I look over at Ryan to tell him that I am going to bed, but before I can utter those words, he loses it. He howls a low, guttural wail that sends chills down my spine. The sound is a battle cry as he tosses the bottle up, grabs it by the neck, and then slings it with unnatural force across the room. I cry out watching the events in slow motion. Oh, Ryan!
The bottle slams into the opposing kitchen wall. I stumble backward and throw up my arms to shield my eyes from the spray of glass and hops. My reaction must remind him that I, too, am in the room. Ryan’s head snaps in my direction, making sure that I’m OK and not hurt from his outburst. I look back at him with sympathetic shock. He stands stock-still, staring at me, not realizing what he has done. Ryan slides down the length of the stainless steel refrigerator door to the floor. He buries his head in his hands and weeps.
I move quickly and take a seat on the floor next to him. Ryan has been amazingly strong for his mother. The only tears I have witnessed, aside from these, were at the hospital. Certainly, he is allowed his own meltdown after what he has been through.
I put my arms around him tightly and rest my head against his. After what seems like a lifetime, Ryan says, “Damn… you know…there was so much I didn’t say to him. I…I wanted him to be proud of me. And lately, all I have done is show out like a pubescent teenager.”
I laugh out loud at his confession.
Ryan snaps his face around to mine. “What’s so funny?”
I raise my eyebrow at his anger and shake my head at him. “The way you made that statement, for one. It was a very accurate assessment.”
Ryan is still not amused.
“And two, your dad was insanely proud of you.”
Ryan gapes at me. I give him a look that says, I can’t believe that you don’t know this.
“Yes, he was. He told me so. That morning after I let you have it in the boardroom. He said, and I quote, ‘Ryan will be an even better race car driver than I ever thought I could be.’” I relive the conversation for him.
Ryan looks at me with relieved shock. “I can’t believe he said that.” He stands from his bereaved position on the floor.
“Well…believe it!” I quip.
Ryan helps me up from the floor and looks at me achingly. He is so hurt. He runs his fingers through his hair in exasperation and walks over to the kitchen counter. “After the accident, Dad said he was extremely disappointed in me. And those words cut me to the core. That conversation is on constant repeat in my mind. And the fact that I lost six weeks with him because of my stubbornness…”
He leans into the granite and steadies his body with his hands. My heart hurts to see him this broken. I move to his side and place my hand on his back softly. If I can’t find the right words, maybe my touch will be enough. I have been hesitant to be affectionate with him because of so many people from the team, media, and general public around us these last few days. I run my hand slowly up his back, and he turns around suddenly, grasping my hand in his as if he wants me to stop.
My breath hitches in my throat. Ryan gives me a desperate look, and I can see several emotions wash over his gorgeous, rebellious face. The depth of his emotions are starting to scare me, though. Ryan intently searches my face. Then, he instantly runs his hand up into my hair and jerks it free from the rubber band that holds it neatly back away from my face in a bun. My brown hair cascades down my back, and I cry out to him in surprise, “Ryan!”
My stomach somersaults in my body much like the very first time I laid eyes on him. Ryan takes my face in my hands. “I need you! I need you so bad!” he says breathlessly.
Before I can respond, he fervently presses his lips to mine. His passionate kiss instantly takes my breath away. I fall into his body as he envelops me. This is home.
Ryan instantly sweeps my languid body up into his arms. He strides purposefully to his bedroom and doesn’t bother with the lights. He lays me down gently on his bed in the darkness. “I feel like I’m losing my mind, and you…you are the only thing that is keeping me sane,” he mutters intensely.
Tears begin to fall down my cheeks from the intense pain that we have been through, not just the death of Garrett and my accident, but the last six weeks, too.
“Hey,” Ryan says softly. “Please, Whitney, please don’t cry.”
I know he has seen enough tears, but I am overcome with emotion. I have tried to be strong for him this week, but I have lost the battle tonight in his arms. The moon is full. It is casting a glow throughout the room that makes it just possible to see his face. I try in vain to fight back the tears, but they continue to flow freely.
Ryan is now looking at me sympathetically. “You have been great this week, but you don’t have to be strong all the time. You can’t be everything for everybody, Whitney.”
I shake my head, not able to mutter a single syllable. Then suddenly, I know what I need. “Make it go away. This week, these past six weeks, make it all go away…Love me,” I say breathlessly.
Ryan obeys my command. He softly wipes away the last of my tears. Then, he kisses me so fiercely that my back arches up from the mattress. Ryan cries out from his gut. It is hot. It’s working too. I am forgetting already. Our bodies move together in that delicious rhythm that only they know. Ryan removes my little black dress effortlessly, and I help him with his white dress shirt and slacks. I have no idea what happened to his tie. It disappeared hours ago.
Ryan trails soft kisses over my body; each one burns and sends a delicious heat over my body. Oh, I love this! I love him, I think as Ryan enters me abruptly in desperation. I cry out. He stills for a moment, then begins an arduous rhythm. He, too, is trying to forget.
Ryan and I make love for what seems like hours. We are in a constant roll of positions. I don’t want to stop. I beg my body to enjoy and fight off my orgasm at every turn. I’m not ready for it. I want to lose myself in Ryan. I don’t want this moment to end.
“Whitney,” Ryan mutters against my lips. I know what he means.
“No! Please…don’t stop!” I shout breathlessly.
Ryan pulls back and looks at me questioningly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
I shake my head to let him know that he is not. “I want to forget everything…everything but us,” I say anxiously.
Ryan doesn’t miss a beat. He continues at a much slower and gentler rhythm. I trail soft kisses down his neck and behind his ear. I bury my head into his shoulder, taking in his scent.
Ryan cries out like he is in pain. “I don’t know how much more I can take, Whitney!” he exclaims.
“Then let go,” I say.
He snaps back, “Not without you!” Oh!
I look up at him as our rhythm picks up again mercilessly, for a purpose now. I feel my body building, and I cannot fight the overwhelming burst of pleasure that barrels over my body and throughout my soul. Ryan cries out in response to my victory, but continues his stride until he crosses his own finish line. He falls over my body with a series of harsh expletives that are barely coherent. Our bodies heave together with exhaustion. Sleep inevitably follows.
Chapter 41
Iawake sometime during the night, or maybe it is early morning. I am not sure. It’s Friday, I believe. Instantly, I know that I am alone. I reach out for Ryan even though I already know that he is not there. As my hand comes up empty, I abruptly sit up in the bed. I have a sinking feeling in my gut that something is wrong. I jump onto my good foot. I grab Ryan’s T-shirt from the floor and pull it on as I hobble out of the bedroom to find him.
Panic seizes in my chest the closer I get to the main part of the house. I begin to hear Ryan’s harsh, arrogant voice.
“I don’t give a shit what time it is!” His tone is firm, but in a forced whisper. “Just get my fucking car to the track! Do you understand me? No, I will handle that. Just get my damn car there.” He slams his phone down without an audible good-bye to the recipient of his tirade, which I now assume was Josh.
I stand shocked in the entryway o
f the great room as I process Ryan’s conversation. I feel like I’m going to throw up as I put two and two together. He wants to race. Ryan turns back toward the bedroom, but stops cold in his tracks when he spies me intruding on his conversation. He regards me cautiously. I blink rapidly. I can’t believe it. He wants to race.
“I’m sorry,” he apologizes no doubt unsure of my reaction. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
I shake my head. “I woke up because you weren’t there.”
He strides over to me and puts his hands on either side of my face. “I have to do this, Whit. I have to do this for him. Please tell me that you understand?”
I nod nervously. There is no need for me to argue with Ryan, nor to question him. “Can Josh get the car there in time for qualifying?”
Ryan nods.
“OK, then, I will handle the rest,” I offer anxiously. I am not sure how he is going to pull this off, but getting the car to the track is a start.
Ryan lets out a huge sigh of relief. I guess he was expecting a fight. He runs his hand from my face around my neck and pulls me into a fierce embrace. He pulls back and looks at me with a heated gaze. “I love you!”
And with that confession, he envelops me in a passionate kiss that leaves me breathless.
Ryan pulls back and looks deep into my eyes. “Do you need some time?”
I cock my head to the side, unsure of where he is headed with this question.
“What I meant was, do you want some time off to go see your parents? I know you haven’t been home in a while, and now…I know how important that is.”
I take a deep breath. I miss my parents, but I can’t go back there.
Ryan must sense my conflict, and he offers, “I could go with you.”
I laugh. “No, but thanks. I will figure something out when the season is over. I just want to focus on my job and getting you back where you need to be.”
He smiles warmly. “Whitney, I really appreciate everything you do for me. And thank you for understanding that I need to race on Sunday.”
I nod.
Ryan leans in and kisses me deeply again. “I need to do this as much as I need you.”
I smile against his lips and gently pull away. “Let’s get to work then!” I smirk and turn sharply on my good heel, but not before he smacks me softly on my behind. I laugh and kick up my good leg. “Ha!” I start to limp away, but Ryan sweeps me up into his arms and takes me back to his bed.
* * *
I wake up early despite the midnight disruption. I have work to do. Within an hour, I have secured a late qualifying spot for Ryan and a private charter flight for us to Chicago. I also made hotel reservations. It’s too late in the game to get Ryan’s bus to the infield. He barely got his race car there. No one will be expecting Ryan at the track today. I place a call to Jerri to inform her of his plans. Our team doesn’t need anymore surprises.
While I have been steadily making arrangements, Ryan has gone back over to his parents’ house to tell his mom that he plans to race on Sunday at Chicagoland. The thought sends chills down my spine. I can’t even imagine that conversation. I know his mom will be devastated. I know she wanted Ryan to have some downtime to grieve. That is not going to happen. Then I suddenly realize that this is how he is grieving, doing what his dad taught him and what they loved doing together. My thoughts instantly go back to Daytona, now only a bittersweet memory, but I am so thankful to have been a part of it.
I glance at my iPhone to check the time. The plane will be fueled up and ready to leave Charlotte Douglas International in two hours. I text Ryan.
__________________________
Plane leaving in two hours.
__________________________
As soon as the text is sent, I hear the back door close, and Ryan shouts, “I’m here!”
He walks through the kitchen and eyes me sitting at his kitchen island. I am still wearing only his T-shirt. I know that look on his face.
“Oh no!” I gasp. “I have to take a shower!”
Ryan gives me that smug son-of-a-bitch smile. “I can do two things at one time.”
I roll my eyes at him as he flings me over his shoulder and strides purposefully to the bathroom. Bastard!
* * *
Somehow, we make it to the airport on time. We board the private plane and take our seats. The flight is a good three hours long, and as soon as it lands, Ryan will barely have enough time to get to the track to qualify his car. The time schedule for the afternoon is hectic, but it takes my mind off the past few days and keeps me focused on the task at hand.
“How did it go with your Mom?” I ask warily.
Ryan takes a deep breath, “A lot better than I expected, but she was very upset.” I nod quietly not wanting to press him for more details. I turn to look out the cabin window as our plane ascends into the sky.
I realize midflight that I have not a damn clue about the track we are headed to. I normally research the track and surrounding area during my race preparations. I look over to Ryan to ask him a few questions, but he is reclined back in his seat, with his earbuds in place, and his eyes closed. For the first time in a week, he looks peaceful. Whatever he is listening to, I need to download. I choose not to bother him. I guess I will figure out Chicagoland when we arrive.
Chapter 42
Our plane touches down at a private airfield outside of Chicago around three o’clock. I steal a glance at Ryan. He is back in tense mode. The emotion radiates across his face and body. Since we are alone on the plane, I reach over and gingerly grasp his hand. Ryan smiles at me, and I can feel his whole body relax. It worked.
A car is waiting to take us directly to the track for qualifying, but we have to fight through a gang of paparazzi at the airport entrance. Evidently, our arrival in Chicago was leaked. Ryan effectively ignores the shouts of invasive questions from the unsympathetic media. He takes my hand and calmly pushes a way for us through the madness to the waiting courier, a gesture that will no doubt incite a gossip riot before Sunday.
Finally, we arrive in Joliet, Illinois, which is about forty-five minutes outside of Chicago. Tension radiates throughout the car and the silence is unsettling.
“You don’t have to do this, you know?” I say, trying to reassure him.
“Yes, I do!” he snaps back, but apologizes quickly. “I’m sorry, Whit. But this is the only way that I know how to deal.” I nod as he looks despondently out of the window.
As we approach the speedway, my stomach is in nervous knots. I actually want to hyperventilate, but I try to breathe deeply for Ryan’s sake. He is about to jump directly into his car to qualify, and he doesn’t need my anxiety on top of his. Ryan reaches over and takes my hand as we make our way through the infield tunnel. I look over at him and smile despite my anxiousness.
The car slows to a stop. Ryan leans over and gives me a chaste kiss before jumping out. He heads off to his hauler to gear up. I grab our bags and start over to pit road, hoping that Bobby and the crew have had ample time to arrive. A big sigh of relief washes over me when I find Bobby in the garage.
“Hey kid,” he says softly. I can still see the pain in his eyes, too. Our whole organization is bruised. Bobby worked alongside Garrett for over thirty years.
I smile sweetly. “Hey yourself! Can we pull this off?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.
He smiles back at me and shakes his head. “I don’t know, but we are gonna give it one hell of a try.”
Ryan rounds the corner all suited up in his racing gear. He embraces Bobby with an all-consuming fatherly hug. This team is all family. I realize this now, and it has taken a tragic event to remind them all. Suddenly, I am extremely grateful for becoming a part of this wonderful organization.
Ryan apologizes to Bobby. “I’m sorry I threw this on y’all at the last minute.”
Bobby smiles. “Your daddy would have kicked your ass if you missed a race!”
We all laugh. True story.
Ryan climbs into
his car and sets out for pit road. I pull out my iPad to do some quick research on the track. Chicagoland Speedway is a one-and-a-half mile D-shaped oval with varying speeds averaging 145 miles per hour. It’s fast, but not super-speedway fast.
Ryan takes the track effortlessly as I watch the monitor. He takes a warm-up lap, then proceeds across the start/finish line for the timed trial. Ryan fires his car into turn one, accelerating around 180 miles per hour. I can tell he is being extremely careful in an attempt not to screw up the lap, or maybe in anxiety. I am not sure. He roars down the back straightaway, into turns three then four.
I hear Bobby muttering under his breath, “Come on. Come on!”
Ryan slides his car over the start/finish line in 29.78 seconds, landing him around nineteenth position. I let out a long breath that I didn’t realize I had been holding. That was intense!
Ryan pulls his car back into the garage. He slides out stealthily, and damn, he is so hot in that racing uniform. He peels it back, and I feel like I’m about to melt.
Ryan looks at me, concerned. “Everything OK?”
I smile wryly. “Yes.” All my anxiety is definitely gone now. He takes notice, but still looks confused.
Ryan walks over to Bobby. “The car is awesome, but it’s me that’s the problem.” He is radiating tension again. “I just can’t get into the groove. I can’t focus.”
“Ryan,” Bobby responds, “get in some practice laps. You have been through a lot lately. It will come back to you. Don’t force it. Now, go get some rest. You’re gonna need it for Sunday!”
The car is waiting to take us back to Chicago. The Joliet area was booked solid because of the race weekend. Plus, with the media coverage surrounding my accident and Garrett’s death, I felt like Ryan needed to be away from the madness and paparazzi. In fact, I even made a reservation under a false name, which I am grateful for now since the incident at the airport.
Smokin' & Spinnin' Page 27