Wreck Me (Corrupt Legacy Series #2)

“Every time?”

“It’s up to you… and how much you want it.”

“You don’t want me behind the wheel?”

“Not when you could use it to kill yourself.”

“I’m working on it.”

“And there you have it. I love you. I have raised you like my own. You can tell me that I fucked up as a parent only when you have your own kids.”

“I’m better, you know. It’s still there, but…”

“You open up, talk, and just keep working on that. I’m always going to be here, wanting what’s best for you. The other D in DD Motors doesn’t stand for your father’s initial like everyone thinks it does. It stands for you. Because I’d rather die than clip your wings, but I’m also a father.”

He has been there, every moment of my life, and hearing him say that infuses me with hope.

“So I could come back to the team?”

“Son, I’d battle the world to get you where you are meant to be. There are perks to being the boss and you being his son too.”

After we hang up, I sigh a breath of relief, which pumps me up. For the first time in a very long time, I feel hopeful. The chains around my head, shackling me in darkness, stand no chance when I see I got a message from Abigail.

It’s a picture of red, orange, and greenish flames. Inside there’s not a phoenix but a filigree human form with wings creeping upward. It’s incredible.

And this is how my race car is going to look.

I call Samuel, my chief mechanic, and send him the pic.

“That’s great work.”

“My girl is talented.”

“You have a girl, huh? I guess the break is doing you good.”

“Shut up. Can you do it?”

“Don’t insult me. She’ll be ready when you come back.”

“How are the guys?”

“Missing you. Working on your car and hoping for a miracle.”

I want to get back to racing, but I also have to work on myself. I can’t be the best version out there if I am constantly battling internal demons. I have to face it and accept that my illness won’t go away.

I go through what so many specialists have said to me over the years. I can allow my diagnosis to control me, or I can learn to live with it. My mild bipolar disorder doesn’t define me. It is just part of what makes me who I am.

I walk toward my car, waiting for Abigail inside.

She steps outside, and she looks incredible in a denim jumpsuit. All I can picture is ripping that off so there’s nothing but her smooth skin as I get my hands on her. That can wait. Date first, I remind myself.

I want to get out, kiss her properly, and open the door for her, but I can’t. Which is harder to do when everything in me demands to treat my girl right. I want to show her I listen to her concerns and accept the secrecy.

She slips inside my ride. “Where are we going?”

Where I can do all the things you forbid me to do here.

“It’s a surprise,” I say instead.