Revived (Revved Series Book 2) (8 page)

“Does knowing that bother you?” I ask breaking the silence. “I’m not putting a label on what your issue is, Leandro. I’m just giving you something to work from. Understanding your problem is half of the battle to beating it.”

“You sound like a psychology textbook.”

“You read many of them?” I smile.

Meeting my eyes, he returns that smile, and it momentarily lightens his dark eyes.

“Oh, yes, all the time. I have a stack on my bedside table.
Idiot’s Guide to Psychology
.”

“That’s my favorite.”

He laughs. It’s a rich deep sound, and I feel it all the way down to my toes. I scrunch them up in my shoes.

“Right. Give me your keys.” He thrusts his hand out at me.

“You want my keys?”

“Yes.” His stare on me is direct, but his face is relaxed.

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to see if I can start this engine without freaking out like a pussy again.”

“You sure you’re ready for this? It was only last night when you tried—”

“I’m sure.”

His hand is still held out, so I retrieve my keys from my jacket pocket and hand them to him. It’s impossible to avoid touching him this time, but I make it quick and brief while ensuring I avoid eye contact with him, so he can’t see the effect his touch has on me.

Facing forward, he starts to flex his hands out, and he takes a deep breath.

“Just take your time. You feel stressed or panicky at any point, just stop and take deep breaths.”

“I got this.” He grins at me.

“And don’t worry if you lose it again. I’m insured.”

“Is that an invitation to smash your car up?” He laughs.

“Sure. Why not? It’s about time I got a new one.” My lip lifts at the corner in a half smile.

He laughs again. I really like hearing him laugh. It makes me feel like we’re taking positive steps forward, and it’s not at all about the way his laugh makes me feel inside.

One more deep breath, he punches the key into the ignition and turns it over without a moment’s hesitation.

I watch his eyes close as my car rumbles to life.

His hands are wrapped around the steering wheel, his knuckles white from his tight grip.

“How do you feel?” I ask softly.

“Better than I did last night.” He opens one eye and looks at me, a touch of a smile on his lips.

“Damn, so I won’t get a new car out of this.”

He chuckles, and I can feel the tension already leaving his body.

He closes his eyes again. Hands still on the steering wheel, he rests his head back against the seat and blows out a breath.

We sit like that for a long moment. Leandro acclimating himself to his environment. Me watching him, assessing if a panic attack might be about to happen.

But his breathing seems even, and his grip on the steering wheel has relaxed a little.

“When I woke up in the hospital, I know I should have felt relieved to be alive. And I guess a part of me did. But a bigger part of me wished I’d died in that crash…because I knew, right then and there, that I wouldn’t be able to get back in a car. And if I wasn’t racing, then I might as well be dead.” Opening his eyes, he tilts his head my way and stares at me. “I know you probably don’t understand that, but racing is my whole life. It’s all I ever wanted to do, all I was ever good at. Losing it…it’s killing me slowly.”

“You’ll get it back,” I tell him with surety. Then, I do something I never, ever do. I make him a promise. “I’ll help you get it back. I promise you.” Before I can stop myself, I lay my hand on his arm.

“Thank you.” His words are soft as he looks back out the windshield where small droplets of rain have started to appear.

And I retract my burning hand, knowing I need to find my professional balance here.

MY PHONE BUZZES IN MY POCKET
. Pulling it out, I see it’s Carrick.

“I’m in the taxi and on my way. I’m just running late. I had a meeting earlier at Lissa.” Lissa is my team headquarters. Tilting the phone away from my mouth, I give the driver the address to the restaurant.

Over this last month, I’ve been working a lot with her at getting used to being back inside a car. India has been taking me out on drives. First, we started with me sitting in the back and then moved up to me sitting in the passenger seat. I haven’t driven yet, but I no longer freak out at being in a car or the sound of the engine running.

Sounds lame considering what I do for a living, but I have to take it slow. Those are India’s words. She says if I rush it, I might end up hindering myself and risk an anxiety attack, taking myself back steps.

I don’t want that.

To a degree, this whole baby-steps shit is frustrating because I want nothing more than to be able to drive a car. But I trust her, and it’s clearly working as I don’t feel like I’m going to lose my shit in this taxi right now or panic like a little bitch when I sit behind the wheel of a car, like I would have done before she started helping me.

“Just checking that you didn’t forget.” Carrick chuckles.

“Like I would.”

“Yeah, sure. Just like you didn’t forget the last time.”

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

I forgot because I was drunk and holed up in some chick’s apartment, fucking the night away. I’d met her at the supermarket where I was buying a bottle of whiskey. We’d ended up taking it back to her place, drinking it, and—well, you know the rest.

I felt like a complete shit because I’d let my friends down.

“No, because Andressa had to explain to the date she brought for you that you hadn’t stood her up.”

“Because I hadn’t known she was bringing a date for me.”

Even if I’d known she brought me a date, it probably wouldn’t have changed the way that day and night went. Dates want more than one night.

Then, it dawns on me why he’s actually ringing.

“Please tell me that Andi hasn’t brought another date for me tonight?”

Silence.

And his silence speaks volumes.

“Oh god,” I groan. “She has, hasn’t she?” I groan. “There’s no way you’d be checking up on me like a woman if she hadn’t. Andi made you call me, right?”

“Maybe.”

“God, you’re so pussy-whipped.”

“There’s a lot to be said for being whipped.”

“You’re a dick. And if I didn’t platonically love your wife, then I’d be calling her a pain in my ass right now.”

“She just wants you to be happy.”

“Jesus, why didn’t she learn from the first time she set me up? Dates and me don’t go together.”

The first dinner we had together when I moved back to London, Andi brought along a date for me. Her hairdresser. Granted, the date didn’t go too badly because I ended up taking the hairdresser back to her place and fucking her. Problem was, that was all it was—a fuck. Sadly, she wanted more and didn’t take my rejection too well. Andi had to find a new hairdresser.

So, God knows why she’s insistent on constantly trying to set me up with people she knows.

“You really need to get your woman under control.”

Carrick laughs. “Ha! If it were possible, I’d have done it ages ago. So, can I tell Andressa that you’ll be here soon and that you’re over the fucking moon that she’s brought you a date?”

“Is the date hot?”

“If you like that type.”

“What type?”

“Yoga instructors.”

Hmm…

“They’re seriously bendy, right? Then, yeah, tell Andi I’m over the fucking moon, and I’m skipping over fucking rainbows that she’s brought along a yoga instructor as a date for me. I’ll see you in ten, dickface.” Then, I hang up the phone.

Resting my head back on the seat, I blow out a breath, rubbing my clean-shaven chin.

I got rid of the beard. I even had my hair cut.

I thought it was about time. And it will show India that I am really trying to clean myself up.

Okay, so pep talk, Silva…

I will not have sex with the bendy yoga instructor—unless she is absolutely clear on the fact that it is a one-time thing. Then, fucking her will be fine.

Unless she’s dog ugly, of course.

And I will not get drunk. I’ll fuck the bendy yoga instructor because I actually want to, because there’s chemistry, and not because I am wasted or want to forget myself in her body.

If only India could hear me now, she’d be so proud. She’d be proud that I’m not going to screw somebody.

I laugh in my head at that thought.

Since India started treating me, my drinking has slowed down to a stop, and the random hook-ups are also nonexistent. I haven’t had sex since that night with those two women that caused me to run late for my appointment with India the next day.

It’s not been easy, but working on my issues with India is giving me purpose, something I didn’t have before. My goal is to work toward getting back in a car, driving it, and then eventually racing.

One step at a time, no matter how long it takes.

Well, aside from being about to enter the last year of my contract. That kind of puts a time cap on it.

The taxi pulls up outside the restaurant. I pay the driver and climb out.

It’s started to rain, so I quickly make my way inside. The maître d’ approaches me. She instantly recognizes me. I’ve gotten very familiar with the look people get in their eyes when they recognize who I am.

“My friends are already here. I’m joining Carrick Ryan.”

If she recognizes me, then she definitely knows who Carrick is.

“I’ll take you to your table.” She gives me a coquettish smile.

It’s impossible for me not to return it. I’m a flirty bastard by nature.

As I follow behind the maître d’, I check out her ass.

Nice. Curvy. An ass you could grab ahold of while you fucked her.

But it’s nowhere near as good an ass as India’s.

“You’re late,” Andi says as I approach the table, giving me a chastising look, but there’s a smile on her lips, so I know she’s not as mad as she might like to make out.

As I reach the table, I let my eyes flicker over to the yoga instructor.

Dark hair. Pretty face. Big tits.

“Sorry.” I lean down and kiss both of Andi’s cheeks. “You look lovely, as always.”

“Oi, dickface. Hands off my wife.”

“Good to see you, too, Ryan.” I smirk at him.

Grinning at me, he stands, and we do that handshake and half hug that us men like to do.

“Been a while. You doing okay?” he quietly asks me.

I meet his eyes, giving him a nod. “I’m doing good.”

“Leandro, this is Katrina,” Andi says.

Turning to Katrina, I smile at her, properly looking her over, as I move around the table where, of course, I’ve been strategically seated next to her.

She has a strappy red dress on, and her ample cleavage is spilling out of it.

I put my hand out to shake hers. “Nice to meet you, Katrina. I’m Leandro.”

She slips her hand into mine, and I kiss her cheeks, but I feel nothing. No spark or connection.

A strange sense of relief settles inside me.

I’m relieved that I don’t have a connection with the hot woman? What the hell is wrong with me?

India. That’s what’s wrong with me.

She’s the only person I feel that spark with, and she’s the only woman I can’t have.