Revived (Revved Series Book 2) (17 page)

“It’s not that simple.” I put my head in my hands. “I’m just like him…” I lift my head, my eyes meeting Kit’s. “I’m exactly like Paul.”

His eyes flare with anger. “You are nothing like that piece of shit. You were fifteen when he started a…physical relationship with you. You were a minor. A foster kid. Needy and vulnerable. And he was your fucking caregiver. You are none of those things to Leandro Silva. He is a grown man from a good background, with an established career.”

I slowly shake my head. “He might be all those things, but if he was a hundred percent okay, then I wouldn’t have been treating him.”

“None of us are ever a hundred percent okay, Indy. You know that. Can you tell me what you were treating him for?”

I trace my fingers over the wood patterns on the table. “You know I can’t.”

“I think you’ve already broken the rules when it comes to Leandro Silva, so telling me won’t hurt. It might actually help.”

I take a deep breath. I can trust Kit. I know I can. I hate to break trust with a patient, but I need help. “After his accident…he’s been suffering from PTSD. He can’t get back in a car to drive. He’s unable to race. I’ve been helping him with that.”

“Okay…” He nods. “Any substance abuse?”

“He drank, but he stopped easily enough. He was drinking to forget, and he was using sex with random women to make himself feel better.”

“He sounds like pretty much every celebrity out there right now.” He chuckles.

“It’s not funny, Kit.”

“No, it’s not. But he’s not broken in the worst sense of the word. He suffered a terrible accident that stopped him from doing what he loved, and he needed help finding his way back to it.”

“And I’ve been that help. He’s built a reliance on me, and he is mistaking that for something else. Because of my own feelings for him, I let it happen.”

“You’re always so hard on yourself, Indy. By the sound of things, he’s fully capable of making his own decisions. You haven’t taken advantage.”

I give him a look, telling him exactly what I think of that statement. “It’s wrong, Kit.” I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands.

“If you weren’t his therapist and he was still the same man with the same problems, then it wouldn’t be wrong.”

“No, but I am, and it is. God, I wish it were that simple.”

“Life is only as hard as you make it. And don’t go throwing your career away over one kiss with a man who knew full well what he was doing.”

I pick my glass up and get up from the table. “Thanks, Kit. For listening…and helping.” I kiss the top of his head as I pass him. “I’m gonna head upstairs. Take a shower, and think things over. I need to process everything.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Indy. You’re only human.”

“But I’m a therapist, and I know better.”

Cradling my glass to my chest, I head upstairs. I look in on Jett as I pass his room. I see him sleeping in bed, his TV still on. I go in and turn off his TV. Kissing his forehead, I close his door behind me.

I go into my bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed.

I need to call Dan, break things off with him. I hate that I’ve deceived him like this. He’s a good man, but clearly, he’s not the man for me. I think I’ve always known deep down. But I just wanted a good guy, a safe guy.

Not a hotheaded racing driver.

God, why do I always want the wrong man?

Finishing off my drink for Dutch courage, I dial Dan’s number.

He picks up on the second ring. “Hey, you.”

I feel sick at the sound of his voice. “Hey.”

“How are you doing?”

“Good. Look, Dan, are you okay to talk?”

“Hang on…” I hear a door open and then close. “Go ahead. Is everything okay?”

“Not really.”

“India?”

“I can’t see you anymore.”

“Are you being serious?”

“I’m sorry.”

He blows out a breath. “Why?”

“I just—”

“If you’re going to say that it’s not you, it’s me, you might as well just hang up the phone now.”

Tears spring to my eyes. “I like you, Dan. I do. I just don’t feel the spark that I should…and I…I have feelings for someone else. I’m really sorry.”

His silence is painful.

“And have you fucked this someone else?” he finally bites out.

His words surprise me because I’ve never heard him speak this way before.

“No, of course not! He kissed me, but I stopped it. Then, I came home and called you.”

“Who is it?”

“I…that doesn’t matter. I’m just so sorry.”

“Yeah, well, you should be. Good-bye, India.”

The line goes dead.

I fall back onto the bed, covering my face with my hands.

When did my life become such a mess?

The moment I met Leandro Silva.

I can’t go on like this, driving myself crazy. And I can’t keep treating him, not after tonight.

There’s only one thing I can do.

I’m going to have to refer him to another therapist and cut him from my life—permanently.

I curl my arm around my stomach, pressing against the ache the thought leaves inside me.

“
YOU OKAY IN THERE
?”

My hands are gripped around the wheel. I move my eyes to Carrick, who’s standing outside the car, by the driver’s door.

Giving a nod to him, I slide down the visor on my helmet with a click. “I’m fine.”

“I’m in your ear. Talk to me if you need to.” He taps his finger to the earpiece he’s wearing that will connect us while I’m out on the track.

I give another nod, not taking my eyes off the road ahead.

With his hand, he taps the roof of the car and moves away to stand in the pit to watch me.

We’re at Silverstone. I’m driving Carrick’s Bugatti Veyron Super Sport. This will be my first time back on a track since the accident

Since I drove India’s car, I’ve had the growing urge to get back out here.

I had rented a car the very next morning, as I wanted to keep driving. My car is still fucked, after I smashed her up, so I had a garage take my car to fix her.

For the last few days, I’ve been driving around on my own for hours at a time, building my confidence. Driving on my own was a risk but a huge achievement for me.

I had taken the car out on the highway to feel some speed but it didn’t feel enough and that was when I knew it was time to get back on the track.

Even though I made the decision to do this, I still felt afraid at the thought.

I wanted to call India, but I couldn’t.

So, I called Carrick, and here we are.

Truth is, I could have used any car. I just needed someone here with me.

I really wanted that someone to be India, but I haven’t spoken to her since the kiss on Wednesday. It’s Saturday now.

I’m trying to give her space, let her come to me. I was hoping she would have come to me before now. The days passing aren’t leaving the best feeling in my gut, but I know that charging in there with my guns blazing, demanding she talk to me, won’t help shit.

India needs to be approached with thought and caution.

I have my appointment with her on Monday morning, so if I haven’t heard from her before then, then that will be the day we talk.

And we will definitely talk. If not more.

I know for sure she wants me now, so there’s no stopping me. She can deny it and say it can’t happen, but it will.

The chemistry between us is off the charts. I’ve never felt anything like it before, and I don’t intend on walking away from it. I’ve felt her body under my hands. Seen the way she responds to me. There’s no stopping that kind of desire, no matter how hard she might try.

I turn the engine on, and rev it. The car vibrates beneath me. Tremors run up my arms. My heart starts to beat like a motherfucker. My mouth dries.

I blink against the onslaught of fear coming for me.

The barrier coming toward me.

Smoke. I can smell it in my nose. Taste it on my sandpaper tongue.

Feel the pain in my bones.

Stop.

That was the past.

Lightning doesn’t strike twice.

Unless you’re a seriously unlucky fucker.

A laugh escapes me.

“You okay?” Carrick’s voice comes in my ear.

“Yes. Just realizing what a sick fuck I am.”

“I could’ve told you that years ago.” He chuckles. “You good?”

I blow out a breath. “Yes.”

My arms are still shaking down to my hands. I grip the steering wheel, willing myself to calm down.

It’s a good job I’m not taking out my Formula 1 car. I knew I wouldn’t be up for that just yet. I need to get used to being back out here, and being in control of a car at high speeds and being comfortable with it again. Carrick’s Bugatti is a good car to do it in.

I’m going to take this car around the track, like I’ve done a million times before. Nothing is going to happen to me.

Deep breath, in and out.

I realize that my hands are no longer shaking.

I feel a sense of self-satisfaction bleeding into my veins.

Control. That’s what it is about.

I just need to take hold of my fear and manage it. If I’m good at one thing, it’s control. I thrive on it. It’s like a fucking aphrodisiac for me.

I shift the stick into first.

Breathe.

One…two…three…

Easing off the clutch, I hit the accelerator and take off.

I’m at a hundred kilometers in no time.

This car can move.

One sixty.

My heart is starting to pound against my ribs.

Fear and adrenaline.

I can see the wall approaching with the corner I need to take.

My hands start to shake. Sweat trickles down my face.

Don’t lose it now, Silva.

Think of anything but the accident.

India.

The way she tastes. Her perfect mouth. How she felt wrapped around me while I kissed her.

Easing my foot onto the brake, I take the corner. Back on the straight, I ease the accelerator back down, pushing the speed up a little further.

Creeping back to a hundred.

One forty.

One sixty.

Two hundred.

The sound of metal crushing splinters in my ears, sounding so fucking real.

I hit the brakes.

It’s not real. It’s not real.

It’s just in my mind.

Think of India.

What she’ll look like naked. How she’ll feel when I fuck her.

I press back on the accelerator, taking the car back to two hundred.

More. I need to take her higher.

I can do this.

I press down a little more.

Two twenty.

My heart is pounding, and I can’t calm it.

So, stop fighting it, and use the adrenaline to push yourself further.

Imagine fucking India.
That this car is her body. How hard I’m going to ride her. How high I’m going to take her.

Two sixty.

Bend her every which way I can. Fuck her hard and fast against every surface in my house.

Three hundred.

My head between her legs, tasting her, making her scream my name.

Three twenty.

India on her knees at my feet with my cock between those bee-stung lips of hers.