I met her wide-eyed fascination, eating up each word like I was writing her a new bible.
I bit into the corner of my cheek, desperate for something—anything to say or do to change her mind. I looked down to the cap in my hands, my fingers toying absentmindedly with the fabric.
My eyes popped wide, an idea roaring into my mind.
I glanced around Claire’s room, seeing a few things of what we would need, but I needed to check with Gwen for the rest. And Garret. For permission.
“What’s your number?” I demanded firmly of the little girl.
“What number?”
“Your racing number. What is it?”
Thankfully, she didn’t fight me. Instead, she thought for a second. “Eight!” she exclaimed before changing her mind. “No, seven!”
“Seven’s a lucky number,” I approved.
“It’s Uncle G’s number,” she told me. “Because all his names start with the letter g and that’s number seven in the alphabet.”
I paused as I reached for a marker. “You don’t want to pick your lucky number?” I confirmed.
She thought for a second. “No. I think my uncle G could use some luck,” she decided, my heart splitting just a little more down the seam. “Plus, he’s going to build my car. He should get to put his number on it.”
I nodded, grabbing the blue marker and uncapping it. “I agree.”
“Hey! What are you doing to my cap?” she cried out, bending forward onto her knees as I began to trace the number seven onto the fabric on both sides.
She didn’t ask again until I was finished shading in both sevens so they stood out against the white.
We both lifted our eyes at the same time, locking gazes as I replied, “This isn’t your cap, Miss Gallagher. It’s your helmet.”
Her eyes bulged as I handed her the drawn-on hat and pushed the rest of her markers into a pile at her knees.
“Now, you have to finish coloring it,” I told her as I rose.
She took it from my hand, excitement sparking in her expression. “Where are you going?”
“To find your uncle so he can build you a race car.” I grinned and practically ran from the room.
My mind sped so fast through everything I needed to make this happen—and the permission I needed to get—that not even my peripherals caught sight of the wide-chested Irishman before I was crashing into him.
And back into his arms.
“Kacey?” Garret rasped, regarding me with abject concern. “Is everythin’ alright? Is Claire—”
“She’s fine,” I assured him quickly, wondering but not complaining that he hadn’t let me go. “Actually, it’s a good thing you’re back. I need your help,” I blurted out.
“Doin’ what, lass? Not breakin’ another leg—”
“No.” I huffed and rolled my eyes. “I need your expertise.” His eyebrow arched in curiosity. “I need you to build me a race car.”
He gaped for a long second. “Pretty sure that’s what I’ve been doin’ this whole damn time—”
“No. Actually. I need you to build Claire a race car.”
Thinking he understood, his shoulders relaxed. “When she’s older, if she still wants ta race—”
“Nope. Not older. Today.” I stepped out of his befuddled arms. “We’re going to build her a car today, and then we’re going to have a race.”
I grinned at the echoes of ‘are ye daft?’ that followed me as I grabbed his hand and pulled his shocked, stumbling form into the room with me.
“Bear, what are ye doin’ to yer cap?” he demanded as we approached the bed.
The little girl’s eyes danced. “It’s not a cap! It’s my helmet!” She held up the hat to show off the blue number seven against the yellow and red stripes she’d begun to add. “Kacey says you’re going to build me a race car.”
“I hafta finish buildin’ Miss Snyder her race car first before I can—”
“Not exactly a race car,” I broke in with a smile, drawing both their attention. “We’re going to outfit your wheelchair to look like a race car.” My grin spread wide. “And then we’re going to host an official race around the floor.”
Claire’s eyes sprung so wide I was afraid her eyeballs might pop out.
“A race?” Garret held up his hands, the gesture emphasizing the apprehension in his tone. “Now, wait a minute, Kacey. Ye canna just—”
“Uncle G.” Her call silenced him, and her desperate hope crumbled his opposition. “Please,” she begged softly. “Please, can we race?”
I cleared my throat, grabbing Garret’s attention. “We have to check with the nurses and the doctors first, Claire. And, of course, see if there’s anyone else who wants to participate.”
“Oh, there is!” She clapped cheerfully. “The boy two rooms down—Harold—he loves racing. He loves Colton Donavan!”
I chuckled. Who didn’t?
Garret grunted.
Okay, except maybe Groucho.
“Look, Claire. I dinna want ye gettin’ yer hopes up. We have to check with them first. And I want ta talk with—”
“Please, Uncle G. Please!” she begged but couldn’t even manage a sad face because she was so excited. “I just want to race.” She gripped her half-colored cap to her chest so tight I thought she might bleed the marker right from the fabric. “All I want is to race.”
There was a long moment of silence, punctuated by Garret’s hands digging into the stone taper of his hips. I noted his resistance—the tight line of his lips and narrow blue slashes of his eyes, the hard line of his jaw propped up by the tense cords of his neck.
And then I watched it fade against his niece’s plea—against the blinding hope of her smile.
“Alright, Bear, but only if they say it’s alright and only if yer—”
Claire’s squeal and round of applause drowned out whatever else he was going to say to tamp down her expectations, and then next thing I knew, she was standing on her bed with her arms wrapped around my neck, giving me the tightest hug.
“Where’d ye get all this energy from? Did Kacey give ye more than one cookie?” Garret looked between the two of us like if I conspired about this racing business, I definitely conspired to give her more cookies than allowed.
“Absolutely not.” I stuck my hands up, laughing as Claire let me go and bounced over to her uncle, her skinny arms looking like twine wrapped around the breadth of his shoulders.
And then I heard her tell him softly—or maybe it was only soft because she wasn’t facing me, “It’s not energy, Uncle G,” she chided. “It’s hope.”
My lips parted, his gaze locking into mine like two gears coming together—a harsh perfect fit.
A new kind of need coursed through me. The kind that had been tested in fire. Purified from the thoughts that what we felt wasn’t special, that what we had could be ignored.
“Now, help me decorate my hat,” she demanded, grabbing his hand and then reaching for mine, pulling until the two of us were crowded against each other, around her, on the bed.
“I hope ye know what yer doin’, lass,” he charged with a low, hoarse voice, as Claire hummed and picked out the markers she wanted.
“Are you going to let me do this?” I murmured.
His head cocked, his expression blank before he smirked. “Has anyone ever been able ta stop ye from gettin’ what ye wanted?”
My heart slammed against the protective cage of my chest. Eager. Irrational.
Reckless.
“One person.” So quiet. So aching. I couldn’t stop the words if I tried nor the meaning they carried.
His features shadowed, the desire reflected in his eyes just as vibrant as the shade of his hair. My hair. Just as vibrant as the desire in my eyes.
But that was like the two of us.
Different. Distinct. But made of the same.
“I think he tried ta stop ye, lass,” he rasped, the roughness sending goosebumps swirling over my skin. My breath stuck to the cells in my
lungs, neither absorbed nor set free. Simply waiting. Hoping.
“Tried?” The word was just a wisp of air.
I caught the flicker of desperate designation as it lit up the bright blue orbs holding my heart on a tightrope.
His head tipped toward mine. Claire was completely lost in her coloring, too absorbed in the idea of a race happening to spare us a glance.
Our breaths danced with warm desire, my pulse hammering an uncertain but strong beat in my ears. The room felt like it jumped twenty degrees, but it was a heat that came from inside.
The soft burr of his accent caressed my skin while his words sank down deep inside me.
“I dinna think he yet knows he failed.”
Garret
I COULDN’T STOP LOOKIN’ AT her.
Maybe that was how I knew I was done for. How I knew this last week was a complete waste—a complete feckin’ lie.
The only thing that was true was the looks that we shared. The heat passed between us.
I should’ve quashed her idea—decorating wheelchairs up like race cars and pushing kids around the floor.
“He had that smile, Danny did,” I rasped as we neared the shop. After talking the idea over with Claire, we’d had to clear the chair race with the hospital staff—not hard to do when the hospital sat in NASCARs hometown. Not hard to do when kids were clamoring for something like this with a real race car driver participating. “The same one as Claire had today. The one that canna be dimmed.” His expression grew taut. “At least, it couldn’t fer a long time.”
My heart had this twisting sensation when I saw that smile, different from all the other ones I’d seen from her but familiar because it was her da’s. It was a painful twist. But it was also tight and strong. Like a screw attachin’ the broken pieces of my heart back together.
“I canna lose her,” I confessed raggedly, sliding my gaze to where she sat curled in the front seat, one leg resting under the other, her arm relaxed on the center console.
But I caught the small twitch of her fingers—the subtle but eager nervousness radiating from her.
I knew what I was sayin’—what I admitted to back at the hospital, tellin’ her I didn’t know I’d failed.
Havin’ her once was like lightin’ a fuse. I was a fool to think that just because the bomb hadn’t gone off yet didn’t mean it wasn’t inevitable.
And Kacey Snyder was nothing if not inevitable.
“You can’t lose yourself either,” she murmured.
“She’s just been the only thing I’ve thought about fer so long. I dinna think I had room fer anything else. How much I love her… what I’d do fer her…” I trailed off, wincing as I thought about my brother. “But losing him—losing Danny—it’s defined me, lass.”
She sat silent for a minute.
“Bad things happen, Garret. Things that will always affect us in one way or another,” she started slowly. “Like Claire having cancer… surviving it… will always be part of her. Just like losing Danny will always be a part of you.” She paused. “And just like what happened at Daytona will always be a part of me.”
I felt my teeth clench together, a familiar rage ignited by the thought.
“But just because they affect us and shape our choices—our future—doesn’t mean they get to define it,” she went on firmly as we turned onto the road where the garage sat. “If Claire let cancer define her, she’d give up on her dreams. If I let my assault and the criticism define me, I’d never race again. And you… if you let Danny’s death define you, well then it makes sense you not wanting a life of your own.” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed and slid her gaze to meet mine.
“I dinna want that for either of you.”
“Then you shouldn’t want it for yourself.”
I drew a harsh breath, feeling the air seep and slither into all the cracks in my chest that the weight on my shoulder had created.
“I dinna want it, Kacey.” I pulled the truck in front of the garage door next to Renner’s truck. “But I never had anythin’ else ta want.” I turned off the engine. “Thought maybe I dinna deserve anythin’ more.”
I turned, capturing her gaze with my own.
“But then I met you, lass.”
Her tongue slid over her lips, turning my cock to solid rock in my jeans. Every fiber of my being urged me to reach for her. Haul her across the console and onto my lap where I could show her just how much.
Just how much she reminded me I wanted more from this life.
The green of her eyes deepened into jade spheres that glistened with lust.
“Renner’s here,” she murmured, shifting in her seat.
A grunt slipped from the pit of need in my chest, knowing she was hot and slick and ready for me.
“Yeah,” I rasped, giving her a curt nod as the very man appeared from the entrance to the garage.
Kacey fumbled with the door as Renner gave us a blank stare—one that concealed just how perceptive he was.
“Where’ve you been all day, girl?” His voice carried over to me as I stepped down from the driver’s seat, using the shield of the vehicle to adjust my throbbing erection before shutting the door behind me.
“We’ve been at the hospital,” Kacey replied, unfazed by the staunch but harmless tone of his question.
“And how’s Claire?”
I met his narrow gaze. “Doin’ alright. Better when Kacey’s around.”
“I believe it.”
I gritted my teeth at his all-knowing reply.
“We’re hosting a small race at the end of the week for the whole floor,” Kacey told him.
“A race?” He pushed his glasses up on his nose.
“We’re going to outfit wheelchairs to look like race cars and let the kids decorate them,” she explained. “And then we’re going to race one loop around the floor.”
The closest thing I’d ever seen to a smile crossed Voigt’s face.
“You always see possibilities, Miss Snyder.” His eyes slid to me. “Even in some of the most hopeless scenarios.”
I glared at him.
“We should let some of the local news know,” he mused. “Let them take photos and such.”
“Renner—”
The purposeful old man cut her off. “We aren’t going to get McDonald’s, Miss Snyder. Too late for that.” He shook his head, his expectations tempering with each day that passed. “But it might get the hospital some good donations.”
At that, some tension relaxed from her spine.
Waving away that subject, he switched gears. “What I was looking to tell you, Miss Snyder, is that I got a call from Donavan’s team today.”
“Don—You mean Colton Donavan?” She gaped.
“He’s hosting a fundraiser for Corporate Cares the night before Indianapolis,” he went on, ignoring Kacey’s surprise. “Fancy gala and all that. Mentioned something about a dating auction.” Voigt cleared his throat. “He invited all the drivers, and I accepted for you.”
“Me?” She breathed. “A fundraiser? A dating auction?” She glanced at me. “I don’t know—”
“What trajectory you want to take in this world?” he broke in, his expression shuddering in confusion. “This is likely my last year on the track, Miss Snyder, but you—and you”—he nodded to me—“have too much time and skill for this to be the end. You need to take advantage of what connections you can.”
“Of course.” Kacey nodded. “I want to go. Of course. I just—I’m not good at dress-up, or playing nice with driver’s who have an issue with me.”
“They aren’t paying you to be nice, girl,” he scoffed. “You’re paying them—or I’m paying them—to get your face out there. And I don’t think Donavan has a problem with you.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” He turned for his truck. “I’m planning on heading to Indianapolis in the next day or two to get settled. I’ll let you both know when you’ll be needed for practice.” His gaze slid between us, meeting neither of our
eyes. “I’m assuming you’ll want to coordinate.”
I didn’t need to look at Kacey to know her face was as red as her hair as Voigt nodded in goodbye and walked to his truck.
The gravel crunched as she spun to face me.
“Colton Donavan,” she repeated, eyes wide.
I grunted.
I had nothing against the guy. Smart. Talented. Made an empire for himself.
But the name still stung with the reminder of the meeting I took and the domino of events it caused.
None of it Donavan’s fault.
And, slowly, I’d learn none of it was mine either.
“He wants me to go to a fundraiser hosted by Colton Donavan,” she repeated with an excited awe as we walked into the garage like the kids at the hospital had when they met her.
There was one thing I didn’t like about his name though—and that was the fact it was comin’ from her lips.
Lips that were mine.
Lips that should only ever brandish my name.
I pulled the door shut behind me, sliding the bolt home. I stood for a moment, watching her wander into the space, still lost in her own thoughts.
I watched her realize I wasn’t behind her.
I watched her turn toward me, pink coloring her cheeks.
“Garret.”
A low groan rumbled in my chest before I pushed away from the door and stalked to her, closing the space like an animal claiming its prey.
Reaching up, I clasped her face, her chin wedged in the angle between my thumb and forefinger as I tipped her face to mine.
Not roughly. Possessively.
“My name.”
Her eyes flashed. “Garret.”
Lust bolted down to my groin and I dipped my head closer to her.
“Never say another man’s name when yer in my house, lass.” I growled. “In my territory.”
It was a warning, that was fer damn sure. But the soft mewl that slid seductively from those lips, reminded me clearly that it was a plea, too.
Her hands moved boldly to the edge of my shirt, Small, warm fingers sliding up the ridges of my stomach to my chest.
“Yer playin’ with fire, Kacey.”
Revolution: A Driven World Novel (The Driven World) Page 25
