I can simply tell that I am loved … beyond my wildest dreams.

Racer

It’s crunch time. Racing Abu Dhabi today. Fighting for the championship. The stakes have never been so high for me, and I’ve never wanted to win a race so fucking badly. Hell I love to win, but this race isn’t just for me. It’s for Lana and her family.

I don’t sleep; don’t even try to.

I feel good in the car, feel good about this.

Feel great about Lana lying in bed, sound asleep after saying she loved me last night. She’s said it before—at the hospital. But somehow it counts more when she says it just because.

I dial my father once Lana wakes and steps into the shower, gazing out the window at Abu Dhabi while he answers.

“I’m fired up,” Dad says.

“You watching me race?”

“We’re having friends over, we’re all watching. Maverick and Reese, Melanie and Greyson, Pandora and Mackenna.”

I smile knowing they’ll all be cheering for me.

“Racer,” Dad says.

“Yeah?”

“Be careful.”

“Yeah, I will.”

“And Racer?”

“Yeah?”

A pause before Dad growls, “Go kill it.”

“I learned from the best,” I say, and hang up.

We hit the race track, and the cameras keep snapping pictures of me everywhere I go. I ignore them, focused only on what’s coming ahead—and on Lana.

She’s worried about me, I know.

She’s lost love once—and though I know she knows we wouldn’t have found each other otherwise, it hurts her and it hurts me to know she fears losing me too.

She’s not gonna.

Ever.

“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” I tell her when I notice the look of concern in her sweet green eyes.

She opens her mouth as if to contradict me, then frowns the sweetest frown on a human being these eyes have ever seen.

I pull her closer to me by her shoulders, my voice stern. Hell, I know she can’t help being fearful, but I can’t help wanting to reassure her.

“Lana. Look at me. Do you believe in me?”

I give her a squeeze, willing her to know I’d never leave her. I’d fight death for my crasher. I’d fight my own monsters harder, every day, for her.

“I believe in you. It’s just the other things that happen that make me fear,” she says, her brow scrunching even deeper in worry.

I smile down at her, my chest soft with tenderness even as my determination doubles in steel.

I chuck her chin gently, keeping my voice low for her. “I’m doing what I love. For the person I love most. I’m the luckiest motherfucker on this planet.”

I smile and pat her gorgeous ass to remind her who she belongs to before I head to the drivers’ meeting. Silent. Focused. All those patches on their suits are sponsors; my goal is that after I win this thing, Lana will have to field them, vet them, pick the ones she likes.

Lana continues organizing everyone’s clothes and breakfast. She takes care of us all. When this is over, I want to take care of her for a change.

I meet with Adrian to discuss strategy.

“If you’ve got something to give, give it now. Don’t hold back,” Adrian says.

“I never do.”

“Good.”

“Usually teams have several drivers to help each other out, to provide support and give feedback about the track. We could never afford to do that. All the track input we have will come from you and only you—”

“I got this.”

“You qualified P2. Watch out for P4 and P3 on the start; they’ll be trying to eat up a spot.”

“P1 better watch out for me,” I say.

I grab my helmet, boots, and racing suit—knowing that for this year, it’s the last time I’ll put these on for a race. This fucking race is for my girl. This win is for her, and for the family who believed in me enough.

It’s also for me.

Because, fuck, I love this shit too much.

I change in the motorhome and search her out, sitting by her dad, when I walk down the steps.

She smiles and comes over, even more nervous than she was a few minutes ago.

“After today you won’t be able to tell me I’m not the best driver in the world.” I look at her meaningfully, and she presses her lips together, emotional.

“Go strut your stuff, Racer Tate,” she breathes, her eyes wide, hopeful, nervous. Loving.

I take her by the back of her neck and lean downward, firmly kissing her lips.

“Watch me,” I say, and smile, because it’s a promise.

Lana

He walks down the track and doesn’t even glance around to look at the competition. It’s as if he thinks they’re not worth his time, or as if he’s simply in it to race—and all that is important to him right now is that car before him. I love the way he strokes it with one hand, frowning in concentration as he asks my brothers what they did to change the setting.

In racing, talent can only go so far. Talent cannot make up for the things that a car cannot do. So it is our job to be sure that we give our drivers the most capable car, set in the most capable way, for every track—which is different because of the heat, the length of the stretches, whether it rained recently or not.

He looks as hot as the devil’s son would look in a racing suit, its gorgeous cut enhancing his trim waist, long legs, and wide shoulders.

On the mic, the announcers are discussing the contenders for the year, and I pick up some of what they’re saying about HW Racing.

“What his team is doing is incredible. They’re bringing the fight to the big guys. This team doesn’t have as much resources as the others. It’s a small team bringing in the right rookie, an inexperienced U.S. street racer, into the mix … with phenomenal results!”