carbon dioxide I was emitting too quickly. Cupping my hands over my nose and mouth, I pursed my lips. It took a few minutes, but eventually, my breathing slowed, and my head cleared.

  “Sorry, it’s the shock,” I attempted to explain.

  Paisley flicked her wrist at the crowd gathered around me. “Bugger off, you lot. Give the woman some space.” Conversely, she moved her chair closer and took my hand between hers. “Are you okay now? Do you need me to get someone?”

  “No, I’m fine.” I managed a faint smile. “We doctors prefer to self-heal.”

  Paisley rolled her eyes. “As stubborn as bloody racing drivers.”

  “How do you do it?” I asked.

  Her brows knitted together. “Do what?”

  I jerked my chin in Jared’s direction. “Watch him hurtle around the track knowing at any moment it could be lights out.”

  She twisted her lips into a wry smile. “I don’t think about it. After all, bad things could happen to any of us, not just racing drivers. I saw on the news the other day a woman was walking along the street, minding her own business, and a car mounted the pavement and killed her. None of us are safe from the dangers of simply living. Every time we set foot outside our own front doors, we’re taking a risk. You should know that better than most, being a doctor. I guess it’s easier on me, though. I grew up around this sport. It’s all I know, whereas for you, it’s different.”

  She was right, on both points. I had to figure out whether I could handle the worry of being with Tate, and that was assuming I could forgive him for signing that deal and betraying me.

  Right now, I didn’t know the answer to either of those questions.

  Tate

  Fuck it hurt. Everywhere. I couldn’t move a single inch without pain stealing my breath. The nurse gently lifted my wrist to take my pulse, and even that innocuous movement sent a shockwave of agony coursing through me. I hissed and gritted my teeth, and she gave me a sympathetic smile.

  “Are you feeling up to visitors?” she asked.

  Depended who she meant by visitors. If it was my parents, I’d rather crash my car again than see them, and have to face their displeasure. After all, I’d fucked up my chances of World Championship number five, for this year at least.

  “Who’s here?” I barely recognized the rasp in my voice.

  “Half the racetrack, I think,” she replied with a grin.

  I managed a smile. “Sure. Let them come.”

  “I’ll let two of them come,” she said, padding across the room. She opened the door and gestured. “Five minutes. He needs to rest.”

  She stood to one side, and that was when I saw her. Standing right behind Jack. My Madison. It took considerable effort, but I managed to lift my hand and beckon to her.

  “Hey, beautiful.”

  “Aww, thanks, gorgeous,” Jack replied.

  I’d laugh if it didn’t hurt so damned much. Madison chu
ckled, though, and that’d do for me. To hear her laugh again when I thought I never would was all the medicine I needed.

  “Who won?” I asked Jack.

  His eyebrows shot up. “Are you fucking kidding me? The race was cancelled. Do you think any of the teams would be able to simply race on after an accident as big as this?”

  “So I’m still leading the championship?”

  “Is that all you can think about?” Jack asked.

  My eyes cut to Madison’s. “No.”

  Jack glanced between the two of us. When neither of us said a word, he nodded. “Well, now, I know you’re okay, I’ll leave you guys to talk. I’ll come by tomorrow, bring you some magazines and stuff.”

  “Thanks, Jack.”

  I waited for him to leave, then patted the covers. “Will you sit?”

  She pulled up a chair. The message wasn’t lost on me. You’ve still got a long way to go.

  “How are you feeling?”

  I grimaced. “Like I’ve been run over by a truck.”

  “Yeah, internal injuries will do that to you.”

  I held out my hand, palm up, my fears allayed when she accepted my peace offering. “We need to talk.”

  She nodded. “We do, but not today.”

  I was inclined to agree. I already felt the kind of bone-weary exhaustion that made it difficult to keep my eyes open, and she’d only been here a few minutes. “Just answer me one thing.”

  “What?”

  “Do you still love me like I love you?”

  She drew a breath, and her spine stiffened, but her eyes, when they met mine, held a depth of emotion that sent my hopes soaring.

  “Yes.”

  I almost sagged with relief. “Then nothing else matters.”

  She blinked slowly. Her expression suggested she disagreed, but she didn’t voice her dissent. “I’ll let you get some rest.”

  “Will you come back in the morning?”

  She nodded, leaned over, kissed my cheek, and left.

  My eyes drooped, and I slept, the comforting scent of Madison’s perfume filling my nose.