by M. L. Broome
“He’s awake and talking. Moving all of his limbs.” I pause as Colton, Greg, and Mandi edge closer. Might as well fill everyone in at the same time. Let them know Ryder has only begun to fight. “He’s lucid but scared. When he woke up, he couldn’t see.”
A collective gasp rises from the group.
“It’s what is known as traumatic optic neuropathy.”
“Will he regain his vision?” Mandi inquires, her face drawn.
Under normal circumstances, I’d claw her eyes out, so she could experience blindness firsthand. But that was before. Now, I only want to care for the man we both love. He begged me to stay. I made him a promise, one I intend to keep.
“They aren’t sure. They’re running tests to determine the extent of the damage. We’ll know more later. Often, this type of thing resolves on its own.”
Ryder’s mother dissolves into tears, and I stroke her back, trying to offer a modicum of reassurance. Better if everyone sheds their tears now, because Ryder will need all their strength in the coming days.
After what feels like an eternity, a new doctor, a neuro ophthalmologist, appears. The initial diagnosis stands, but they’re hopeful he might regain partial vision over time.
At this point, it’s anyone’s guess. The awful waiting game where the reach of medicine is overruled by the laws of nature.
The plan is high-dose steroids, with the possibility of surgery in the next couple of days, if he shows no improvement.
The doctor’s words bring about another rash of tears from the group, save for me, who’s desperate to return to Ryder’s side. It’s not that the temptation to break down isn’t there, but what good will that do him? Ryder needs me to keep it together so he can fall apart. Then I’ll put him back together, piece by piece.
Rushing to his bedside, I press my lips to his cheek, noting the slight smile at my caress. I’ll give it to the man. He’s stoic in the face of the unknown, his features a sea of calm. It might also be the effects of the sedative. “You spoke with the doctor?” he inquires.
“I did. They’re hopeful—”
“Are you going to leave now?” Ryder cuts me off with a grimace.
One look at his face and I know to what he’s referring. “Of course not.”
“Right,” he mutters, his sightless eyes peering at the ceiling. “Because being stuck with a blind man is what you always wanted, right Gigi?”
I slide my hands along his jaw. I know he can’t see me, but he needs to feel the determination in my touch. The reassurance that I’m not going anywhere. “Hey, you’re going to get better. I’m here to ensure that happens.”
“What if I don’t?”
“Then we’ll figure it out together. You’re not getting rid of me, Ryder Gray. Nice try, but it’s not happening.”
Finally, the hardened mask slides from his features as he cracks a smile. “You were always stubborn.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” Am I terrified? Absolutely, but he will never see that side of me. The logistics, the brutal truth of his injury—that he will probably only regain partial vision, if he’s lucky—is not a story I’m allowing anywhere near Ryder. Hope is the most powerful drug in the world, and he needs a plethora of it right now.
Besides, if there’s anyone on the planet who can overcome this obstacle, it’s my husband.
My husband. A pang of sadness overtakes me when that thought enters my head, but I push it away. Now is not the time for that discussion, either.
Ryder huffs out a breath, shaking his head. “I was winning. Everything was going so smoothly… until it wasn’t. I don’t know what happened.”
He’s not the only one who wants to know what occurred in those fateful moments. A talk with my brother is imminent. He’ll know the specifics of the accident, be able to shed some light on the subject. “Colton has an investigative team looking into everything.”
“I can’t be done. Not like this. Not like this.” Ryder’s voice cracks, his hand trembling in mine.
How do you reassure someone their life is going to continue, despite such a debilitating injury? How do you convince them that despite limitations, they will laugh again? Find joy in their days? Have a reason to live when the only reason they had has been stripped from them?
I wish I knew the answer to any of those questions.
Instead, I dig deep, letting my sarcastic sense of humor bubble to the surface. “You be quiet. You’re not done. You are many things, Ryder Gray—arrogant and overly confident among them—but you are no quitter. I sure as hell won’t let you quit now.”
That does it. A chuckle slips past his full lips. “You had to list all my strengths, didn’t you, Gigi?”
“Hey, I knew you when. Don’t forget that.” I lean over him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Get some sleep. Your body needs the rest. I’ll be in the waiting room if you need me.”
His hand darts out, catching at my forearm. “I always need you. Don’t forget that.”
With a final kiss on his cheek, I return to the waiting room. Colton has left, no doubt, to get a jumpstart on the investigation and bring another driver up to speed. He loves Ryder, but this is a business and the show must go on.
Mandi, too, is nowhere to be found. I find it odd that Ryder never asked for her, even to question if she was at the hospital. But I’m no masochist. Until he brings her up, I’m sure as hell not mentioning her name.
Greg, however, hasn’t moved from his chair, his head still buried in his hands as the guilt wafts off him. Time to find out what really happened.
“Greggo, let’s get some coffee.”
Without a word, he falls into step behind me, trailing me to the hospital cafeteria.
After directing him to a table, I order us some food. I’m no fool. We need to keep our wits and strength about us, or we’ll wind up in a hospital bed, too. That’s the last thing Ryder needs.
“Here. Black and thick as mud. Just the way you like it.”
He accepts the drink, his hands gripping the mug as he stares into the dank liquid.
“I doubt the answers are at the bottom of that cup.”
“I let him down, Gigi.”
Grasping his hand, I give it a reassuring squeeze. “It was an accident, Greg. Accidents happen.”
“The tire was loose.”
I nod, uncertain where he’s headed. “Like I said, accidents happen.”
“I was in charge of tightening the tires. I thought I got it on there, but the second the car hit the pavement, I knew something was off.”
My heart skips a beat at his words. “Wait a minute, you knew before he drove off?”
Greg shakes his head, his eyes red-rimmed from crying. “By the time I realized, he was gone. Before I could utter a word, he was hit.”
“It’s still an accident. You never meant for this to happen.”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s blind, and it’s all my fault. Do you think a simple apology is going to fix this situation? It won’t. Once he learns the truth, Ryder will hate me, and he has every right.”
Kneeling by Greg’s chair, I clasp his hands, forcing him to meet my gaze. “Ryder will never hate you. He trusts you. That’s why he hired you.”
Greg wrenches his hands from my grip, pushing himself to a standing position. “He almost died because of me. His racing career is likely over because of me. Trust me, Gigi, I’m no good to anyone.”
My brother storms out the door, but I’m too exhausted to follow. Besides, it’s fairly obvious Greg is in a self-destructive mode, blaming himself for Ryder’s current predicament. His next stop? Likely the nearest pub, where he can drown his sorrows. After Dad left, that became his coping mechanism, his escape from reality.
The only saving grace is his drinking never interfered with his work, but it’s still spiraling out of control. Once Ryder is on his way to recovery, I’ll chat with Greg about reining in his habit and finding one a little less lethal to the body and soul.
Trudging back to
the ICU, I check on Ryder. He’s sleeping. Good. He’ll need every ounce of strength. I collapse into a waiting room chair with a blanket offered by one of the nurses. Ryder’s mother is asleep a few chairs down, her gentle snores echoing the exhaustion of the last twelve hours.
My eyes drift closed, but I can’t relax enough to rest. Instead, Ryder’s accident plays over and over in my head, the fear constricting my throat when I saw that mangled pile of metal and carbon fiber. I never want to experience that feeling again.
Even if Ryder never regains his sight, at least he’s alive.
The idea of that man—that cocky, self-assured, gorgeous man—not on this planet is more than I can bear. Every fear I discussed with Ryder on our vacation screeches to the forefront of my brain, and I can’t help but wonder if I somehow breathed it into creation by uttering my fears aloud.
Shaking off the notion and chalking it up to lack of sleep, I jump when my phone buzzes in my pocket. “Hello?”
“Greer? This is Colton. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye earlier.”
“I understand. He’s sleeping now.”
“He needs the rest.” Colton clears his throat, and a sense of foreboding drifts over me. “Look, I hate to lay this on you, considering the day we’ve all had, but I think you should know before the media gets hold of it.”
Rubbing a hand over my brow, I wonder if he’s going to mention my spur-of-the-moment nuptials. Bad timing, certainly, but the last thing Ryder needs on top of everything else is bad press. “You mean our marriage?”
“No,” Colton scoffs, “although he knocked my ass sideways with that one. It’s about the accident. It’s standard to run a toxicology screen on the driver and pit crew after something of this magnitude occurs.”
“Ryder was on something?”
“Not Ryder, but certain members of the pit crew tested positive for cocaine and alcohol. It’s a hard and fast rule you don’t imbibe before a race. That’s just common sense, but a few members of the crew opted to toss that rule out the window, and here we are.”
“Which members?” I barely manage the question as the blood pounds in my ears and my anger careens into the red.
The people hired to keep Ryder safe were working under the effects of drugs and alcohol. They held his life in their hands and didn’t respect it enough to be sober.
“I can’t disclose their identities yet, since there are legalities involved. But I wanted you to be prepared for the fallout when Ryder finds out. This is going to devastate him.”
“Which is why you can’t tell him,” I argue, pacing lines into the waiting room carpet. “Colton, he does need to know, but not now. This news will only increase his stress level and impede healing. I’m begging you, don’t tell him yet.”
“Greer, the media is going to have a field day with this story. There’s no way he won’t find out.”
“I can monitor what information he receives. I want him to have the truth, but not until he’s stabilized. Please, can you hold them off for a few days?”
Silence echoes from the other end of the line before Colton releases an audible sigh. “I’ll do my best. I understand your perspective and you’re right, he doesn’t need more stress.”
“If he gets mad when you tell him, just blame me. He can’t hate me forever. I won’t let him.”
Colton chuckles. “Now you sound like my wife. I’ll be by tomorrow to check on him. Any changes, you can reach me at this number.”
I collapse into the chair, my mind reeling from the news. This accident was likely preventable if Ryder’s staff had only taken their damn jobs seriously. My thoughts flicker over to Greg and his earlier statements. He was certain Ryder would hate him.
What if Greg was one of the people who imbibed before the race? What if the alcohol clouded his brain, even for a second, resulting in Ryder’s injury?
If my brother was involved, I’ll never forgive him.
Worse, he’ll never forgive himself.
Chapter 12
Ryder
I awaken with a scream stuck in my throat as I try in vain to claw my way out of the darkness enveloping me. But despite every effort, the blackness remains, even when I pat my eyes to ensure they’re actually open.
When I realize they are, the memory of the crash floods back into my brain—the sudden jerk of the vehicle, followed by a sickening crack as my car tumbled end over end.
Then it all went black.
Permanently, it seems.
Voices edge closer, some of the medical staff reassuring me I’m safe, but I know that’s a load of garbage.
I’m not safe. I’m blind. For how long, I don’t know.
When I turn my head, I notice a slight demarcation between light and dark. That must be the window—another sunny Charlotte day. Beyond that graduated blur, there’s nothing.
I’m no quitter, but this is one hell of a daunting challenge. This dark reality makes the Monaco Grand Prix look like a walk in the park.
A hand squeezes my shoulder, making me jump. “Sorry to startle you, Mr. Gray. My name is Nicole and I’ll be your nurse today. Are you hungry? I have a breakfast tray for you.”
I manage a nod, although I learned from the many meals eaten by my father’s bedside that hospital food isn’t winning any gourmet awards. Still, beggars can’t be choosers, and for the first time since I can remember, I’m very much a beggar.
The nurse raises the head of my bed as I shift on the mattress, attempting to locate a comfortable spot.
No such luck.
With a sigh, I squint, struggling to identify anything when she places the food on my bedside table. But it’s no use. I’m staring into a void, an endless black sea. Doesn’t help that the aroma wafting off the tray is none too appetizing.
“I’ll send in someone to help you,” she offers, shattering my last vestiges of confidence with her words.
Twenty-four hours ago, I was Ryder Gray, king of F1 racing, with legions of fans clamoring for a moment of my time. Now, I’m being treated like a toddler who can’t feed myself.
“I’ll manage,” I grit out.
“Are you sure? It’s no trouble.”
“I said, I’ll manage.” I sense her hesitation about leaving me, certain I’m incapable of performing this mundane task. My temper flares at the knowledge. “Can you leave me alone?”
“Here’s the call bell, should you need us.” She presses the cord into my hand before leaving me with my first task of the day.
I’ve been feeding myself for decades.
How hard can it be?
Five minutes later, as I’m covered in orange juice and scrambled eggs, I have my answer. Tossing down my fork in disgust, I give up, having only managed to get two bites of food to my mouth in the melee.
“Hey,” a familiar voice sounds out, “let me help.”
Gigi. Just the sound of her voice soothes my frazzled nerves, even if I’m embarrassed as hell for her to see me in this state. “I told them I could do it.”
“You sure showed them.” I can hear her smirk, but I’m not in the mood for levity. Her hands pull away the bedside table and I feel her collecting the pieces of food I’ve tossed around my bed.
Mortification at its finest.
“That’s better. I’ll see if we can’t get you a shower after breakfast.” She dabs my face with a napkin, and I’m torn between laughing and screaming.
Is this what my life has become?
“I can’t wait to see how I do in the shower.”
“I’ll be right there with you. You’ll be fine.”
“I’m pretty fucking far from fine, Greer.” She doesn’t deserve my anger, but my emotions are vacillating wildly with one constant—abject terror.
The man who’s never known fear is absolutely terrified.
My wife seems undeterred by my emotional wall. Typical Greer. “It will take time, but you are going to be fine. Besides, hospital food isn’t the cure for what ails you. So, I brought you something
better. A spinach and tomato omelet, just the way you like it.”
“Might as well toss it on me, like my first breakfast.”
“I have a better idea.” The mattress sinks next to me, only a moment before my nostrils are assuaged by two scents, both indelibly better than hospital chow. One is the subtle undertone of gourmet food. The other? The spicy amber scent Gigi wears.
The one that drives me wild in the best possible way.
“Open,” she demands, and the mental image of my wife riding my cock slips away, replaced by the reality that she’s not fucking me. She’s feeding me.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Your choice. You can keep going the way you were and waste three-quarters of this ridiculously expensive omelet, I can straddle your waist and force-feed you, or you can open your mouth and cooperate.”
“Thanks, Nurse Ratched,” I mutter, opening my mouth and releasing a groan when the flavors mingle on my tongue. “This is so much better than that hospital crap.”
Ten minutes later, my belly is full and my mind calm. Calmer, anyway. Greer does that for me, and she’s the only one who can.
“Better?”
“Much. Thank you.”
Her lips dust across my cheek, and I’m tempted to request that she keep moving down. I may be blind, but I still have needs.
I need her in every possible way.
“I’m going to speak with the staff about getting you a shower. You still have dried blood on you from the crash. I’m also fairly certain there will be a line of nurses eager to assist with that task.”
“I’ve got a nurse already.”
“Damn straight.” Her footsteps fade away and I fall back against the pillow, turning my face toward the only light in my world.
Well, the only light besides Greer.
She returns a few minutes later, triumphant in her quest, and within an hour, I’m feeling almost human again.
Emphasis on almost.
The blindness is a bitch. The myriad of scrapes and bruises? A bonus in this shit show.
Gigi took her time with me in the shower, her hands so gentle as they washed away the debris of the day before. Still, she seems to be holding back her affections, and I need them now more than ever.
