Authors: Robyn Grady
But
she was still digesting the brevity and formal tone of that note.
I thank you for your time and dedication to
date
.
Her
fingers balled up the paper.
Where
did he come off thinking he could treat her, treat
any
woman, this way? Three days ago they were together, laughing,
racing around that track at incredible speeds. Making love.
Sharing!
Swallowing
the hurt and disbelief, she set the note aside. ‘You can tell Mr. Wolfe that I
expected more from him … but I shouldn’t have. I hope you don’t mind me saying,
Eli, neither should you.’
Alex
cared only about himself—his career—and he would use anyone for any purpose to
get what he needed to get to and stay on top.
Eli
rearranged his feet. Nodded at the ground.
Then
he blew out a breath and headed out. ‘Good luck, Libby.’
Libby
was still sitting, getting more incensed by the second, when Payton edged in
and closed the door.
‘Want
to talk about it?’
‘I
was an idiot,’ Libby admitted, her face unbearably hot. ‘I did precisely what I
swore I wouldn’t. I got involved with a client—and not just
any
client.’
She
remembered Alex reaching to kiss her and how, worried about photographers, she’d
pulled away. He must know, above all else, she only wanted his shoulder to
mend. This morning had been a terrible accident. Like his spin-out on the
track. Like her incident in the surf. But that didn’t help, did it?
She
should have stuck to the original plan, the one that would’ve worked for
everyone. She should have kept their relationship professional, no matter the
temptation. Instead she’d let herself be charmed, then dumped like an old pair
of jeans.
She
glared at the bunched note.
She’d
never told Scott how little she’d thought of his behaviour toward her after her
accident. Years on she wasn’t so magnanimous. How dearly she wanted to teach
this particular pompous ass a lesson in decency.
On
returning from Rose Bay this morning, she’d told Payton everything. Payton had
hugged her for a long time. Now her friend hugged her again.
‘Libby,
this wasn’t your fault. You’re only human.’
Libby
groaned. ‘Seems Alex doesn’t have that problem.’
How
would he have acted if she hadn’t signed off on his injury after the evaluation
this morning? Would he have closed the door in her face anyway, as he’d done
after he’d caught her on the porch?
Feeling
ill, she leant back in her chair and stared blindly at the ceiling.
She
had to face facts. He’d used her. She wasn’t inadequate as the press had
depicted. It was worse.
She
was an outright fool.
TWO
weeks later, standing in the pits in Catalunya, Spain, Alex watched over his
team as they ran their battery of checks on his car’s precision instruments.
He
usually got off on the noise of the pits … tools clanging, crews conversing,
motors revving. The smell of oil and rubber and elbow grease was normally a
great stimulus. The anticipation of feeling tyres gripping asphalt as he zipped
around another competition track was a huge buzz. Alex thought he’d never grow
tired of it.
And
yet today those much loved highs were noticeably absent. In fact, his gut was
mincing, and not with its usual healthy mix of pre-performance nerves and
adrenaline. His malady wasn’t because he didn’t believe in his ability, he
decided, heading toward the team manager, who was watching a sequence on a
monitor at the rear of the pit. He would not only race this weekend, he would
win
. He’d made sure he’d set Libby
Henderson well outside his radar so he wouldn’t have that distraction playing
on his mind. No way did he need to combat the same kind of turmoil he’d endured
before charging out at the track before his accident.
Six
weeks on, he’d digested all the family news. Jacob had returned to the scene
and was working to restore old Wolfe Manor. According to Annabelle’s latest
communication, Nathaniel was happy and married to his new bride. She’d even
sent photos of the day. Sebastian’s five-star hotel—the London Grand Wolfe—was
certainly something.
And
Annabelle …
Frowning,
Alex remembered Libby’s question about whether brother and sister had ever
discussed that tragic night. For twenty years he’d managed to keep those
thoughts—his sense of guilt—from intruding on his life too much. And yet
lately, the more he thought about that time, the more the fact that he’d never
had the courage to look Annabelle in the eye afterward niggled the hell out of
him. The real kicker was that in his heart he’d always known that by avoiding
her gaze, brushing the subject under that mat, he’d only hurt her more.
His
focus wandered over to the recording that the team manager was watching on the
pit monitor. He recognised the track, the car. He sure as hell remembered the
crash. Alex shuddered. He understood everyone was eager for that kind of incident
never to occur again. Every factor leading up to, as well as the accident
itself, would be mulled over and dissected again and again in a bid to avoid a
repeat performance. But, dammit, he couldn’t bear to watch it even one more
time.
As
he pivoted away, that tendon in his shoulder twinged again. He hid his flinch,
then slid a casual glance around. No one had noticed. Cupping the joint, he
rotated his arm and felt the faint ache again, just for a second. His strength
in his injured shoulder was so much better than it had been two weeks ago.
Still, every now and then …
Deep
in thought, Alex moved out toward Pit Row.
Morrissey
has been in communication with the replacement physio Alex had hired, and was
happy with the subsequent report. After his own examination, Morrissey had
cleared Alex for this round. Jerry Squires, however, had offered a stinging
remark. ‘If your shoulder doesn’t hold up because of the incident with that
woman, I’ll sue for malpractice.’
Alex
hadn’t been certain which incident the team owner meant. Libby’s fall, which
Alex had caught and the new physio had reported on, or the affair?
Either
way, no matter how their relationship had ended—and it hadn’t ended well—Alex
would never allow Libby to be hurt because of him. He’d hurt her enough already
by refusing to see her. By saying goodbye with nothing more than a note. After
what they’d had together, she must despise the sound of his name.
Alex
pushed those thoughts aside as his ears pricked to a different kind of hype.
Before a major competition, certain members of the public were permitted down
Pit Row to see, firsthand, their favourite teams and drivers prepare for the
big day. Rotating the arm again, Alex moved outside and scanned the clutches of
people. His attention hooked on a particular boy, perhaps twelve or thirteen,
wearing a shirt sporting Alex’s team logo. When the boy recognised the World
Number One, he bounced on the spot and his face split with a smile that warmed
Alex’s heart to its core.
Remembering
a time he’d been that young and enthusiastic, Alex came forward.
‘You
like racing?’ he asked the boy.
‘Muchas. Sí.’
He translated into
English. ‘Very much.’
Smiling,
Alex nodded. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Carlos
Diaz.’
‘When
you grow up, you’d like to race?’
Carlos’s
dark eyes flashed and his little chest puffed out. ‘I want to be like you.
Brave. Smart. The best there is,
señor
!’
His
mother patted the boy’s dark head and apologised. ‘
El chico
, he has no father, but he has his dreams.’
Lowering
his gaze, Alex remembered back and murmured, ‘Reaching for dreams is what keeps
us alive.’
The
boy beamed at him—all faith and pride and resolve—and a shiver chased over Alex’s
skin as he was taken back to a time when he’d raced through the Oxfordshire
countryside, chasing wild dreams with no one of patience or knowledge to guide
him. Then Alex felt that homemade medal resting in his pocket, heavy as it
never had been before.
Thoughtful,
he fished the medal out and examined the tarnished surface of his most prized
possession. The rough-hewn circle had become so much a part of him; Alex had
believed he would carry it to his grave. This medal represented the opening of
his gate. His escape. A new beginning. But maybe after all this time …
As
he weighed the medal in his palm, his gut knotted and his fingers reflexively
curled over to make a fist. But then an odd sense of calm settled over him,
like a friendly hand squeezing his shoulder or patting his back, and exhaling,
smiling, he reached out his hand to the boy.
‘This
might not look like much,’ Alex said, revealing the medal again, ‘but for me,
it’s worked miracles. It represents hope and determination and most of all it’s
about belief. Belief in yourself.’ His opened hand nudged nearer. ‘I want you
to have it, Carlos.’
The
boy’s eyes bugged out. A heartbeat later he exploded into a barrage of animated
Spanish. His mother was beside herself, holding her brow and thanking Alex
repeatedly too. A sense of relief—and right—washed over him.
Alex
clapped the boy’s shoulder, then ruffled his hair.
‘I’ll
have my assistant come over and get your contact details. Let’s see if we can
get you started.’ He held up a warning finger. ‘But first you’ll need to learn
everything there is about cars. You need to learn to appreciate their power.’
Then you can learn to harness and direct
your own
.
Carlos
grabbed Alex’s hand and pressed his mouth to the knuckles. ‘
Gracias
,
gracias
, Señor Wolfe.’
As
he walked away, first to find Eli to have him speak with the boy, then to the
team manager to relay his decision about stepping aside, Alex faced the cold
hard truth of what he had done and immediately found peace with it.
He
might want to tell himself different, but he was less than a hundred per cent
fit to drive. He might be fit enough in the future. He couldn’t know that for
certain. What Alex
did
know was that
he was able and willing to face that reality, look it in the eye, no matter how
uncomfortable. And Libby Henderson had helped him do that.
After
such a horrendous start, he was grateful for the significant life racing had
provided. Grateful for his fans and his sponsors. But today he understood there
was more. So much more. Question was …
After
what he’d put her through, would Libby ever let him reach out and claim it?