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I laughed. “Not here in this clinical place. Somewhere private and preferably without you wearing panties.”
Her giggle helped me forget the drama unfolding around Ollie for a moment.
“I’d like to drop in and say hi to my mom, so how about I meet you at the dance class in an hour?”
“That would be nice.”
“I’d better go. This is not looking good. Fuck.”
“I’m sure he’ll be okay. He’s young.”
“Mm. Got to go. Bye, beautiful.”
I took a deep breath and rejoined the Thornhills.
“Any news?”
“They still need to do tests,” Aidan said with his arm around his wife.
I touched Clarissa’s hand. “I’m sure Ollie will be okay. He’s strong.”
She bit her lip and nodded as tears poured down her cheeks. My heart ached for her.
I thought of my mother and the pain that Brent had caused her. I’d always been the sensible one, despite the odd crazy decision, which I put down to teenage hormones. Maybe we’d been wired for fighting wars, only in our comfortable billionaire lives, it spelled mindless bravado with the potential to kill.
After leaving the hospital, I slid into my car, and for the first time in three months, I didn’t feel the need to look around for cops. The one piece of good news to arrive that week—my license had been restored.
My foot hovered over the accelerator, about to push down hard, but I paused. My addiction to speed had to end. It was a miracle I hadn’t had an accident, considering the crazy risks I’d taken on the road.
The biggest adrenaline junkie I’d ever met, Brent hadn’t made it to his twenty-eighth birthday. And Ollie, although alive, had lost the use of his legs. It had to be temporary, I kept telling myself. How would he cope otherwise? With that restless energy, Ollie, by his own admission, planned to carve his initials on the moon.
I thought of Sam Chalmer and Aidan Thornhill. We often met on a dusty track at the back of Aidan’s house, where we’d burn rubber, and indulge in the grunt of our Mustangs. I could get my speed addiction out that way, I thought, sitting on the speed limit for once.
I thought of Sam Chalmer and Aidan Thornhill. We often met on a dusty track at the back of Aidan’s house, where we burned rubber and indulged in the grunt of our Mustangs. I could get my speed addiction that way, I thought as I drove the speed limit for once.
