Page 71 of Endurance

Almost reluctantly, Kallie pulled back. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were swollen from our kiss that had been cut short.

“Promise me we’ll finish this later?” she asked.

“I don’t need to promise anything, baby. I can guarantee it.”

“I need to get dressed. I have to be out the door in twenty minutes.”

Reaching around to squeeze her backside, I gave it a light slap before giving her a quick peck on the nose.

“You better hurry then. Kapton is waiting.”

Climbing from the bed, she grabbed her overnight bag and rushed into the bathroom to get ready. I lay back on the bed, suddenly realizing how much I enjoyed having her here. In fact, I didn’t like the idea of hernotbeing here. While we’d barely been together long enough to say we should move in together, I couldn’t help but fantasize about making that a reality one day. When we weren’t lighting the sheets on fire, we’d developed into an easy relationship. Sometimes we would talk long into the night. Other times we didn’t need to speak at all, and I never found those moments of silence to be awkward—it was golden. She knew who she was, what she was, and she owned it. And more importantly—she knew who I was and accepted it.

When Kallie emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, she’d been completely transformed. I sat up, only to feel pain spread through my hip. I winced but pushed down the ache to take a moment to appreciate her. Dressed in a long skirt and an airy peach blouse, she’d pulled her hair back into a rainbow braid. I looked forward to unraveling all of those multicolored locks later.

“Okay, I’m off,” she said as she slipped into a pair of sling-backed heels. “I’m hoping we can wrap this meeting up in a couple of hours. Fingers crossed.”

Coming over to where I sat, she planted a quick kiss on my lips, then hurried out the door. I stayed seated on the bed and watched her leave, needing to be sure she was out of sight before I attempted to move. The shooting pain I’d experienced a moment earlier made me terrified to stand up. I should have gotten into the shower sooner. I mentally kicked myself for getting distracted and giving the joint time to stiffen.

I waited a few minutes until I heard the opening and closing of the front door, then gingerly moved to stand. Instantly, pain like molten fire radiated from my hip.

“Fuck!” I hissed as I took a few steps toward the master bath. My body shook, and I had to grab the doorframe for support. I gripped it so hard, my knuckles turned white as I allowed a few minutes for the pain to subside. Once the tremors settled, I slowly continued until I reached the vanity. Yanking open the drawer, I pulled out the bag Milo had given me that first day at the track. The reason he wanted to see me alone in the sponsor’s box—without Kallie—was because of the contents in the clear plastic Ziplock. Inside, there were fifteen pills of oxycodone.

I recalled Milo’s words as he shoved the bag into my hand.

“I can get more if you need it. All you have to do is ask.”

I shouldn’t have accepted them. I should have thrown the pills in his face instead.

But I didn’t.

Although I wanted to push through this on my own, there was a small part of me that knew I might need them one day—and that day had arrived. With a shaking hand, I unsealed the bag and pulled out a single pill.

I stared at it for what seemed like forever before looking up at my reflection in the mirror. Pain was clearly written across my face, my eyes seeming hollow from the days spent trying to endure it. With the race still four weeks away, I had to do what I had to do. After that, I could take a break and give my body time to heal again. There was no point in suffering this way if I had something readily available to numb the agony. As long as I wasn’t under the influence of the pills when behind the wheel or downing them with a shot of Jack, what difference did it make if I took them? It wasn’t like before when I searched for the pleasant emptiness only the opioid pills and booze could bring. This time, I wasn’t trying to chase a high—I just wanted to douse the excruciating fire in my hip so I could race. It was the only thing that mattered.

Looking back down at the pill nestled in the center of my palm, I brought it to my mouth and placed it on my tongue.

23

Kallie

Over the past three weeks, Sloan and I had settled into an easy routine. Since I was needed at the track for various reasons, I’d chosen to do as much as I could remotely from my laptop rather than work from home. Each morning, we would drive to and from the track together. It had been my idea, suggesting it would be better for the planet if we drove my car since it got better gas mileage, and he had readily agreed. While I always cared about the environmental impact of my choices, this time, it had merely been an excuse. Doing all the driving also meant Sloan didn’t have to drive home after a hard day of practice.

While he practiced with his crew, I would head up to the sponsor’s box and strategize. Never before had I been so devoted to a client. I’d been his shadow, essentially working fifteen to eighteen hours a day ever since he returned to the track. I spent my time working diligently on setting up events to increase public awareness of Sloan’s accomplishments. Carefully-orchestrated press releases and public appearances with Corporate Cares brought positive attention from community leaders, resulting in additional photo ops with prominent members of local society. I worked hand-in-hand with Kapton Motor Oil’s marketing executives to spotlight the Atwood Racing and Kapton brands through various media platforms. And thanks to Colton’s connections, I even managed to get Sloan a guest spot on Jimmy Kimmel the week after the MILL.

Through it all, I somehow managed to avoid Milo. I let him handle the endorsement opportunities flooding in from numerous motorsport products, all vying for Sloan’s face to appear in their commercials. The endorsements were dollar signs, and I’d quickly learned that was all Milo cared about anyway.

The only problem I ran into while working remotely was the interruptions. From the people coming in and out of the sponsor’s box for various reasons to the loud rumbling of the cars on the track, it was hard to concentrate at times. Popping in a set of earbuds tended to drown out most of the noise, but that didn’t always work. The constant distractions often meant I had to write press releases and respond to emails late into the night—much to Sloan’s complaint.

While I hadn’t actually moved into his place, I found myself spending more nights at his house than mine. It seemed to work better with the routine we’d established. It also allowed me to keep a closer eye on Sloan’s physical condition after a day of hard practice—and by the look of his current state when he entered the sponsor’s box where I was working, today had been a tough one.

He smiled as he approached, and I pulled my earbuds from my ears. I studied him, seeing the way he was trying to cover up his limp. He couldn’t fool me. He was hurting again but trying to hide it.

“Hey, Rainbow Brite. Listening to anything good?” He asked, and leaned over to plant a kiss on my forehead.

“Ruelle. How are you feeling?” I asked—just like I had every day since he decided to get back behind the wheel. Before he spoke, I knew what his reply would be.

“I’m feeling great,” he predictably answered.

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