by M. L. Broome
What the hell was I thinking? Talk about opposites.
“I’ll be fine. I’ve got an angel protecting me now.”
Swallowing back the nausea, I pass the driver some cash as he pulls up to the airport terminal. I need to end this call, and fast, before Ryder realizes where I am. “Get some rest. I have to get back to work.”
“You’re still on Long Island?” His voice reeks of disappointment, but I know it’s all a front.
“I am, but I’m trying to get there. Don’t lose hope.” It’s a lie. I lost hope almost an hour ago.
Why don’t I admit I’m in Charlotte? Because then he’ll spend the night embroiled in a row with me, which is stupid, pointless, and highly unsafe. Regardless of if he gets ten hours or ten minutes of sleep, Ryder will race tomorrow.
I refuse to be responsible for him being anything less than perfect. We will talk, but not now. Right now, I’m a ball of emotions and none of them are pretty. Give me a day or two, and I’ll be back to my rational self. My heartbroken, never trust a man again, rational self.
Then, I’ll let him have it with both barrels.
“I wanted to discuss something with you before the race, but… I didn’t want to do it over the phone.”
Of course not. Divorce is such a sticky topic. Much better suited for an in-person discussion.
“Will it keep? Can it wait until I’m there?”
“Sure. Just know that I have plans for us, Gigi. Big plans.”
I’ll be he does.
Swallowing back tears and forcing a smile for the aggravated cab driver, I push open the door, blasted by the cacophony of noise. “Good luck tomorrow. I’ll see you soon, Ryder.”
“Not if I see you first—”
I click off before he can finish his sentiment, and immediately regret my decision. I didn’t tell him I loved him or that I cared. Even though I know what he did, I hate the idea of him racing without that knowledge. Something about working around life and death every day that sinks into your soul. You never know when the last time will be the last time and you’d better let people know how you feel.
Even if they don’t feel the same.
I dial his number again, struggling with my suitcase as I head for the ticket counter.
“You hung up.”
“The call got disconnected. I love you, Ryder. Promise me you’ll be safe.”
“I promise. Thank you. I needed to hear that.”
Blinking back tears, I end the call.
I know this is the last time I’ll see Ryder, save for any dates with his lawyer, but at least he’ll know what was in my heart.
It’s all I ever had to give him, but apparently, it wasn’t enough.
Not by a long shot.
I peel my eyes open as the sun streams through my blinds, a headache blasting through my skull.
I rarely drink—a glass of wine here or there—but any plans for sobriety flew out the window last night, after discovering Ryder with Mandi.
To top off an already banner evening, there weren’t any available seats back to New York, so here I am, in a somewhat seedy motel, a bottle of vodka by my side with a quarter of the contents missing.
No wonder my damn head feels like it’s going to explode.
Unfortunately, I have to get my ass up and moving. I snagged a flight back to Long Island this afternoon, and at the rate I’m going, it will take until boarding for me to feel human again.
Never mind my aching heart. I’ll deal with her later… or not at all, as is my modus operandi.
Stumbling into the shower, I scald my body into submission, before sucking down a cup of coffee that ranks right up there with hospital brew.
But I barely taste the acrid liquid, my eyes instead glued to the television set. It’s almost race time, and the crowd is gearing up to cheer on their favorite hometown hero. When the cameras scan the packed stands, I wonder if Mandi is there, rooting for her man.
He doesn’t need me as a cheerleader, he’s got her. Besides, I’m far more tempted to shove a pom-pom up his ass than wish him well at this point. Nothing too severe, perhaps a case of noxious gas to liven up his rekindled romance with Mandi.
My thoughts drift back to our weekend in Vegas when Ryder first proposed this cockamamie idea. He needed the good press, or so he claimed. Seems the truth was, he wanted to spark Mandi’s jealousy.
In that regard, I suppose I served my purpose. A few well-placed articles about Ryder with another woman and his ex is eating out of the palm of his hand.
Could he have hired the paparazzi to stand outside that restaurant? Was that why he kissed me so openly? The events muddle together, and I can’t make truth of any of them, save one.
My deal with Ryder ended the moment Mandi walked back into his life.
I still don’t know why he asked me to marry him. I wasn’t going to pressure him into any sort of commitment. Not my style. I expected we would go our separate ways once our sojourn to Barbados ended. Instead, he dropped to one knee and asked me to spend my life with him. Have a ton of babies with him. Be with him.
Me, being the lovesick fool, saw hearts and rainbows and screamed yes. For me, it was the greatest moment of my life. For Ryder, it was a well-executed plan, knowing that if him being with another woman raised Mandi’s ire, him marrying one would send her into a tailspin.
Finding out the marriage wasn’t real has certainly sent me into one.
What other reason could he have? Obviously not love, as evidenced by his recent rendezvous with Mandi.
So, instead of a few fond memories of incredible sex on a tropical island, I now get to finagle a deal with his lawyer to earn back my independence.
This is why I never fall in love.
Love stinks.
One thing is for certain, his rich ass is footing the bill for any legal costs related to this annulment. I’ve wasted enough time and tears on the man.
A tear slides down my cheek, cutting through my emotional armor and revealing the caustic pain simmering under the surface. I hate what he did to me—the mind games, making me believe in him, making me believe in love. But what I hate most is how real it felt. Every look, every touch, felt genuine.
I’ve never met a man like that. A talented player in every sense of the word, both on and off the track.
With a grunt, I turn off the television. No point in watching the race, watching his beautiful, lying face light up when he wins yet again.
I have my own business to attend to—namely to finish packing and then beg my boss to take me back in that hellhole of a position I was so overjoyed to escape. I loved the patients but the mismanagement of the clinic made working there like the seventh level of hell, and that was on a good day.
Then I get the added fun of finding a place to live since I sublet my apartment to a friend’s cousin for the remainder of my lease.
Add another line on my to-do list.
The throbbing in my brain refuses to back down, so I fill the tub and soak for an hour, desperate to get warm. Desperate to feel anything but this gnawing in the pit of my stomach that reminds me how my world is upside down, and it’s all my fault. Ryder may be an asshole, but I believed him.
That’s on me.
When there are no more tears to cry, I hoist myself from the tub, staring at my reflection and looking for answers that aren’t going to come. My reflection thinks I’m a blooming idiot, too.
Time to head for the airport and back to my reality, or whatever term we want to use for this funhouse of nightmares. My phone rings, and I grab it, fully expecting yet another call from Mr. Givens.
It isn’t Mr. Givens. It’s Greg, and he’s called twenty times.
That means one of two things, possibly both. Ryder won the race and Greg is gearing up for one hell of a celebration tonight, or my brother has learned of my brief marriage and impending annulment all in one fell swoop.
No doubt he’ll have some choice words for us both once that debacle hits the airwaves.
&
nbsp; Dialing my brother, I fall back on the mattress, a loud whoosh sliding from my lips.
Greg answers on the first ring. “Gigi, where are you? I’ve been calling for an hour.”
I’ve heard my brother upset before, but there’s something in his tone that strikes fear into my heart. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“You don’t know? Gigi, where are you? You need to get to Charlotte. Now.”
“I’m in Charlotte.”
“Get to St. Luke Hospital immediately.”
I bolt upright, my blood pounding in my ears. “Are you okay? What happened?”
My brother’s sobs break through my hangover haze. “Don’t turn on the television, Gigi. Ryder has been in an accident.”
Chapter 11
Greer
An hour later, I dash through the front entrance of St. Luke. I’m shocked the cab driver could understand me through my rash of tears, but he gave my hand a squeeze before proceeding into the snarled mess of the Charlotte parkways.
Greg told me to avoid watching any replays of the accident, but he should know me better after all our years together. I’ve seen the video a minimum of fifty times, each time more devastating to my heart than the last.
Ryder was in the lead as he pulled into pit row and it looked as if he would win the race. Another trophy in his gilded case. But then, as he pulled out, everything went wrong. His car jerked, and he didn’t pick up speed. Instead, another driver slammed into him, upending Ryder’s car and tumbling him like a rag doll down the track.
I can’t watch beyond the moment of impact. My professional training is both a blessing and a curse. I don’t want to know how dire the prognosis is until I’m by his side. All I know is that he’s alive, and right now, that’s all that matters.
The anger I feel regarding Ryder’s betrayal? That will keep until he’s better. Then, I’m serving up the ass-kicking of a lifetime for breaking me.
The hospital staff directs me to the Neuro ICU, and my heart sinks. That unit is reserved for critically ill patients will all manner of head and spinal injuries. You don’t need a medical degree to know it doesn’t bode well.
I rush off the elevator, which moved at a snail’s pace and hurry to the waiting room. Inside, I find Greg, his head buried in his hands. I haven’t seen that posturing since the day he discovered he could no longer race.
“Greg.”
His head shoots up hearing my voice, and I see the tears brimming in his dark depths. Then I’m in his arms, his embrace so tight it constricts my breathing. “Thank God you’re here, Gigi.”
I grasp his face, trying to calm him. “How is he?”
“I don’t know. They don’t know. It’s all my fault.”
My brother slumps back into the chair and I scan the room for a doctor or nurse—anyone with more information than Greg. He tends to fall apart during times of family stress and Ryder is as close to family as they come.
My gaze lands on a lithe blonde seated away from the group. Mandi. It’s a knife in the gut to know she’s here, but I can’t spare her the time or energy right now. I need information about Ryder’s condition. Once I know he’s stable and on the mend, I can make myself scarce.
Mandi will just have to understand. Greg and I had dibs on Ryder’s heart long before she came into the picture.
“Are you Greer?”
Turning, I gaze into a handsome, chiseled face; one I recognize from all those racing magazines my brother devoured. Colton Donavan. “Yes. You’re Colton Donavan.”
“Just Colton works. When you address me by my full name, I figure I’m in trouble. Trust me, Rylee uses that tactic.” He clears his throat, averting his gaze. “The doctors are running some tests. They don’t know the extent of his injuries. At least they won’t tell me anything.”
That’s not a surprise. Unless you’re family, a hospital is a vault, no matter if you’re Joe from down the street or the President. “What happened? I saw the accident but—” Words fail me as my voice breaks and Colton wraps an arm around my shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
“His tire came off coming out of pit row. Before he could get off the track, another driver struck him.”
My gaze flits over to my brother, still hunched in his chair. No wonder he’s beating himself up. Something happened on his watch, and he’s carrying the weight of that failed responsibility. I need more details, but first, I need to know about Ryder. If nothing else, I’m still his wife, and that gives me certain legal rights, including his health status. “I need to speak with a doctor. I’ll get some information for you.”
“I’m sorry we had to meet this way. Ryder won’t shut up about you.”
I narrow my eyes at his words, wondering what in the world Ryder has said, considering recent events. But I don’t get the chance as a doctor enters the waiting area.
“I’m looking for Mrs. Gray.”
So much for Ryder keeping his marriage under wraps. I’ll sort that later. “I’m Mrs. Gray.” My gaze flits to the far side of the room where Mandi sits, gaze locked on mine. She may hold his heart, but legally, I’m his next of kin. I can get them the answers they desperately seek.
“Come with me, please. Mr. Gray is requesting you.”
A breath whooshes from my lips as relief washes over me. If he’s requesting me, he’s awake and lucid. All steps in the right direction. I follow the doctor into the unit, sucking in a lungful of oxygen to steel myself for what lies beyond that door.
“Come on. He’s waiting for you.” The doctor forces a smile, nodding toward the room.
There, lying in the bed is Ryder. He’s covered in bruises and scrapes, but he’s alive.
That knowledge damn near brings me to my knees.
“Mr. Gray, there’s someone here to see you.”
Ryder turns his head in the direction of the doctor’s voice, but he doesn’t make eye contact. Odd. “Gigi?”
Rushing to his side, I grasp his hand, noting how he still isn’t meeting my gaze. “Hey, speed racer. How are you feeling?”
Ryder swallows, an audible noise in the quiet descending over the room. It’s the kind of quiet that suffocates you, the same quiet I felt when my mother told us about my father’s abandonment. “I can’t see, Gigi.”
My throat constricts as I blink back the tears, willing every ounce of strength I possess to move me past that moment. “What’s his diagnosis?”
“Traumatic optic neuropathy,” the intensivist replies, stepping to Ryder’s bedside. “He was unconscious when he arrived, so we didn’t realize there was any visual deficit until he woke up. Your husband told me you’re a doctor?”
“I’m a nurse practitioner and I told Ryder never to call me a doctor in front of a doctor.” I squeeze Ryder’s hand, desperate to provide him reassurance. “Neurology isn’t my specialty. What’s the plan?”
“Many times, it rectifies on its own, once the swelling impinging the nerve resolves. To be on the safe side, I’ve ordered some tests to ensure the retina is attached and blood flow isn’t compromised.”
“When will that happen?”
“As soon as possible. There’s no time to waste. But, he wanted a few moments to speak with you, so I’ll take my leave and tell the nurse to send up transport.”
Once the intensivist leaves, I put on my proverbial nursing hat. Ryder doesn’t need a wife; he needs a friend who understands medicine. Adjusting his pillow, I try in vain to make him more comfortable. “Are you in pain?”
His eyes, those beautiful bright blue eyes, gaze past me into the distance. “Everything hurts. What’s going to happen to me, Gigi?”
I want to lie to him. I don’t want to tell Ryder the brutal truth about his condition. He needs hope. That’s the fine line medical personnel tread every day. “They’re going to perform some tests and find out how extensive the damage is to your eyes. From there, they’ll develop a treatment plan.”
“I’m going to get better, right?”
“Of course you are. You’re Ryder Gra
y.”
“Your voice is trembling. Gigi, don’t lie to me. It’s bad, isn’t it?”
Stroking my hand across his scalp, I press kisses to his forehead and tell him the only truth I know. “We don’t know yet. But they’re doing everything they can to find out.”
“You’ll stay, right? Don’t leave me alone.”
The undercurrent of fear in his voice breaks me. “I can’t go with you to the procedure, but I’ll be in the waiting room. I won’t leave you.”
“Promise?”
“I promise. I’m here.” I mean it, too. There’s no way I’ll leave his side now, not as long as he needs my help. It doesn’t matter who he’s in love with. Ryder Gray is my childhood friend, and I’ll be damned if he spends one second thinking he’s alone in this world. “Transport is here to take you for the testing. What should I tell everyone in the waiting room? Greg and Colton are both worried sick.”
I don’t mention Mandi. Ryder must know she’s there.
“Tell them the truth. I’m not done fighting, not by a long shot.” His fingers tighten around mine, pulling me closer. “I wanted to win for you.”
I lean my forehead against his; the tears dripping off my nose. “You’re always a winner to me, Ryder.”
His hands grip my face, his breath hot against my skin. “I want to see your beautiful face, Gigi. If I see nothing else, I want to see you. Just you.”
The tears fall in earnest now, sliding over his hands. “You will. Don’t you give up.”
“Promise you’ll be here when I’m done?”
Pressing a kiss to his palm, I nod against his hand. “I promise.”
As they wheel him out, the apprehension lines his face. Gone is the superstar facade, replaced with a man terrified by the thought of his future.
I have one job now—to protect him at all costs.
The moment I enter the waiting area, his mother rushes over, pulling me into a tight embrace. She must have just arrived at the hospital. “How is he?”
