Revolution: A Driven World Novel (The Driven World)

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  To spend time with him.

  To get to know him.

  To be with him.

  And then maybe, just maybe, to race and win and prove to him that he couldn’t give up on himself—on his life—any more than I could give up on racing.

  Somewhere in my time on Renner’s team, I’d shifted out of the gear where racing drove my life and into a higher gear where love propelled me forward.

  And straight into a wall.

  Because I wouldn’t give up racing. Not even after this.

  And Garret… he was desperate to leave the world I lived in—the world I wanted to live in.

  Not just desperate. Determined.

  “Dammit, lass.” He sighed. “I’m no’ here to talk about the damn car. I’ll—” He broke off and rubbed a hand over his mouth, my body aching for a taste of those lips. “I’ll figure out the damn car. I swear ta ye. I’ll figure it out, and ye’ll be on this track next weekend.”

  I shook my head wordlessly as he closed the space between us.

  “I’m no’ here about the car. I’m here about ye. About us,” he rasped.

  “There is no us, Garret.”

  “Bullshit,” he growled, standing too few—and too many—inches from me. “There is only us, lass. And I’m here ta apologize.”

  I swore my heart was the only reckless piece of my body.

  Unfortunately for me, it was also the most influential.

  “There’s nothing to apologize for. I made a mistake that day—”

  “There ye go again, takin’ the blame fer somethin’ that’s not yer fault.” Firm hands cupped my shoulders, sending a shiver down my spine. “I know she asked ye ta go faster. I saw the lip in the tile that bumped ye up. But most of all, I know that ye can drive a feckin’ race car and keep it under control on the track like no one I’ve ever seen, so there is no way in hell ye would’ve let anythin’ come ta harm Claire because yer more than capable to stop it.”

  I sucked in a breath, his words like a balm, soothing both the guilt I had over that afternoon and the anger for how he’d jumped to conclusions.

  “I dinna know how ta do this, lass,” he rasped, sliding his fingers until they rested on the sides of my face. So warm. So safe. “After Danny, I broke. I broke, and Claire was the only thing I had worth holding all my pieces together for.”

  “Garret—” I tried to stop him. I needed to. Because no apology could change the fact that the one-way road our relationship had been on ended at a fork—a place of no compromise.

  “Fer years, I pushed people away. It’d be like you drivin’ around that track every day for eight years. No other roads. No right turns. No variation. And I definitely didn’t let anyone close to Claire. But ye…” His forehead dropped to mine. “I let ye do both, lass. I let ye in places I forgot existed, and I let ye into Claire’s life because I need ye in mine.”

  Tears slipped down my cheeks like silk streamers for the saddest celebration—having everything you want right in front of you and not being able to take it.

  I reached up, covering his hands with mine, wishing I could fall into him.

  I breathed in deeply—past the suffocating scents of the track—of fuel and oil and rubber—to the spice of him. Raw and unfiltered. Strong and soothing. Overwhelming.

  “I need ye, lass. I need us.”

  My eyes were shut, but I felt the heat of his breath caress my lips and knew just how close he was—and how close my heart was to giving in.

  My fingers tightened on his, drinking every last split second of this moment before I pulled his hands from my face and stepped back, not bothering to wipe away or hide the evidence of my tears.

  “And I need to race, Garret,” I told him thickly. “No matter what comes against me, this is my world. And I know—” My voice faltered. “I know you can’t stand to be in it.”

  His mouth thinned into a line, harsh and pained with the truth.

  “Kacey—”

  “This isn’t an ultimatum,” I cut him off. “I don’t want to force you into this life just like I know you don’t want to force me out of it.”

  “Ye wouldna be forcin’ me inta—”

  “Bullshit,” I called, unzipping the rest of my suit and pulling my legs out of it. I was too hot.

  Who knew prying my chest open to rip out my beating heart would make me break a sweat?

  “Even if you weren’t working on the cars, I would be driving. Races. Practices. Even forgetting NASCAR and how demanding that schedule is, it would still be my life—the life I want.” My shoulders sagged. “And to be with you would make you a part of it, and I can’t risk wanting you so selfishly that I’d bring you into a life you’re desperate to leave behind.”

  I dragged in a long breath and forged on before he could say something to make me doubt—to make me give in to what I wanted rather than what was needed. “And what about Claire? I never want to be the reason you can’t be by her side. Intentionally or unintentionally. I just—” A small cry escaped—a compromise so I didn’t sob.

  If I didn’t see the tic in his jaw or the pulse of the veins along the sides of his neck, I’d wonder if my broken Atlas had turned to stone.

  “I want what’s best for you, Garret—for all of you,” I forged on with an unsteady voice. “There is nothing you can say to erase what I know—to erase what has happened to you or how it’s affected you. And I can’t live wondering if I was enough.”

  “Goddammit, Kacey,” he swore roughly, his body vibrating with the same tension I felt ripping my own in two. “When will ye see that yer enough, lass?

  “Don’t.” My resolve faltered. “Don’t do this, Garret. You can’t make this work,” I murmured. “Any more than you can magically fix fifth gear.”

  I heard his low grunt before he was in front of me once more, his fingers gripping my chin and forcing my gaze to his.

  “Ye of all people should know, lass, just how aggravatin’ it is when someone thinks they can tell ye what ye can and canna do.”

  My breath caught.

  “Ye and me, Kacey, we’re two threads o’ the same twine. Ye canna tell either of us we canna do somethin’ without us turnin’ around and doin’ every fuckin’ thing in our power to do it.” His harsh growl dragged over me, scoring its warning into my skin. “So yer goin’ ta go out on that track and prove them wrong about ye, and I’m goin’ ta figure out a way ta prove to ye, lass, that this life ye think I want is no’ life at all without ye.”

  His lips closed over mine and I whimpered with how much I wanted him—wanted to believe him

  He took and I gave. Two parts moving in sync.

  My tongue pressed and he relented. Two hearts clamoring for more.

  I kissed him with every wordless plea to prove me wrong. With every hope my heart held onto like a million balloon strings willing them to lift me up.

  But the rational me remained in control and tethered me to the track of truth as our lips broke apart.

  He couldn’t know that for certain. And I couldn’t risk his resentment—not after coming this close to having his love.

  “Ye are enough, Kacey Snyder. Enough fer the car. Enough fer the sport.” He brushed a lone tear away. “Enough fer me. More than enough.”

  It was the drop of the green start flag.

  The moment where the very best or very worst was equally possible.

  A threat and a promise in three little words.

  Three little words that echoed with something much stronger than what was said.

  “And I’m goin’ ta enjoy provin’ it to ye, lass. Very much.”

  Oh god.

  I tipped forward, gasping for air and a moment to process as soon as he left the trailer.

  He couldn’t. There wasn’t a way.

  My dream was his nightmare.

  And our reality was a catch twenty-two.

  He’d immerse himself in this world in order to be with me, but could I want that knowing how much it would hurt him to do it?


  I couldn’t. Which left only one other option—one my shifted heart whispered was worth the risk.

  I could give up racing to be with him, but would he take my love knowing I’d sacrificed my dream to give it?

  Garret

  HOW WAS I GOING TO do this?

  My hands gripped onto the wheel of the car, the long fluorescent lights above me flickering again. This garage was a different setup than the place Voigt had in Charlotte, but it had all the essentials.

  The whole day had been spent pulling the engine and transmission apart, combing through every inch to see exactly what was damaged. The other guys left hours ago—probably when I should’ve conceded defeat, too.

  But I couldn’t.

  I had so much more to lose than just the damn race.

  I was going to prove it to her.

  With a grunt, I stood tall, my back protesting after being hunched over the damn transmission for hours, trying to figure out what the hell I could do.

  I thought I could fix it. I thought I could figure out a way to fix or even just replace fifth.

  I thought if I could save the car, I could prove we were worth saving, too.

  But the only thing I’d figured out was that this transmission—this engine—wasn’t going to run. Even if I could fix that single gear, I suspected from the tests I’d run and from how everything inside the gearbox looked that the whole transmission was shot.

  “Dammit, Danny,” I growled, knowing it was at these kinds of moments that my brother would always quip something with a cocksure smile on his face—something that was too ridiculous of a fix until he said it and it got our wheels turning.

  I knew what Kacey felt right now—the hollow defeat on her face when she left yesterday had been fuel I’d never stop burning through.

  She’d gotten in this car earlier, gotten up to speed—past qualifying speed, only to have the real prize ripped out of her grasp. And me…I’d come here for her. To grovel. To beg. To take. And I’d seen it—the love she felt for me was magnified by her damn tears.

  Part of me wanted to stand there and argue all night with her until she believed me. And if that didn’t work, fuck her until she was in such a damn stupor she’d have no choice but to accept what I said as the truth.

  But I’d done neither.

  Because Kacey would never fully believe that I still loved this world. I loved the cars. The puzzle of the engine and its power. The thrill of the race.

  I. Loved. This. World.

  And just like everything else I loved, I’d cut it from my life when Danny died because I didn’t think I deserved to have it. Especially racing. Especially the thing he’d killed himself over.

  ‘I don’t want to get better if it means you have to be sad forever.’

  I swore to god, in that moment, she’d looked just like Danny. Sounded just like him. Spoke from his fuckin’ giant heart.

  I’d always been the older brother. I’d taken the blame on so many of our shenanigans—so many of our failures, some mine…some his…throughout our entire lives.

  Just like Kacey did.

  She took the blame because she didn’t think she was enough.

  I took the blame because I thought I was protecting him.

  And each time, he’d shake his head and we’d fight about it later.

  ‘One day, yer goin’ ta hafta let me take the consequences fer my choices, G.’

  ‘Oh yea?’

  ‘Just because ye’ve got bigger shoulders, brother, doesn’t mean yer meant ta hold both our mistakes.’ Danny grinned.

  ‘So, yer admittin’ that I’ve got bigger shoulders?’

  My brother pretended to think. ‘Yer right. Yer head is just smaller.’

  I chuckled into the empty space of the shop. All this time, I’d been shouldering his suicide and living as though I deserved the consequences of his choice.

  It had taken a long time—a lifetime—but my shoulders were finally beginning to relax as they let that weight go.

  I rested my hands on my waist, my head dropping as I conceded.

  I knew what I had to do.

  “Are we done?”

  I looked up, catching Voigt slip into the garage bay, his eyes looking more tired—his face aging so much since yesterday.

  He let out a long sigh as he walked up to the car, his posture slightly bowed in respect, as though it were an old friend laid to rest in a casket, rather than a car with no engine.

  “Is it done?”

  I cleared my throat and gave him a quick nod. He knew as well as I did when she pulled off the track yesterday that there was no fixing this.

  “She drove so damn well,” he murmured, shaking his head. “She would’ve killed it.”

  “I can replace the transmission,” I offered. “If we can get the parts, I can have it in there for Sunday.”

  “And what’s the guarantee that’s our only problem?”

  My mouth closed tightly. “No guarantee.”

  It was hard to say without a new transmission in there if there was any other minor damage to the rest of the engine that would reveal itself only at top speeds.

  “We’d need a whole new engine.”

  I nodded, holding back the mention that a new racing engine built and installed in six days was a kind of miracle I wasn’t sure I was capable of, though I knew it was one I’d die trying to accomplish if it meant getting this car back out on the track.

  “I’ll save you your worries, Garret.” I felt the full weight of his use of my name. Voigt never used them. Not unless the conversation had finally passed that barrier in his personality where emotion finally took over. “We aren’t going to get another engine. And even if I could scrounge together for the parts, you said yourself, it’s no guarantee.”

  I had a feeling.

  Voigt’s team might be one of the oldest and, at one time, one of the most innovative, but now, he was a giant in the final stages of what he’d hoped would be an inspiring retreat.

  And for this season—for only this race—I knew we were running on a short lease for the engine.

  IndyCar engines were leased from one of only two manufacturers, Honda or Chevrolet, and then tweaked by individual teams for precision performance. A full-season lease would’ve given Voigt a main engine and a backup. It was what most teams did, and it was the same for the chassis. Most entered the race with a primary car number and a backup car in case of a crash.

  We didn’t.

  We had a single car and a short lease from the manufacturer—which meant one engine. One engine to qualify and the same engine to race.

  “If I get us a new engine, can she still race?”

  Voigt paused, more intrigued by the regulatory question than the logistical one of finding a new engine.

  “Well, she’s in the top nine for tomorrow. I’d assume she’d just get bumped to the bottom of the pole without a second qualifying time. Don’t know if I can recall a time when anyone’s ever blown an engine between qualifying sections.”

  We stood in silence, both of us wondering what could happen next.

  “Plus, with the new engine, I’d have to get permission for a swap anyway, which is going to bump her grid start position.” Voigt bumped his glasses up before rubbing his hand over the back of his neck.

  “But she’d still race,” I confirmed.

  His eyes swung to mine. “She’d still need that engine.”

  Lingering in the back of my mind, there was an option. A possibility—a person—a past—I’d passed by earlier in the day.

  “Shit.” I folded my arms with a loud exhale.

  Since the moment I’d met Kacey, I’d had to face one piece of my past after another—all barriers that blocked my way to her. Barriers that blocked my future.

  And this… this was the last one.

  The one that brought everything full circle.

  The opportunity that had cost my brother his dream just might be the one thing to save Kacey’s.

  “I’ll get us
an engine, just make sure she doesn’t lose her damned spot.”

  With that charge, I grabbed my duffel bag, yanking off my sweat and dirtied tee before pulling on a spare navy on with Claire’s hospital logo in the corner.

  “Where the hell—how the hell—” He reached for my arm, stopping me as I tried to pass.

  “One time, ye looked at me and told me to trust ye. Told me I had no choice really, given my contract,” I said with a low, hard tone. “I’m yer lead engineer, Voigt, and I’m goin’ ta fix this. I’ll get us a damn engine. It’s yer turn ta trust me.”

  Simultaneously, his hand released as I walked forward, his acceptance and my determination to do what I was about to.

  I was going to save her dream to prove to her that she was mine.

  “It’s been a long time, Gallagher. A long fucking time.”

  My smile was tight as I nodded, standing on the front step of what had to be one of Indianapolis’ finest mansions.

  The dimly lit stone drive wrapped into a small cul-de-sac with a fountain at the center in front of the sprawling brick mansion. I didn’t need light to know the lawns were manicured, the hedges shaped and trimmed. I’d been here once before. But that didn’t make approaching the entryway, enclosed by columns and arches, any easier.

  “Figured we should talk, Donavan.” I met the same eyes I had almost a decade ago. Dark and calculating, though they seemed kinder now.

  “At one a.m. the night before the shootout, I hope you’re here for more than talking,” the racing powerhouse and still-CEO of CD Enterprises drawled with a smirk as he stepped aside to let me into the house.

  Even though he’d retired from driving, his team was still one of the largest, well-equipped—and well-funded—to maintain his racing legacy.

  “This way. Rylee and the boys are still sleeping.” He led me with a low voice down a hallway and into his study. “I can’t say I’m usually awake at these kinds of hours anymore, Gallagher, but your call made it seem like you had something good to talk about.”

  He went straight for the liquor cabinet, pulled out two glasses with a clank, and reached for a bottle of whiskey that cost more than the entrance fee to the Indy 500.

  “Sit.” He motioned for me to sit in one of the large, brown leather chairs that guarded the center of the space.