Revolution: A Driven World Novel (The Driven World)

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

“I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

  “You will never need to. After what happened, this is—”

  “Garret, please,” she broke in, pleading. “You know it wasn’t your fault.”

  I pulled a hand through my hair, half expecting the strands to tumble out with the weight of guilt I carried with me.

  “I’ll do whatever is necessary ta take care of her,” I swore with a low voice, retreating from any mention of the past. “Ta take care of ye both. For him.” I let out a strained exhale. “Plus, let’s just wait and see what the insurance does. It may not be anythin’ more for all I know.”

  Her throat bobbed as she nodded, though we both knew that dealing with insurance wasn’t a game either of us had time to play.

  “Just let me know.”

  I wouldn’t, and she knew that. Us Gallaghers were stubborn and proud men—especially when it came to things like family and loyalty. It was a conversation we’d had so many times before and yet, still repeated.

  I let out a ragged exhale and told her, “I hafta get ta the garage. I’ll see ye tomorrow.”

  She nodded again, whatever spirit which had prompted her to speak gone once more.

  My gaze slid to Claire once more as I left her room.

  Maybe I should apologize to Kacey. Maybe I should beg forgiveness and ask her to come meet my niece.

  But it was her reckless resolution that frightened me.

  Claire couldn’t afford to be reckless. She couldn’t afford to admire people who responded irrationally. And I didn’t want her to form attachments to people who she might lose; I didn’t want anyone or anything to ruin her love of racing. It was the only thing she had left of her father.

  “Oh, Danny.” I glanced up at the sky when I made it to the hospital parking lot as though he could hear me. “If ye only knew what ye were leavin’ behind.”

  A daughter who was as vibrant as he was.

  A little girl who felt so much and loved so hard, I was afraid to let her close to anyone who could hurt her.

  Because it was the loss of racing— the thing he loved—that ripped his faith from what I thought was an unwavering grasp.

  It was the loss of his dream that prompted him to take his own life.

  And it was my fault he lost his dream.

  It was my fault he killed himself.

  Kacey

  Kacey Snyder found a shortcut back onto the track!

  Is Indy prepared for its only female racer?

  Will Snyder and Puglisi meet on the track again, and will they come to blows?

  I clicked off my phone and shoved it into my pocket, resting my back against the closed garage door. Taking deep breaths, I tried to calm my racing pulse. With my ankle wrapped but healing nicely—in my expert opinion, I’d altered my morning workout routine from my usual run to a mile-and-a-half walk to the nearest strip mall where the local gym was and then another mile-and-a-half walk back to clear my head.

  But my attempted workout floundered at the headlines dotting the stacks of newspapers and magazines around the small array of shops. And then when it blared on the news on every TV screen in the room, I could only work out so much frustration before I had to get out of there.

  Of course, there were headlines. I knew there would be headlines.

  I’d made a name for myself in Daytona—and not in a good way.

  Now that the word was out that I’d be back on the track in Indianapolis, the few weeks of paparazzi peace had come to an end.

  Some news outlets had the photos of me the day after the photo shoot, and the rest before the end of last week. It was what Renner wanted, and it was certainly getting him—us—the attention of some bigger sponsors.

  I’d already been on calls with a few auto-parts companies in the last five days since the official announcement went out, and Renner, for being a quiet, reclusive man in general, was on the phone in his office more and more over the last few days.

  With my name making its rounds again, I avoided downtown Charlotte—the home of NASCAR—as much as possible. Along with social media. And my unsociable mechanic.

  I settled into the apartment, ignoring all sounds that came from the workspace below, and pretended like I didn’t imagine what would happen if I confronted G again.

  Pretended like I didn’t dream of what his touch would be like on my body

  But it was hard to steer clear of his intense and domineering gaze, especially when it stuck to me like tires cling to the track after a burnout, the friction and heat making it hard to pull myself away.

  But I did. I had to.

  Because he didn’t like me, and I didn’t want to like him.

  I’d managed to miss him this morning, but I wasn’t going to be so lucky now.

  Garret’s truck was parked outside, but no sign of Renner’s. Though my boss’ presence was spotty, Garret was here every day, though he came in later in the morning and left well into the evening—well into the time when I was already dreaming about him.

  I tried to plan my day so I could leave before he arrived in the morning, and then sneak back in while he was in one of his back rooms. I tried to avoid him.

  Somehow, it was easier said than done.

  “Dammit! What the hell do you mean they aren’t going to pay for it?”

  I jumped as Garret burst outside, the door missing me by barely an inch before slamming into the metal next to me.

  Flattening myself against the door, I held my breath. He didn’t realize I was standing here.

  “I don’t understand,” he spat, and I could practically see the fumes of anger rippling off his muscles. One arm reached up to pull at his hair, the locks curling around his fingers as though trying to comfort him—to stop him from tugging on them.

  This was the most emotion I’d ever seen from him. It was like opening the furnace rather than simply watching the flames from behind the closed door. Pure heat. Pure fire. Raw emotion.

  I should’ve coughed. Or moved.

  I should’ve tried to slip inside before he saw me. Obviously this was a deeply personal and upsetting conversation.

  But I couldn’t.

  His intense virility drew me in and dragged me under—and I didn’t even want to try to tread to the surface.

  “How can they say it’s not med—” He broke off and whatever had let me escape detection was gone. His head half-cocked to the side, noticing me leaning against the garage bay door, silent and steady as though I were spying on him.

  His nostrils flared. His body taut and fuming as he turned to face me. But it was his eyes, glowering over dark and worn coals of desperation that stayed me.

  Angry and hurting.

  “I’m going ta call ye back, and we’re goin’ ta figure this out.” He hung up, letting his hand holding his cell fall to his side. And the invisible barrier separating us disappeared.

  “Is everything okay?” I gulped. Obviously, everything wasn’t okay, and obviously, it was none of my business. But to see his face… to hear his voice… I was never good at staying away from places I didn’t belong.

  The stony planes of his face shadowed in spite of the southern sun.

  “I know we didn’t get off on the best foot,” I pressed on, trying to dampen his displeasure. “But we’re both on this team, and if something—”

  “Do ye always listen in on personal conversations, Miss Snyder?” he clipped, cutting me off before my attempt at a peace offering could even take hold.

  “I was here first.” I folded my arms defensively, refusing to let his bluster shake me. “You were the one who barreled out here on your phone. It’s not my fault you didn’t notice me.”

  It only took two steps for him to close the space between us.

  Too hot.

  Too hard.

  Too close.

  His eyes scanned over my face, as though it had the answers to problems I didn’t even know he was facing.

  “Clumsy and wrong,” he rasped, his lips hardly moving as he spoke.
“It’s impossible not ta notice ye, Kacey. Unfortunately impossible. And, believe me, I’ve tried.”

  My breath tripped and tumbled into my lungs. A small breath that snowballed into something giant and aching and desperate as it settled deep inside me.

  “Because I’m clumsy and emotional?” I prompted breathlessly, desperate to turn his words into an insult so the fire toiling low in my stomach would settle.

  His jaw ticked. Sparks flickered in the coal-blacks of his eyes, and the breeze that freed one of his wayward curls to drop onto his forehead also sent strands of my own hair streaming across my face.

  My lips parted on a sharp inhale, my eyelids fluttering as the coarse warm pads of his fingers brushed the loose locks back over my cheek and hooked them behind my ear.

  So much power. So much control.

  Minutes ago, he’d been yelling into his phone with a force I’d never seen and approached me with a vehemence I wasn’t sure I’d escape. And now, he touched me with the gentle protectiveness of one who was trying to keep a candle lit against the breeze.

  Only he was the breeze. And this close, he was trying to protect me from himself.

  “Because yer savagely captivatin’, lass,” he rasped, the thick tumble of his accent roughening my skin.

  My breath, along with my dislike, exhaled in an orderly funeral procession, marking the death of my restraint—the death of my dislike.

  Savagely captivating.

  It was harsh and beautiful and somehow, the most honest compliment I’d ever received.

  His thumb brushed along my cheek, slow and soft, as though it tried to act under the radar of his rationality, slipping out from under his guard to touch me the way he wanted before his harsh treatment of me returned.

  My lips parted, my head subtly tilting upward and tipping toward him.

  In spite of how he pushed me away at every turn, I wanted nothing more in that moment than to kiss him and drink away whatever pain—whatever frustration had brought him out here. It tore through his features like cracks through stone of the man who appeared immovable.

  My hand rose, gingerly resting on the flat of his chest, reveling in the heat and rapid heartbeat underneath my fingers.

  His head drifted closer to mine, each portion of an inch a battle fought and won.

  “Garret…” I breathed out his name—it was the only thing my body knew how to do: to take in oxygen, to take in everything essential and convert it into him.

  But I should’ve known his name from my lips—any kind of plea on my behalf would bring back the harsh, handsome man who’d do anything to keep me at arm’s length.

  My hand fell to my side as he stepped back, taking with him the air lodged in my lungs.

  “Ye shouldn’t be here.”

  I sucked in a breath, those words quickly becoming a trigger that set my blood on fire. Taking a long look at him, I began to wonder what he meant by here. From the tormented expression on his face, I wondered if here had nothing to do with outside where his phone call was taking place and instead, everything to do with the residence I’d taken up in his thoughts and mind—a place no one else was allowed.

  “Miss Snyder!”

  I jumped, and even Garret couldn’t stop his flinch at the foreign voice of the intruder.

  We both turned to see the young man close the door on his Prius, his gaze flitting between the two of us.

  I drew a deep breath, demanding my pulse to return to normal even though the only thing I wanted to know was who this guy was and how much he’d seen.

  A second later, I decided I didn’t need an introduction as he rounded his car, a camera with a long black lens like the scope of a rifle dangling from his hand.

  He was hunting for a story and I was his next target.

  “I thought that was you walking along the road,” he said with a small laugh, as though it justified him following me here.

  “Ye were walking on the main road?” Garret growled at me.

  I refused to meet his eyes. “Can I help you?” I asked, keeping my attention on the approaching photographer.

  “Christ.” G’s low string of curses was just loud enough for me to hear as he pulled up his buzzing phone.

  I shuddered, expecting his retreat. There was no reason for him to stay—not after what just happened. And I braced myself for the reality that I’d have to face this reporter alone.

  My heart thudded low and strong as Garret stared at his phone for a long second before ending the call and returning his attention to me. Shivers exploded like tiny, bright fireworks along my spine.

  As though he’d sensed my discomfort, he’d ignored what I was sure was an important call to stay by my side.

  In spite of his dislike for me.

  In spite of his insults.

  In spite of the desire sparking in his gaze that threatened to internally combust.

  In spite of it all, he stayed to make sure I was okay.

  “I saw the stories in the paper today, and when I caught you on the road, I thought I might be able to ask you a few questions.” There wasn’t even a question, just the assumption that because he’d found me, he had a right to intrude. “We didn’t think we’d see you again for the rest of the year after what happened in Daytona.”

  Red fog spilled into the corners of my vision.

  “That was a pretty vicious punch you nailed Joey Puglisi with after the race,” he went on blithely, unaware that the memories were enough to drag me under.

  The anger. The indignation. The humiliation.

  Sights and sounds crashed around me, my dreams shattered by the reality of just how far some would go to edge me out of the race—and out of the sport.

  I folded my arms over my chest, my skin burning like it had that day from the degrading and unwelcome touch.

  “I’m sorry, but this is completely inappropriate. I’m not answering any questions,” I told him, my voice catching on the firmness of my statement.

  I felt Garret’s eyes on me, penetrating through the walls I’d haphazardly strung up in defense.

  “C’mon, Kacey. Or do you prefer Ace?” he jeered, losing his genial smile when he realized he wasn’t welcome.

  “It doesn’t matter because we’re done here,” I said. I turned away, hoping neither of them saw the tremble of my shoulders.

  “Seriously?” He laughed, as though he really thought I didn’t have a say in the matter and Garret tensed beside me.

  Stepping partially between the two men, I stood firm and hoped to diffuse the quickly rising tension. “Yes. Seriously. I have nothing to say.”

  “C’mon, Ace,” he continued to jeer, taking my step forward as some sort of invitation as he extended his free hand and wrapped it over my shoulder like he had control over me. “I just want to know what was going through your mind, you know, if it was like that time of the month or something.” He laughed again and the sound choked me. “C’mon, don’t be a little bitch about it—”

  His grip was gone with a girlish squeal as Garret lunged around me, locking a hand on the other man’s wrist and spinning him face-first into the garage door, his expensive camera clanking painfully on the metal. I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle my cry as Garret pinned the other man’s arm against his back at an angle that was dangerously close to the degree of breaking.

  “What the—” the reporter sputtered, wincing as his face was wedged against the unforgiving metal door.

  “If I ever see ye on this property again, I’ll have ye arrested,” Garret bit out, his jaw ticking like a gun being loaded.

  “G…” I murmured, reaching a hand out as the other man’s face contorted in pain, but Garret was in a determined daze—an enraged fog.

  He leaned in closer to the reporter’s ear and rasped, “If I see anythin’ unfavorable written about Miss Snyder, I’ll break yer feckin’ arm.”

  He yanked on the imprisoned arm harder to drive home his point.

  “Garret,” I pleaded softly. This was enough. Hi
s point was made.

  “And if ye ever approach Miss Snyder again, I’ll break yer fuckin’ neck.”

  My eyes bulged. The last he said so softly, it was carried by nothing more than his accent thickened with the threat.

  Blinking out of my daze, I grabbed his shoulder. “Garret,” I hissed.

  He jerked against my hand and whatever trance that came over him disintegrated and he immediately dropped the other man’s arm and stepped away from us both.

  The reporter recoiled, holding his arm and glaring at the both of us.

  “You’re insane,” he spat, his eyes narrowing on my unexpected protector. “You’re…” His head tipped, unbalanced by the tug of recognition. “Garret… as in Garret Gallagher?” The disdain on his face grew venomous. “Well that explains a whole fucking lot,” he sneered and turned to me. “Hope you have someone checking over your car, Ace. This one has a habit of sabotaging them,” he sneered at me as though somehow we were friends and he was doing me a favor by informing me.

  He knew better than to stick around after that parting shot, turning and practically running back to his ridiculous little car, the tires kicking up gravel as he floored it down the road.

  Even after he disappeared, neither of us moved for several drawn-out minutes.

  I dragged my tongue over my lips, pleading with them to not blurt out the questions I desperately wanted answers to.

  Garret whipped around and narrowed his eyes on me. “Clumsy and foolish,” he exhaled. “Don’t walk alone on the main road.”

  He walked around me and inside the building before I could process what happened.

  Shocked and gaping, I followed him inside, letting the door slam shut behind me, and jogged to catch up to him, ignoring the protest in my ankle as my hand shot out before I could stop it, grabbing his arm and stopping him.

  “What was he talking about, Garret?” I demanded

  He spun to face me, bitter black anger leeching through his expression. Plucking my hand from his arm like it was nothing more than a piece of dust on his shirt, he drew it up above my head, almost painfully so, and forced me to step closer to him.

  “Why are ye always somewhere ye don’t belong?” he snarled, using my arm and the width of his chest to turn me, my feet stepping back in retreat but to no avail as they backed right into one of the metal support beams.