I stared down at the screen, my lips parting. Oh my God. A woman the spitting image of Caroline stared back at me. Blonde hair, blue eyes, pretty face. Except the one in the picture was sitting in a wheelchair, a strap around her chest, a headrest supporting her head and neck. The kind of chair that a quadriplegic needed to keep them stable.
My eyes lifted to Caroline’s. I pressed a hand to my stomach, a cold chill forcing a shiver. “I-I don’t understand. What has this got to do with Devon? Why will he put her first?”
Caroline’s sad smile had a hint of fake around the edges.
“Because he did that to her.”
Reilley
My hands wouldn’t stop trembling during the cab ride back to the Monza circuit, even when I stuffed them beneath my thighs. I sat in shock, my usually sharp brain scrambling to make sense of it all, while Caroline told me all about her sister and Devon, and a burgeoning relationship that had turned into a horror story in a split second.
Now, I needed to hear it from Devon.
There was something gleeful about the way Caroline had made this disclosure—an underlying vindictiveness that had my instincts firing a warning shot. Maybe she did love her sister but, equally, her hatred for Devon had shone through. The journalist in me demanded to listen to both sides, to get a balanced view, and then make a decision.
A decision that could steal the best thing that had ever happened to me.
How could he have kept something so important, so momentous from me? This wasn’t about the book. He’d been clear from the start that vast swathes of his private life were off-limits, but he could have told me.
Yet he hadn’t. He’d chosen to keep Charlotte a secret, a dirty little secret, tucked away at a rehabilitation facility in Switzerland. The other woman the likes of whom I couldn’t ever hope to compete with. The funny, smart, kind, loving woman who brought sunshine into the lives of everyone she met—according to Caroline.
“Here is fine,” I said to the cab driver a mile from the entrance to the track. I needed the walk to help clear my head and work out what to say before I confronted Devon, the pain of his betrayal, his lies, so raw and unfettered. I didn’t want to come across as a screaming she-bitch, rather as a reasonable, considered woman who wanted to hear both sides of the story.
I handed over the fare, popped the door latch, and spilled onto the sidewalk. The Italian sun beat down on the back of my neck. Finding an old tissue in my jeans pocket, I dabbed the nape.
Caroline’s devastating reveal had pulled a very steady rug from beneath my feet, the path ahead of me no longer sure. After the race this weekend, I had intended to tell Devon I’d fallen in love with him. Instead, this could be the end of us, of the future I’d dared to dream of.
A knot tightened the muscles in my lower abdomen, my insides churning with every step I took. Ahead, the entrance to the track came into view like an inevitable storm pelting toward me. There was nowhere to run, no place to hide. No chance to avoid the oncoming devastation.
Fumbling for my press badge, I flashed the plastic rectangular card at the security guard who admitted me with a wave and a bright smile, a gesture I found myself unable to return. On heavy legs, I trudged the half mile to the pit lane, my eyes facing forward, neither looking left nor right. The odd person called out a greeting which I returned with a wan smile.
At the entrance to Nash Racing’s garage, I paused to catch my breath. My shoulders hunched no matter how hard I tried to loosen them, and my stomach roiled, the sensation uncomfortable and alien. A flicker of anger ignited embers I’d tried hard to quell. Still without a clue how to even begin the upcoming conversation, I walked inside. My throat tightened painfully, my lungs flattening, forcing me to take shallow breaths. Devon had his back to me, sitting at the counter at the rear of the garage, his spine curved, eyes locked on the rows and rows of data streaming across the computer screen. Jack sat beside him, their heads almost touching, both men deep in concentration.
Jared appeared behind me, his arm curved around Paisley’s waist. “Hey, Reilley. Can’t get enough, huh?”
Devon spun his chair around, a frown of concentration turning into a smile as he faced me. “I didn’t expect to see you until later. Everything okay?”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Charlotte?”
Okay, hadn’t expected it to come out as directly as that, but at least no one could accuse me of not getting straight to the point.
Jared gruffed out a laugh. “Jeez, Gray. You been playing away from home?”
“Shut the fuck up, Jared.” This from Jack.
Ah, so Jack knows.
Lovely.
Tells me everything I need to know.
He could tell his fucking boss, but not his girlfriend. At least I knew where I came in the pecking order.
“Well?” I snapped, a burst of anger rising within me, spilling over. “Are you even going to try to explain?”
Electricity crackled through the air, tension bouncing off the walls, and still Devon remained silent.
“You know what?” I said, slicing my hand through the air. “Forget it. Caroline already told me everything I need to know.”
I spun around, tears of rage spilling down my cheeks. A strong hand clasped my upper arm.
“Wait. Reilley, please wait. Let me explain.”
Fear oozed from every pore in Devon’s body, his face contorted in pain.
Pain for hurting me? Or because I’d found out about Charlotte?
“Don’t go. Not like this. Not until we’ve talked.”
My shoulders drooped, the brief spark that allowed me to fight depleting. “I can’t believe you kept something so important a secret. Do I mean so little to you?”
Devon’s lips parted, horror evident in his expression. “You mean everything to me.”
“But not enough to tell me about Charlotte.” I hardly recognized my own voice. Usually strong and forthright, it came out small and insignificant. Defeated.
Jack appeared to the side, placing a hand on Devon’s shoulder. “Guys, I hate to interrupt, but can I suggest you discuss this in the motorhome? I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed.”
“Good idea.” Devon captured my hand.
I, childishly, yanked it away.
Yeah, hurt’ll do that to a person.
We walked to the motorhome in silence, Devon slightly ahead, his spine curved, chin tucked into his chest. He opened the door, gesturing for me to go in first. The door closed behind us with a quiet click.
“Would you like something to drink?” Devon asked politely, almost as though we were strangers.
“No. What I’d like is for you to talk.”
Devon slumped in a nearby chair and dropped his head, raking his hands through his inky locks. I’d done exactly that only this morning while he’d gently pushed himself inside me, our bodies locked together in the most intimate of ways.
Yet now, any interested onlookers would assume we barely knew each other.
“Won’t you sit?” he asked.
“I prefer to stand.”
He closed his eyes, his finger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose. His leg jiggled, and his breathing came out ragged.
“What did Caroline say?”
I crossed my arms. “I’m not here to talk about what Caroline said. I want to hear from you, Devon.”
His chin came up, and his eyes met mine, agony mingled with penitence simmering beneath the surface. I’d always loved Devon’s eyes, so intensely dark and decadent. They were striking, the likes of which could lock me in place with a single look.
Just like now.
Despite the fucked-up situation we found ourselves in, a flood of sensations filled my abdomen. I could rail on Devon as much as I liked. He could hurt me over and over again. I’d still love him.
But could I still be with him, given he’d lied about something so important.
“Please sit down, Reilley. It’s a long story, and not a very nice one. I don’t kno
w what Caroline has told you, but by the time I’ve finished, I expect you’ll walk out of that door and never return. So, please, I’m asking you to do this one last thing for me.”
I reluctantly took a seat opposite, laying my hands in my lap, my relaxed outer shell belying the turmoil on the inside.
“Where do you want me to start?”
“I want to know everything.”
Devon swooped a hand down the back of his head, then leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. “I met Charlotte five years ago on a trip back home for the summer break. My job made it difficult to have a normal relationship. There aren’t many women who will tolerate a few snatched days here and there, interspersed with months of absence. But when Charlotte and I got to talking, and I told her what I did for a living, she told me she wasn’t looking for anything serious.
“We spent most of that summer break together, then I returned to the racing circuit. We spoke on the phone, video called, that kind of thing. I next saw her in late September. She surprised me by flying over for the Singapore Grand Prix. After the race, we spent a couple of days enjoying the sights before she headed back to Melbourne, and I flew on to Japan.”
He massaged his temples as though to assuage an oncoming headache, then returned to his previous position.
“The next time I saw her was when I flew back home at the beginning of December. I remember feeling really excited. I had the entire month off and, for the first time, someone other than my family to spend it with.” His eyes bored into mine. “I’m not exactly a player. I don’t have reams of girls checkering my past.”
I’d suspected as much. From what little I’d gleaned of Devon when originally researching him, there were no kiss-and-tell stories, no disgruntled women, no string of one-night stands eager and willing to sell their story for a hundred bucks and a fancy dinner.
“I know.”
He offered up a glimmer of a smile. “Of course you do.”
Pain ricocheted through my chest. I wasn’t ready for in-jokes, for those little nuggets of information couples in love shared. I launched to my feet. “I think I will have that drink.”
Grabbing a bottle of wine from the fridge, I poured a large glass. I automatically twisted the cap off a bottle of beer for Devon. He could either drink it, or not.
He smiled gratefully, taking a sip. “Probably shouldn’t, given I’m working, but what the hell.”
“Cheers,” I said, far from cheerily. The wine cooled the fire in my stomach and eased the agony crushing my heart.
He swung the bottle by the neck in my direction, acknowledging my salutation.
“We went everywhere that December, even flying over to Sydney for a couple of nights. Charlotte had never been. I remember how excited she was the first time she saw the Opera House. Charlotte was like me, quiet, thoughtful, introverted. I liked her. She was a nice girl to be around.”
He rubbed his middle finger over his bottom lip, pausing for thought. His gaze dropped away, his mind recalling fond memories.
I tried not to feel jealous.
The red-hot poker searing my insides said I’d failed.
Charlotte was like me he’d said.
But not like me. Devon and I were complete opposites, and until then, I’d thought that was a good thing. Now, seeing his eyes glaze over as he spoke about someone clearly very important to him, I wasn’t so sure. If Charlotte hadn’t ended up in a wheelchair, would Devon and I be together?
Highly unlikely.
Fate—such a fickle master.
And yet Charlotte was still the one driving a sledgehammer through the middle of my life.
“One weekend right before Christmas that year, Charlotte told me she’d been taking climbing lessons. I’d shared with her my love of climbing when she’d visited me in Singapore. I remember feeling dumbfounded that she’d even remembered, let alone made the effort to try it for herself. I mean, it wasn’t like we’d been going out that long. In reality, we’d probably spent about six weeks in each other’s company, given the weeks and months apart. But at the same time, I was chuffed she liked me enough to bother.
“It was my suggestion to go climbing. She was nervous because all her experience to date involved climbing on an indoor wall at the local gym. I told her that she’d be safe with me, that we’d go real slow and easy. I made her take me to the center she’d been using so I could assess her ability. For someone fairly inexperienced, she climbed confidently. I had no doubt she’d be fine.”
He covered his face with his hands, hiding his expression from me. Sipping my wine, I left him to gather himself. I already knew the ending. Caroline had described in great detail how Charlotte had fallen and broken her neck, rendering her arms and legs paralyzed. But Caroline hadn’t been there. Devon had. I wanted an eye-witness retelling, not Caroline’s version, tainted as it was with bitterness and grief.
“We completed two climbs that day, Charlotte’s self-assuredness growing with every passing hour. I coached her through every step, making sure she’d roped herself in properly, that the pins were tight, that she’d fastened her carabiners correctly. By the time we decided to cram in another climb, she’d started to get irritated with me checking every single detail. That didn’t stop me, though. I was an experienced climber who’d been doing this since I was twelve. Charlotte had only just begun. She was my responsibility, and I wouldn’t take that lightly.
“On the last climb, about halfway up, we had to negotiate a potentially tricky overhang. I talked her through the entire thing. She handled it like a pro. I can still remember her beaming smile, her pride in herself shining brightly. We carried on up the rock face, me still asking her if she’d done this or that correctly.
“Charlotte was about twenty feet above the overhang, with me another fifteen or so feet higher. I called back to ask her to check the pin she was roping through. It had been fine when I’d used it, but I still asked her to check. She replied she’d given it a good wiggle and it was solid.”
He lowered his gaze, staring at his hands. Seconds scraped by until a full minute had passed. Still, Devon remained silent, head bowed, shoulders curved with the weight of racking guilt. How had I never noticed he carried such a terrible burden? My mind turned to Canada, how he’d freaked out at the climb I’d organized.
It all made sense now.
I rose from my seat and crossed over to him, perching on the arm of his chair. He’d neglected to tell me about Charlotte, his omission hurtful, but it paled in comparison with the agony eating him up inside. I threaded my hands through his soft, silky strands. He inclined his head toward me, a tortured groan rumbling in his chest.
“I can’t tell you what happened next because I honestly don’t remember. All I recall was hearing Charlotte scream, and when I looked down, she was lying on the overhang.”
He squeezed his eyes closed, his head shaking from side to side. “It took ages for help to arrive. They airlifted her to the hospital. The doctors said she was lucky to be alive.” He snorted. “How is it lucky for one of your vertebrae to crush your spinal cord, rendering you paralyzed from the neck down for the rest of your life?” He faced me then, his eyes glossy with suppressed tears. “Tell me, Reilley. How is any of this lucky for Charlotte?”
The desolation in his eyes tore through me, stealing my breath. I knelt on the floor, between Devon’s legs, and wrapped my arms around his waist, squeezing hard. I wanted to comfort him, but the words wouldn’t come. Oh, the irony.
Call yourself a writer?
Given the kind of man Devon was—caring, responsible, meticulous—his shame made perfect sense. I’d feel exactly the same in his situation. Where we clearly differed was in laying blame.
Caroline blamed Devon.
Devon blamed himself.
I blamed the cruel twist of fate that caused such a terrible accident to occur. Tragic as it was, we all took risks, every day of our lives. Hell, Devon worked in one of the most dangerous sports in the world.
&nb
sp; I rocked back on my heels, catching Devon’s attention. “Caroline said Charlotte is at a rehabilitation center in Switzerland.”
He nodded. “We moved her there in March this year. She needs a ventilator to breathe. Caroline found out about some experimental treatment that might mean the doctors can remove it. It’d mean so much to Charlotte. She hates the ventilator.”
“That’s why you agreed to the book,” I stated bluntly. “You needed the money, for Charlotte.”
“Yes.”
“God, Devon.”
His shoulders curved inward, his spine hunched. “I should have told you. I wanted to, so many times, but I didn’t want you to know what a monster I am.”
“Monster? What the hell are you talking about?”
His eyes flickered toward mine, then sliced away. “I should never have agreed to go climbing with her. I told her she was safe with me. She wasn’t.”
“Devon, you’re not a monster. Dear God, how can you think that? You’ve taken care of Charlotte for five years, ensuring she received the best medical care money could buy. Hell, you even agreed to a book that you really didn’t want to do to further improve her life. You barely knew each other. You could have cut and run. Lots of guys would have. Yet you stuck around, and five years later, you’re still there for her.” A question rose to the surface, one I didn’t want to ask but knew I had to. “Are you in love with her?”
His head snapped up. “No. God no.” He cupped my cheeks, his thumb tracing my bottom lip. “I love you, Reilley. Fuck, I can’t believe this is how I’m finally telling you. I wanted to tell you weeks ago, but I lost my nerve in case you didn’t feel the same way.”
So many mixed emotions rushed through me.
Relief that he didn’t love Charlotte.
Joy that he did love me.
Sorrow because I didn’t know whether it was enough for me to be able to forgive him for not trusting me with something so monumental. To know I’d given him the perfect opening in Montreal and he hadn’t taken it.
“I do feel the same way. I realized I was falling for you in Chicago.” My lips curved into a flicker of a smile. “I even told you.”
The Full Velocity Series Box Set Page 53
