“I love you,” I told him. Those three words seemed the best in combating anything Trent might feel. “It’s not gonna change.”
He wasn’t insecure. He believed me when I told him how much I cared. He wasn’t clingy either. He spent too much time being alone; he knew he’d be fine if he had to do it again.
He just felt so deep, it sometimes hurt him, and I knew without him saying it, I had the ability to ease that pain.
His hazel eyes warmed. “I love you, too.”
A warm early summer breeze blew through the air and ruffled the tips of his hair. Trent’s hand appeared between us, and he opened it up to reveal a small box in the center of his palm.
“Oh, I hope it’s a diamond!” I cracked.
“Shut up and open it, wiseass.”
I lifted the lid to the black velvet box and looked down. In the center was a round charm, one that could be worn on a chain.
“It’s a St. Christopher medal,” he said. “You know, to protect you while you’re driving. Figured it might come in handy during your first season while you’re kicking everyone’s ass.”
I was totally gonna kick ass, just like I did in all the preliminaries. And right there on my bumper was Lorhaven.
“You got me a medal for protection?” I asked, still looking down. It looked like it was made in stainless steel and had the familiar image of St. Christopher in the center. Around the perimeter were the words: Behold St. Christopher and Go Your Way in Safety.
Trent reached into the box and flipped it over. The back was engraved.
Watch Over Drew
“Figured you could add it to the chain you always wear with the speedometer on it,” Trent added.
I blinked down, still staring at it. My finger brushed over the words.
Sometimes it overwhelmed me how much he loved.
How much I loved.
I pulled it out of the box and palmed it. We added it to my chain right then, but instead of tucking it back beneath my shirt, I left it out with the round medal on top.
“I’m never gonna take it off.” I promised.
“That’s the idea.” His fingertips brushed across my jaw.
“I didn’t get you anything,” I murmured, wishing I had.
“You get me something every day just by being in my life.”
“Braeden’s right,” I said. “We’re like a damn Nicholas Sparks movie.”
He laughed.
I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down. He came willingly, the look in his eyes changing from amusement to desire.
“Thank you,” I murmured against his lips, then kissed him.
He kissed me back softly. It was a meeting of the lips, a whisper from the heart. We didn’t kiss as long as I wanted, but we were in a parking lot.
After we made it past the toll booth, I turned onto the main road. “Ivy wants us to stop by the compound.”
“Yeah?” Trent asked. “Now?”
I felt his pain. I was horny as hell. Three days was the longest I’d gone without some form of sex since T and I got together.
“She’s waiting for us.”
He groaned. “Fine. What’s she want to show us this time?”
“I think the kitchen,” I said, shrugging.
The compound was the house Romeo and Braeden decided to build after Nova was born. It was basically just several acres of land all sectioned off by a stone fence (or wall, however you wanted to look at it) with a giant house for the four of them to live in. It was a necessity considering their celebrity status in the state and the fact the press never left them alone.
When T and I told the fam about our plans to get a place once he graduated and they were ready to move into the compound, shit hit the fan.
Another family meeting was called.
They assumed we would be moving in with them.
Six people plus a baby under one roof? Didn’t anyone want any privacy?
The house they were building was big, big enough that everyone had their own wing. Trent and I didn’t want that, though. We liked to live in our own little bubble as much as we could.
But we did love the family, and honestly, I wanted Trent to have them nearby. He spent too much of his life alone already. It was time he had what he always deserved.
The solution was to build a place of our own on the property, within the walls of the compound. It was kinda perfect really. The press didn’t exactly leave T and me alone either.
We’d sort of become a hot topic in magazines and papers. The press loved any shot they could get of us together, added bonus points if we were touching.
Mostly, we were accepted by the racing world. The fact we were part of a “no rules” division of underdogs was exactly as everyone hoped. It worked in our favor.
Of course, we got the hate. We got the comments, the nasty emails, and occasionally, we got hassled in public. That never ended well. Trent didn’t take kindly to anyone approaching us.
Especially me.
The last time I had some words with an abusive photographer, the guy got too close and Trent knocked him out.