The doctors moved in, murmuring among themselves as they checked my chart and adjusted the machines beeping around me.
C.C.’s hand found mine, her grip gentle yet grounding. I could see the worry, the indecision, the regret in her eyes. She’d been through a lot. Looking about the room, I asked, “Can I please have a moment with my woman?”
The second the room cleared; she unloaded. “Oh God, I’m sorry, Trip. What I said... I didn’t mean it. I was angry and I let my temper get the best of me.”
“I know anger, baby,” I said, tightening my grip on her hand. “I wasn’t taking your spot. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“I know,” she whispered as a lone tear rolled down her cheek. “I feel like such a fool.”
I reached up, brushing the tear away softly. “Hey now, no crying. That’s not the woman I know. You’re the toughest person on and off the track.”
She laughed lightly through her tears, a sound both fragile and strong. “I don’t feel very tough right now. I feel like I messed everything up.”
“C.C., listen to me,” I said, voice steady but gentle. “You didn’t mess anything up. You’re human. We all are. And you’vebeen carrying so much. I should have been clearer about my intentions, but I never doubted you for a second.”
Her lips quirked up in a small, hesitant smile. “You’re really impossible, you know that?”
“Yeah, but you love me for it,” I teased, squeezing her hand.
Her eyes softened, and the weight between us seemed to lift, even just a little. “I do,” she said quietly, leaning in to press a kiss to my lips. “And I’m not letting this—any of this—beat us.”
“Damn right you’re not,” I said, feeling fire light up in my chest, even in my weakened state. “Now, how about you tell me what’s next? You’ve got a race season to dominate.”
Her gaze sharpened, a familiar determination glimmering. “One step at a time, Trip. Let’s get you back on your feet first.”
With that, she helped me sit up just a little more, her steady presence an anchor.
Chapter Twenty
Trip
“Why not?” King roared, following the little shit as he walked off with his head held high.
“Because I ain’t a nark!”
“Fine then,” King snapped. “You’re grounded!”
Cameron stopped dead in his tracks, before slowly turning and pinning King with a glare. “You need probable cause to ground me and you ain’t got any.”
Scribe snickered, sitting at the bar. “He’s got you there, King.”
“Goddamn it, Scribe,” King sneered. “I told you to stop teaching him legal shit.”
“Kid’s a fucking sponge, Prez.” The unrepentant brother grinned. “I would be doing him a disservice if I didn’t teach him what I know.”
“You know I can order you to tell me what you’re doing, right?”
Scribe nodded. “Yep, and I can refuse.”
“Refusal means time on the obstacle course.”
Scribe shrugged. “Eh... need to lose a few pounds, anyway.”
King leaned heavily against the bar, his frustration simmering as he glared at Scribe. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
Scribe simply raised his glass in a mock toast, his grin never faltering. “And yet, you keep me around. Go figure.”
Cameron, still rooted to the spot, folded his arms and smirked. “Well, Prez, what’s next? You gonna try and legislate the clubhouse?”
