Falling Fast (Falling Fast #1) Page 5

  She’d tried to come up with ways that it didn’t have to end. He could move to Minnesota. She’d spend her senior year down here with Nancy. That last idea had been a heart-thumper. Of course, she knew her parents would forbid it, especially since they knew that she would be staying because of Raleigh. They didn’t know she’d been sneaking out, but they did know she was seeing him.

  She pulled into the parking lot, keeping her headlights from sweeping into the open bay of the garage. She wanted to walk in as she’d done that first time, to watch him work without his knowing. But as her sandals scraped across the asphalt she saw him standing at the opening. With the light behind him, his expression was in silhouette. She hoped it was the one he’d worn at the memorial, a hint of a smile and a lot of curiosity. Maybe he’d already turned down the music, because she only heard a low rock-and-roll bass line in the background. Maybe he’d outgrown the blaring music.

  “I hope I’m not disturbing you,” she said, squinting as she stepped into the brightly lit garage. She stopped, seeing him in the light, and felt the full impact of being this close to him again.

  Shirtless. A smear of grease across his cheek. Hair tousled. The thin blue fabric of his mechanic’s pants showcased muscular thighs, then grew baggier as they went down to his scuffed boots. He was taller and more filled in than he’d been at nineteen, his shoulders now broad, his chest contoured.

  She raised her eyes to his face again, realizing that she’d been gawking. “You’ve changed,” she managed, because she couldn’t exactly ignore the fact.

  “So have you.” The corner of his mouth lifted, a smile that didn’t even get started.

  But here, in this moment, nothing had changed. She felt as she had seven years earlier, coming here when she knew he’d be alone. Her heart hammered in her chest, sucked the moisture from her mouth.

  Did he feel as locked into the moment as she did? His blue eyes held hers spellbound, several emotions flashing across them. He blinked, then gestured for her to come in and headed toward the sink in the back corner. “Would you like a drink?”

  Did he drink alcohol nowadays?

  “Sure. What do you have?” She followed him, relieved that he hadn’t made an excuse for her to have to leave. Clearly, he was as busy as he’d been back then, trying to cram two jobs into one life. One day. She’d always admired his work ethic.

  He pointed to the small fridge as he headed to the industrial sink in the corner. “Water, soda, Gatorade. Help yourself.”

  He still had the confident, easy gait, and she still wanted to run her finger down the indent of his spine where it dipped down at his tailbone and disappeared into the waistband of his pants. Once they had crossed that line, she had often acted on the impulse. She had touched all of him, had experienced the freedom to touch a beautiful man. Indulging in whatever her heart desired had been new, delicious, decadent.

  He used his elbow to turn on the water and pumped several shots of soap from the dispenser onto his palms. She opened the fridge, bending down to see what lurked within. A leftover sub that smelled of Italian dressing. Several cans of soda. No beer. She remembered that he didn’t drink because it reminded him of his father. Liquor had been his dad’s downfall. Made him weak and loose and undisciplined. Raleigh hadn’t wanted to be any of those things. His expression had always grown disgusted and hard when he talked about his father. She’d only glimpsed him once, when Raleigh had grabbed her and ducked around the corner of a building. The man had been wiry, tanned, with shaggy blond hair. An older, rumpled version of Raleigh.

  She removed a bottle of water. “Want one?”

  “Sure.”

  He still washed his hands as meticulously as before. Was it wrong to drink in the way his biceps flexed and the muscles moved across his back? It felt right and torturous at the same time. He dried his hands as he approached where she leaned against the counter, bringing a fresh citrus scent.

  When he reached her, she gestured toward his cheek. “You have some grease…right there.”

  She wanted to take the wadded-up towel and wipe it away, but that would be wildly inappropriate. So she touched her own cheek, and he followed her motions.

  “No, the other cheek—here, just let me.” She laughed nervously as her fingers rubbed along his broad cheekbone through the thick paper towel. “I must feel like your mom.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “That’s right. I’m so sorry.” She was inches from him, the towel still pressed against his skin.

  He touched her wrist, guiding her hand down, away. “Nothing about you reminds me of a mom.”

  “I…suppose not.”

  “Hey, at least you didn’t spit on the towel, right?”

  He was trying to lighten the awkward moment, something she was grateful for. “I always cringe when I see a woman doing that. Here.”

  He took the bottle she held out and wandered over to the cherry-red Mustang that he was working on. One of the newer models. He leaned against the front quarter panel and patted the space next to him as an invitation.

  She moved closer, wishing she could ask him to turn off half of the lights. But that would make her sound either self-conscious (she was) or flirtatious (she wasn’t). Even if she did drink him in, draped so languidly against the hot car, taking a long chug of water. Appreciating the way the fabric tightened on his biceps. His Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow, and the angle made his neck look long.

  He set the bottle on the roof as she neared. “Like old times, huh?”

  She couldn’t help but bite her lower lip and nod. I wish it was. “Except—”

  “It’s not. I know.” The light in his eyes dimmed. “Well, I haven’t changed.” He swept his hands out to encompass the garage. “Still here, skulking around like a chop-shop operator, as Pax likes to say.”

  She slid her fingers along the seam of the hood. “More like working your butt off trying to make your life better.”

  He glanced around. “Yeah, trying.”

  And not succeeding—that’s what he didn’t say. She wanted to touch his arm, tell him she was proud that he was trying. He’d probably been humiliated at her hearing him at the bank.

  She leaned her hip against the car, facing him. “You will succeed. You’re that kind of guy.”

  He closed his eyes, dropping his chin and inhaling. “You always did believe in me.” Then he met her gaze, taking in her face, perhaps her scars, in the harsh fluorescent light. “I never understood why.”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure I can explain. It’s just something I saw in you. Still see. You’re a hard worker. You’re smart and good with cars. I Googled you.” Damn, had she actually admitted that aloud? She shrugged, owning it. “Just curious. Several racers credited you for their success.”

  Raleigh lifted one shoulder. “I give them the right equipment, but it’s driver skill that’s most important.”

  “And you’re modest, too.”

  He looked away, clearly uncomfortable with her compliments. She took a sip of water, recapped the bottle, and reined in all the questions she wanted to ask that had nothing to do with her reason for coming. Was he dating? Married? Her gaze strayed to his left hand. No ring, but then again he might not wear it at work. “It says a lot, you working at the same place all these years later.”

  “Peter took me back when I got out of jail, treated me the same as before. I couldn’t quit him.”

  “Even to open your own business? That was your dream.”

  “Wouldn’t be right.”

  Because he had that kind of loyalty. It shored up her reason for coming. Their gazes locked. He swallowed. “Don’t go giving me that look.”

  “What look?”

  His eyes took in hers as though he were searching their depths. “Like I did more than anyone else would do in my position.” His voice grew softer when he said, “The way you used to look at me.”

  Was she looking at him like that? Probably. She blinked several times. “Fine
. See, it’s gone now.”

  That got a laugh out of him, a subtle shake of the head. “So, Mia Wentworth, what brings you by?”

  Okay, they were moving on. Getting to the point. Oh, and being all businesslike, too. “I don’t accept your offer.”

  “I didn’t make an offer. At least, I didn’t say it aloud. Did I?”

  She wanted to laugh. Did that mean his mind was racing, too, shoving thoughts at him that he couldn’t voice? “I refuse your refusal to take your inheritance. Grandma wanted you to have that money. For this.” She indicated the garage with a flick of her eyes.

  “I don’t deserve—”

  She pressed her fingers to his mouth, stilling his words. “Yes, you do. In fact, you deserve it more than I do. I didn’t—” The warmth of his lips tingled on her fingertips, and the heat of his body radiated out, enveloping her. She stepped back. “I wasn’t the one who was here to help her all these years. To keep her company, fix up her house. So I refuse your refusal.”

  “But your father—”

  “It’s my inheritance, not his. I won’t let him drag his lawyers into this, and, honestly, I’m not sure he has any legal ground to do so. I’m sorry about that whole scene at the lawyer’s. And at the memorial. My parents don’t know how to let go of the past.”

  “I don’t blame them, Mia. After everything you’d already been through—”

  She pressed her fingertips to his mouth again, but only for a second. “Don’t. Don’t do that whole ‘poor Mia who fought cancer, so delicate and frail’ bullshit. Okay?” she added to soften the vehemence in her voice. “I guess Nancy told you?”

  He nodded. “I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me? That’s…huge.”

  “Because I loved that you didn’t know. That you didn’t look at me as exactly that: poor, fragile Mia. You saw me as a normal, healthy girl. And I was normal and healthy when we met, had been for two years at that point. And I am now. I didn’t want you to know I’d been anything else.”

  “I guess I would have treated you differently if I’d known.”

  “You wouldn’t have invited me to the races. Wouldn’t have encouraged me to sneak out. Or…” She couldn’t say make love with me.

  “I don’t think that would have stopped me,” he said, maybe reading her mind on that last unspoken bit. “But—”

  “Don’t ‘but.’ Do you know what you did to me? For me? There was an expectation that I should embrace life because I’d been through so much. But I didn’t feel that way at all. I was afraid, ready for the cancer to come back. My parents didn’t help, hovering, overprotecting me. I felt like one of those glass ballerinas in a music box. I couldn’t relate to people, and I couldn’t pretend to be like everyone else. I felt alone. Isolated, spinning to my own tune in my own world. You shattered the box, freed me. You made me want to live like I should have been—savoring every moment.”

  He didn’t move, didn’t say a thing. His mouth was soft, partly open, as though he wanted to speak but the words had stalled.

  “Say something,” she said. Because it feels weird, you looking at me like I said something crazy. Or too personal.

  He rubbed his hand across his mouth, but it was all in his eyes. She’d said something crazy and personal, and he didn’t know how to process it. “I did?”

  She smiled in relief. “Yeah, you did. You thought you were just flirting with a girl.”

  “I knew it was more than that.”

  She swallowed hard. How much more? How did he know? But he spoke before she could ask those questions.

  “So now you’re doing all right, with the cancer and all?”

  “Still in remission. Fingers crossed. The doctor says it’s unlikely that it’ll return at this point.” She was always tempted to add But you never know at the end of that sentence, knowing that children who underwent chemo had a slightly increased chance of developing a second cancer or other health issues. She stopped herself. “I’m trying to call myself cured.”

  “You should consider yourself cured.” His eyes searched her face again. “Of all the people to have to undergo more surgeries…”

  “Actually, I was the perfect person to face that.” She smiled gamely. “I was a pro, after all. Prepping for surgery. Time spent in the hospital. I knew all the lingo, what to ask for.”

  He wasn’t buying it, offering no smile of his own. “And the effects of the accident? The cracked rib, broken arm. And, of course, the burns. You’ve recovered?”

  She involuntarily touched her cheek. “All healed.”

  She ached for him, for what he must have gone through as well. “And you? Were you hurt badly? Right afterward, I was too drugged up to think about anything. Later, no one would tell me much, other than you didn’t die. I asked Grandma, and she said I should ask you. But I couldn’t.”

  He nodded, probably remembering how she’d hung up on him.

  She needed to clarify. “When I hung up, it was because…” She glanced away, hoping she wouldn’t stun him again with too much. “You, our time together, gave me a lot of strength during my recovery. Yet your voice threw me completely off. Hearing it made me feel how much I’d lost, including you. It was too much to deal with. I guess I was a coward.”

  “You weren’t a coward,” he nearly barked. He ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head as though she’d uttered the craziest thing in the world. “You’re the bravest person I know.”

  “Not when it concerned you, I wasn’t. Then I wrote you a letter.” She wrinkled her nose in self-disgust. “Coward,” she sang. “But I’m here now. Straightening it out.”

  He gave her a sweet smile. “Thank you.”

  Okay, so he wasn’t being effusive about it. Wasn’t telling her about the angst he’d suffered, wondering if she was angry at him. Hopefully, that meant he hadn’t been suffering angst. “Grandma would only tell me that you had minor injuries. What happened to you?”

  He turned and drew up his shirt to show her a faded scar that ran from his shoulder down the creamy skin of his side to the bottom of his rib cage. “Metal cut me. I broke my shoulder. Got some burns. Nothing as horrendous as what you went through.”

  “Burns?” She’d never heard about him being burned. “Where?”

  He held out his hands, and she recognized the scarring across the backs. She didn’t even realize she’d reached out until her fingers brushed the surface. He’d suffered, too, and probably hadn’t had anyone there to comfort him. No, indeed, he’d been arrested. Blamed. Jailed.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  He pulled away, dropping his hands to his sides. “Why are you sorry? You did nothing wrong. I was the one who put myself—and you—in a dangerous situation by racing. I bear full responsibility.”

  She could hear the guilt that weighed heavy on his words. “But it wasn’t your fault. I mean that; I don’t blame you.”

  He looked beyond her. “You should.”

  She reached for his hand, pulling it between her own. It was bigger than she remembered, bearing a recently healed cut on one finger. “Most young people don’t think about dying, even when they’re doing something dangerous. It always happens to someone else. At least, that’s what I’ve heard. I did think about dying, had been thinking about it every day for years. For the first time, with you, I was living. That’s what you gave me.”

  His fingers curled around hers, agony in his eyes. “Mia…”

  That one word filled her with an emotion that she couldn’t identify. She knew only that it rushed into her soul and clenched her heart.

  “Guess what!”

  A voice drew their attention to the open bay, where a brown-haired boy in faded plaid shorts and a tank top jumped off his bike and dropped it in one fluid motion. His bare feet slapped across the concrete as he ran over.

  “Hey, buddy. What are you doing out on your bike so late?”

  “Mom wanted me to pick up gum at the store. She’s trying to quit again, you know.” The boy’s eyes
shifted to Mia, then back. “She says thank you for the money.” Then he focused on Mia. “Who are you?”

  “Manners, Cody,” Raleigh muttered, shaking his head. “This is Mia, Nancy’s granddaughter.”

  “Oh. She was nice.” His smile faded, and he flicked his gaze to Raleigh and recited, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Mia accepted the condolence with a nod, wondering who this boy was. He bore a stark resemblance to Raleigh, with his vivid blue eyes, light-brown hair with more than a touch of red, even his general facial structure—the wide cheekbones and the square chin. Could he be…Raleigh’s son? She tried to do a quick calculation as the boy rambled on about using his eight-weight fly rod with a minnow and catching a bonito at the beach. Mia studied his gestures and his inflections, so much like Raleigh’s. The boy could be ten, which would mean that Raleigh was sixteen when he was born. Unlikely, but possible.

  She didn’t know much about Raleigh’s sexual past, other than that he’d obviously had one, because he knew what to do. Very well. With the dirty looks the girls at the races had shot her, Mia suspected they had been part of it.

  Raleigh scrubbed the kid’s mussed hair. “Get on home, okay? And wear shoes when you’re riding that bike. A stump almost took off my toe when I was riding barefoot at your age.”

  Cody’s mouth twisted in derision. “My shoes are too small, and my toe sticks out of a hole. Looks stupid.”

  “Keep riding barefoot and you won’t have to worry about that anymore. That’s what some of that money’s for—new shoes. Go shopping with your mom, and don’t give her any grief, hear?”

  “ ‘Kay.” He bobbed his head, respect and adoration on his face. “See ya later.” He raced over to the bike, then threw back a “Nice to meet you, ma’am!”

  “Good job,” Raleigh said, a proud smile on his face as he watched the boy hop on his bike.