Page 63 of Endurance

The woman in my arms was all fire, and I was entirely lost in her flame. It was an overload of sensations, consuming me with inexplicable, mind-altering need. She made me forget about everything—the past, my injuries, racing. It was as if all her talk about fate was true, and we were destined in the most fundamental ways—like nothing could have stopped us from being together.

She raked her hands down my chest, then back up to grip my shoulders. She squeezed tight, and I could feel her second orgasm begin to pulse around my cock. When she burst apart, something inside me seemed to snap, releasing whatever measure of control I’d been hanging onto. Her cry of ecstasy was all I needed to lose myself. It was my turn.

Dizzying shimmers of white began to dot my vision. I sunk deep and hard, filling her completely, until my seed erupted. Energy spiked, and I came with such a violent force that I was left shuddering and trembling in her arms.

Our hearts beat wildly against each other. I didn’t want to move and break our connection but knew I needed to remove the condom before long. Rolling onto my back, I shed the rubber and tossed it into the wastebasket next to the bed. Sliding my arm beneath Kallie, I pulled her tight to my side. Her heated body curved into mine as we allowed our racing hearts to return to a normal rhythm. We lay there perfectly content, her hand resting peacefully on my chest while I traced the lines of her tattooed shoulder.

I couldn’t be sure of how much time passed before the tranquility was broken by the ringing sound of my cell phone coming from downstairs. I ignored it and continued tracing small circles around Kallie’s tattoo. The ringing stopped, only to begin again a few minutes later.

“You should get that,” Kallie murmured. “It could be Colton calling to check in.”

I groaned in irritation.

“Fine, but don’t move. I’ll be back in a few.”

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I pulled on a pair of boxer briefs and made my way downstairs. It took me a minute to locate the phone because I didn’t remember where I’d left it. When it began to ring again for the third time, I ended up finding it on the floor next to the couch. Still feeling annoyed over having been ripped from Kallie’s arms, I snatched up the phone. My aggravation only grew when I saw Milo’s name lighting up the screen.

“What’s up, Milo?” I briskly answered.

“Sloan, what are you doing on Monday?”

I scratched my head and tried to remember if Kallie had anything lined up for me.

“Ah, I’m not sure. I’ll have to check. Why?”

“Whatever you have going on, cancel it. It turns out Tyler McDermott is going to be out of commission for at least a month. He’s banged up pretty bad—concussion and a few fractured ribs—but he’s expected to make a full recovery.”

“That’s fantastic news,” I said with relief.

“Yeah, well… not for his sponsors. McDermott won’t be cleared in time to race the Motorsports International Legacy League in San Antonio. They’re pushing hard for a replacement driver, opening up a huge opportunity for you.”

“For me?” I asked in confusion.

“Yeah, you. NASCAR was willing to make an exception and allow a replacement driver in a similar situation a while back. The MILL is following their example. Tyler’s car did well in the European circuit, and his sponsors think it could do even better in the U.S. After evaluating the damage, it turns out Tyler suffered more harm than the car did. Mechanics are working around the clock, and the car should be fixed and ready to go within the week. The only thing the sponsors need is someone to drive it. That’s where you come in.”

I froze, fixating on a proverbial carrot dangling just out of my reach. Substitute drivers were a gray area. Technically, the car qualifies—not the driver. Some argued that replacement drivers made sense for racing teams going for owner’s championships. Others said replacement drivers shouldn’t be allowed because it isn’t fair to fellow competitors who fought hard to earn titles all season long. However, all of that stopped mattering for someone like me the moment my doctors labeled me a disabled driver.

“Milo, you know I can’t race.”

“Why? Because of a little hip pain? Come on, man. It’s one race. I can get you what you need to numb the pain. Don’t worry about that.”

I knew Milo’s offer to help me “numb the pain” ultimately meant one thing—prescription oxy. However, oxy didn’t only mask pain with a temporary high. It also slowed the user’s reflexes which could have catastrophic consequences for anyone operating a vehicle, even under normal conditions. Milo obviously didn’t understand that. I may have stupidly popped a few pills when I shouldn’t have, but I’d been aware of how easily someone could become addicted to opioids and recognized the dangers of building a tolerance. I’d been lucky up until this point, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to risk traveling that road again.

“Milo, the entire racing community knows I haven’t been cleared to race.”

“They don’t know shit. For all they know, you took early retirement. Just let me handle the technicalities. This prize money is too big to pass up. All I need to know is if you’re in. If you are, I’ll need you to report to the track at eleven on Monday morning so we can begin practices and prep. You’ll need to get acquainted with a new car and Tyler’s crew, as well as get fitted for new gear and schmooze the sponsors. You know the drill.”

I fell quiet. Milo’s mention of prize money made me pause—not for myself, but Tyler. I recalled what Colton had said about Tyler’s wife, Amy. If I did this and won, I could give the prize money to him, and Amy could get the experimental treatment she needed in Switzerland. However, it was more than just that. Charity aside, I wasn’t a saint. The idea of getting behind the wheel again was more than just appealing—it was like being offered the forbidden fruit I couldn’t refuse. To know I could feel the rumbling of the engine again in just a matter of days was almost too much to wrap my head around.

As I considered Milo’s offer, I began to think about the possibility of pushing through the pain on my own. The occasional painkiller could help if the ache in my hip became too unbearable, just as long as I was sober when I was behind the wheel. I didn’t know if that was even an option because I had yet to try—but that’s what practice was for.

What if I could prove the doctors wrong? Maybe I can race again.

“Let me think about it,” I finally said.

“I need to know by tomorrow.”

“Alright, I’ll call you.”

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