Redeemed (Dirty Air Series Book 4)

by Lauren Asher

  Who cares about the rest of the world when mine revolves around this girl?

  She leads me toward the stage. “Are you nervous?”

  “Surprisingly no.”

  “How do you feel about the car?”

  “Are you sure you want the answer to that? You might get jealous.”

  Her shoulders shake as she laughs to herself. “Me? Jealous of a car?”

  “I loved her before you,” I tease.

  She sticks her tongue out at me. “She might be your first love, but she won’t be your last.”

  “Someone is cocky.”

  “I’ve earned my place.” She winks.

  A rush of laughter erupts out of me.

  We stop at the entrance to the stage. I tug her into my body and place a kiss on her head. Wanting to soak in the moment, I take a few deep breaths.

  Chloe fiddles with the zipper on my suit. “Just a fair warning. I might have done something extra special for today.”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask you.”

  “Why don’t I show you instead?” Chloe’s devious smile sets me on alert.

  Hand in hand, we walk up the steps of the stage. Hundreds of kids scream at the top of their lungs as I enter the massive stage. They’re not wearing the Bandini gear I sent them as part of the charity welcome package.

  No.

  Every child, from little babies to teens with smug grins, wear variations of Iron Man clothing. Some wave their prosthetic arms in the air, holding up posters with my name. While everyone looks different, from their ethnicities to their ages, they all have one thing in common.

  They’re all like me.

  I blink at their costumes, which was definitely not part of the plan.

  “Surprise?” Chloe looks at me in a way that seems like she wants to gauge my reaction.

  The crowd screams as my family walks out onto the stage. Noah holds on to Marko who is decked out in his own Iron Man costume. Maya and my parents join him, smiling at me in their Bandini shirts. My mom brushes away a tear running down her cheek while my dad hugs her close to his side.

  I look down at the woman I love. “You planned all this?”

  “Well, you did ask me to help you set up today’s event.”

  The crowd begins to chant Iron Man louder and louder. I walk up to the edge of the stage, completely mystified.

  Chloe places something in my hands, and I look down at it. It’s a new custom race helmet. Iron Man’s arc reactor symbol is centered at the top, surrounded by the Spanish flag. I flip it around and check out the back. A custom sticker with Chloe’s dainty writing is located at the bottom of the helmet.

  You might be the hero in my story, but you’re the legend in theirs.

  This is one of the best gifts someone has given me.

  With one hand, I grab Chloe and pull her into my body. I place a soft kiss against her lips. “Thank you.”

  “Oh, please! You’re the one who started this charity. I only brought them all here.”

  “There wouldn’t be a charity, let alone an event, without you to begin with. You and your crazy plan to trespass on private property.”

  She laughs to herself. “Maybe there was a cat who needed saving.”

  “Or maybe there was a man who needed saving.” I look out at the crowd of kids who all have prosthetics because of the foundation I started. All it took was one video of a kid crying as he looked at his stump to show me that I had a different purpose besides racing. Parents struggle to afford the prosthetics to begin with, but add children’s growth spurts into the mix, and they have whopping medical bills. With Chloe’s help, I created my foundation in the hopes of setting an example.

  I’m not only racing for me anymore. I’m racing for them. For the people who need someone to look up to who can show them that they’re bigger than a disability. To show them that we are the new normal.

  Their chants grow louder as I raise the helmet in the air and smile.

  Time to race.

  Engine vibrations tickle my spine. The smell of fresh rubber taints the air, blowing into the tiny gap I left open in my visor. My third-place spot on the grid is behind my Bandini teammate and Elías, the race leader.

  I’m back. I make a sign of the cross and say a quick favor. With two gloved hands, I clutch onto my steering wheel. There’s a slight tremble in my hands.

  Relax. You’ve practiced for months with Noah. You’ve got this.

  Crew scatter away from the pavement. Five red lights turn on, one by one. My heart lurches in my chest as all five shut off simultaneously.

  I tug on the throttle pad. My tires screech as my car speeds through the grid. The rush builds inside of me as I make it through the first straight unscathed. Somehow, I hold on to third place, right behind Elías and my teammate, Finn.

  I smile behind my helmet as James comes onto the mic.

  “Great start, Santiago. Keep a steady pace and show these bastards what a podium winner looks like.” He rattles off some statistics to watch.

  I use the throttle pad and brakes interchangeably, making it through the first lap without a problem.

  I love the way my heart races in my chest. Love the feel of the tires shuddering beneath me, shredding apart as I complete each lap. It’s addictive to pass by the roaring Grandstands.

  I love it all. Every ragged breath escaping my lungs, every curve of the track, every time my teammate gives me a hard time about passing him.

  Lap after lap, I hold my third place while fighting off other drivers behind me. None get past me, but it’s not good enough.

  I want more. For the kids who came to support me and for the woman who stood by my side through it all.

  I inch up to my teammate. We drive in tandem through the long road before I go around the outside of his car and speed in front of his.

  “Amazing! That’s what I’m talking about!” James hoots.

  Adrenaline is my drug of choice. The rush is instant, and the feeling is unparalleled.

  The engine rattles as I increase my speed. The throttle paddle works like a dream, and after all my practices, it’s second nature to me.

  Elías remains the race leader in his gray McCoy car. He hugs the curves at every turn and centers himself during every straight.

  I pull on the throttle, and my car speeds up behind him. His rear bumper is close, to the point where I can practically touch it with the tip of my front wing.

  “Take it easy,” James adds through the team radio.

  Everything about this is easy, and that’s what makes it all the more fun. I don’t care about landing on a podium anymore or becoming the best. All I care about is having fun and living my life.

  Winning isn’t about a Championship title anymore. It’s about making me proud, no matter the outcome. Other people’s praise is only an added bonus now. Because in the end, I spent way too many lost years focusing on the opinions of people who didn’t matter.

  Elías doesn’t hold back during the last few laps. I drive by his side, only to be pushed back into second place when we reach the next turn. He’s talented and a natural at defending. I can honestly learn a thing or two from his skills.

  He passes the finish line less than a second before me. I raise my fist in the air and drive up to the Grandstand housing all the kids from earlier. Their screams grow louder as my car gets closer.

  I force my car to do donuts on the track in front of them. Smoke rises from the burning tires, and the crowd goes wild. My smile doesn’t drop the entire time.

  I don’t need my leg to race. All I needed was a dream, the courage, and a badass girlfriend who called me out on my shit time and time again. I needed someone to teach me how to accept that I wasn’t broken but lost.

  Life isn’t about chasing the rush anymore. It’s about wanting to slow time down and enjoy every single second because I don’t want to miss a thing.

  It took one chance encounter with a stranger to change my life. One person to make me realize that I can’t lov
e someone else until I love myself. One dreamer who makes me want to wish in journals or on lucky stars or on damn dandelions for all I care.

  One girl. One love. One forever.

  Epilogue

  Chloe

  Two pink lines. That’s all it takes to change my life.

  I shake the stick, as if it can make one of the lines fade away. “This isn’t a freaking Etch A Sketch, Chloe.” No, it’s just a positive pregnancy test.

  Me. Pregnant.

  “Holy shit.”

  Wait, I can’t say shit anymore.

  Oh my God. I’m pregnant. Like really, actually, ninety-nine percent pregnant, if the statistics on the drugstore pregnancy test are accurate. I instantly regret purchasing the test in advance and storing it in my bathroom because now I have no way to deny the facts.

  I’m going to have a child with Santiago. I sink onto the cool tile of the bathroom because I don’t trust my legs at the moment.

  How did this happen?

  When two people have sex without—

  Okay, obviously I know how it happened. But how did it happen so fast? Santiago and I just agreed to stop using condoms less than a few months ago. I mean, shit, we only got married this year. And after hearing Maya’s struggles about having kids, I anticipated it might take some time for us. But this? Seriously, what kind of magic sperm does Santiago have?

  The hand that clutches the pregnancy test trembles. Shit. I’m really going to be a mom. Like I’m about to go from sex marathons and lazy Sundays to changing diapers, breast-feeding, and complaining to Brooke about how much it sucks to put a stroller in the trunk of a car while managing an infant.

  “But what if I’m a terrible mother? What if they hate me because I mess up or think that I’m not as good as all the other moms in their class because I can’t cook, or bake, or even do much without fumbling—”

  “Chloe, are you feeling okay? You left the dinner table in a rush.” Santiago’s voice carries through the closed door.

  I left because my phone sent me an alert right in the middle of our dinner about missing my period two weeks in a row. Clearly, my tracking app has it more put together than me at the moment.

  “Sure.” My voice croaks.

  “Do you need any help?”

  “Define what you mean by help?”

  He coughs. “Well, umm, is there enough toilet paper in there?”

  I’m tempted to open the door only to slam it in his face after.

  “Just so you know, bathroom jokes are so not welcome in this marriage.”

  “That didn’t make you laugh? Now I know something really is wrong with you.” The doorknob rattles, but the lock stays in place.

  “Go away,” I mumble.

  “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

  I crawl to the door and turn the lock. It opens with a soft click, and Santiago enters the space. His eyes bounce between the test in my hand and my face.

  “Because thanks to you and your magic sperm, I’m pregnant.”

  His face leeches of color. He drops ungracefully onto the floor and pulls me into his body. “Holy shit. You’re pregnant.”

  “It’s ‘holy shirt’ now. No cursing in front of the child, please.”

  Santiago throws his head back and laughs. I crack a smile, but no laughter escapes me.

  His brows draw together as he assesses my face. “What’s the matter? I thought this was what you wanted?”

  The arms I love tighten around me, securing me to his body. God, I’ll miss him being able to hug me like this. It’ll never be the same once I become the size of a human beach ball.

  “Chloe?” He places a soft kiss at the crook of my neck.

  A few tears leak out of my eyes. “I’m happy. I promise I am.” And I really am, but it’s a lot to process right now, and my mind struggles to keep up.

  “Then why are you crying?”

  “Because I’m afraid I’ll never be good enough for our child.”

  He squeezes me tighter before turning me around in his lap, forcing me to face him. His hand tucks a loose lock of my hair behind my ear. “You’ll be the best mother.”

  “Of course you have to say that. You knocked me up, after all.”

  He shakes his head. “No. I’m saying it because I truly believe you will be. The kind of love you share with those closest to you is the most precious gift, and I’m somewhat jealous I have to share it with—”

  “Jellybean.”

  “Jellybean.” He smiles wide, the brown color of his eyes lightening. “So, yeah, I’m jealous Jellybean will steal part of your love away from me, but I’ll manage.”

  “How gracious of you.”

  He places a soft kiss against my lips. “I mean it. You’ll be the most incredible mother. You’re generous and kind. Forgiving yet strong. The best kind of role model and the best kind of friend. Whether we only have one child or a horde of them—”

  I hold out my hand. “Okay, whoa. Let’s start with Jellybean and see how it goes because the word horde just had my vagina clench in fear.”

  Santiago roars with laughter, and I join him. Together on the bathroom floor, we discuss ideas related to our future horde, from ridiculous gender reveal party ideas to outrageous baby names.

  But in all the craziness, there is one thing Santiago and I settle on. Together, we will raise this baby with every ounce of love we have in us.

  And while Santiago has had his chance to redeem himself with racing, this is mine.

  It’s time to let go of my past and actually mean it.

  “Do you think he really has a chance of winning?” I look over at Noah.

  The pit crew stays seated on one side of the garage, prepped and ready to go if Santiago needs a change of tires. Maya entertains Marko with a coloring book in a corner near the entrance to the suites.

  James stands by the computers, calling out orders while feeding Santiago information through the team radio.

  “If he lands on the podium this race, then he solidifies his first-place standing. He’ll be a World Champion again.”

  Wow. I knew Santiago was good. Hell, I knew he was great. He’s spent the last two seasons working his ass off to make it on podiums. But World Championship material after his accident? Now that speaks to his talent more than my words can.

  It hasn’t been an easy road to get here. Phantom pains still flare up occasionally, and he struggles some days more than others. But Santiago fights every single day to be the best at everything he can.

  At racing. At marriage. At preparing to be the best father for our baby boy.

  I rub my bulging belly. The diamond on my ring shines under the pit lights, reflecting a rainbow of colors on the ceiling.

  I look up at the screens broadcasting the race from Santiago’s dashboard camera. He’s in second place right now, and while that will secure him points to land on the podium, it won’t make him a World Champion.

  This is the last race of the season. It’s now or never for him to earn the title he has been chasing after since he came back.

  Santiago hangs behind Elías, one of McCoy’s best drivers. Every move my husband makes to get around Elías’s gray car is met with resistance by the McCoy driver.

  “Come on.” Noah runs a hand through his hair.

  Santiago presses on the throttle. His car shoots down the straight, driving up to Elías’s side. They drive in tandem down the narrow road.

  The turn comes up, and Santiago breaks a second later than Elías, giving him more speed through the turn.

  Santiago pulls in front of Elías, securing the first-place spot. The garage cheers as Santiago rushes through the next straight. Elías stays in his rearview, unable to get the upper hand.

  A kick in my stomach has me clutching onto Noah’s arm for stability.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Oh my God. The baby just kicked! For real this time, not that usual bubble feeling or fluttering.” I grab Noah’s hand and shove it against my stomach. I don’t bother
asking for permission because I need someone to confirm it’s not just my imagination.

  “Oh, wow. You’ve got a little fighter.” Noah chuckles.

  “Maya! Come here. The baby is kicking like he’s kung fu fighting!”

  She runs over and replaces Noah’s hand with her own. “Ahh! He’s a strong one.”

  I cringe when another kick lands somewhere near my bladder. “Are they always this active?”

  “This is only the beginning. Santiago’s going to freak out when he realizes he missed this.” Maya frowns.

  My eyes focus back on the TV. I rub my belly in a circular motion, hoping to ease the baby. “Are you excited for your daddy too, little guy?”

  I take the next kick to my stomach as a yes.

  Santiago doesn’t let his guard down for the rest of the race. He sails past the finish line, and the crew goes wild.

  “He did it!” I jump into Maya’s arms. We cry together, the matching tears streaming down our faces as Santiago parks his car in his first-place spot.

  We walk, even though my heart wishes I could run. My baby has other plans like throwing a private party in my belly.

  Someone passes Santiago his iWalk as soon as he lifts himself out of the car. He straps it on and stands, ripping off his helmet in the process. He turns toward us and shoots us a huge smile.

  “You won! You’re officially a World Champion!” I walk straight into his waiting arms and breathe in his scent of sweat and gasoline.

  Is it healthy? No.

  Is it slightly addictive and reminds me solely of him? You betcha.

  “I already was a World Champion before this.”

  I punch him lightly in the arm. “Now’s not the time to be cocky.”

  “You’re right. How rude of me. I’ll refrain, seeing as I have the perfect evidence of my cockiness right in front of me.” He places his gloved hands against my belly.

  “Hold on. Take your gloves off.”

  He follows my request and bites the tips, successfully ripping them off.

  Who knew glove removal could be this sexy? Sign me up for a replay, please.

  “You’re daydreaming again.” He smiles.