#Rev (GearShark #2) (33 page)

GS:
You could have kept your relationship a secret.

DF:

You just heard Trent say he sometimes feels like he isn’t good enough. I love him. I can’t help loving him. Would we have chosen this? Maybe not, but there isn’t a choice here. It’s him. I would never put him in the shadows and treat him like he was a dirty secret. He’s not. If people want to think lesser of me because I love someone, then maybe I don’t need them in my life.

TM:
Since coming out with our relationship, we’ve met a few others who have been struggling with the same kind of thing. Everything I do is for Drew, but this is for those people, too. Like I said, sometimes we need someone—anyone—to come forward and make being different okay. Drew and I are in a unique position because of the division. Thanks to Ron Gamble, Drew has the ability to kick ass on the track and prove he doesn’t have to follow the rules to do it.

GS:
I think you have that ability, too. You’re both easy role models.

TM:
No. We’re men. We’re human just like everyone else. We just want to live our life and not hide.

GS:
What would you say to all the haters out there?

TM:
I don’t have anything to say to them.

DF:
I have something to say.

GS:
Okay, what?

DF:
Don’t be an ass about it.

Can I say ass?

GS:
So what you’re really saying is not everyone has to like your life choices, but you don’t want to hear their opinion?

DF:
Well, if you want to be all politically correct about it.

GS:

I can see what you mean about him being a handful.

TM:
I think I deserve a raise.

GS:
Is it hard to balance all the roles you have in each other’s lives? Friends, co-workers, and romantically involved?

TM and DF:
No.

GS:
I don’t know if it makes a difference, but for the record, everyone here at
GearShark
supports you both.

TM:
It makes a difference. Even just one person can make a difference.

GS:
So what else can you tell us about the new division?

TM:
Preliminary races start next month. There has been a huge turnout and interest, so we expect to see a completely full track when season one starts. More specifically, Drew has signed two endorsement deals with major corporations.

GS:
Which are?

TM:
We’re going to let those businesses be the ones to announce first. After all, it is their contract.

GS:
Drew, what about the rivalry with fellow driver Lorhaven?

DF:
As we agreed, we’re keeping that rivalry on the track. You’ll definitely be seeing him, though. He’s picked up a sponsor.

GS:
Does he know about your relationship?

TM:
Yes. He supports us.

GS:
Rivals become friends, perhaps?

TM:
Perhaps.

GS:
Before I wrap this interview, I was hoping you could each tell me one thing on your bucket list.

GS:
So what’s next for you both?

TM:
Hopefully, a championship trophy for Drew.

GS:
And for you?

TM:
Happiness.

I think these guys deserve happiness. Don’t you?

Trent

I used to wonder what I did to deserve the life I had.

I wondered why I was being punished.

Deep down, I wasn’t really happy.

Now I wondered how I got so goddamned lucky.

I realized everything I ever felt and went through was to bring me here.

To Drew.

To who I really was.

Deep down, I knew true happiness.

Several months later…

Drew

The airport was bustling with busy people and the sound of beeping golf carts as they sped past. Not my favorite sound.

Three days was too long, too long to go without seeing my person.

I was attached to his face. To seeing his eyes first thing in the morning and hearing his throaty growl when I slid under the covers and took him into my mouth.

French fries didn’t even taste the same when he was gone.

A group of passengers starting filing out of the security point, and I searched their faces, anxious for a glimpse of the one I wanted to see. The more people that came out and the more that weren’t him the more impatient I grew.

Finally, I caught a glimpse of sandy-colored hair and a snippet of a wide shoulder. Adrenaline spiked in my bloodstream and relief poured into my chest.

He glanced up at the exact moment I did, as if our eyes were two magnets with an intense pull. He smiled wide, and I bounced from foot to foot, waiting for him to get his ass over here.

The second he was within arm’s distance, his duffle hit the ground at my feet and we reached out at the same time. It wasn’t a quick embrace. I’d waited what felt like endless hours for the feel of his chest against mine. His arms were my favorite place to be, and I didn’t care who was uncomfortable at the sight of two grown men embracing in the middle of the airport, because I needed the feel of him like I needed oxygen in my lungs.

The softness of his shirt was welcome against my forehead when I pressed it against his shoulder. The tips of his fingers dug into my sides, and I felt the brush of his lips along the side of my hairline.

“I kinda fucking missed you, Forrester,” he murmured.

“I’m not doing this again, frat boy.” I vowed, and I truly meant it. The next time he had to travel for work, I was going, too.

“C’mon,” he said, releasing me and tossing his bag over his shoulder. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

We held hands through the crowds; we held hands almost everywhere we went these days.

Some people stared. Some people made faces. A few made lewd comments.

Some people smiled.

Sometimes it still bothered me, but most of the time, I felt sorry. Sorry for the people who were so closed off about everything that they would never get to experience the kind of love I felt with Trent.

The best days, though, were when no one even noticed at all. As if two people in love weren’t anything to even notice, as if it were a natural occurrence.

Maybe someday it would be like that always.

“So,” I asked as we headed out into the warm sunshine, “how was your first official business trip for the NRR?”

The NRR was what the division settled on as a name. New Revolution Racing. I liked it; it fit. After Trent’s article and cover ran, the word
revolution
took on a life of its own in the indie community.

We were a revolution on many fronts, and the new division was taking over, the popularity of the “new” sport even more than Gamble anticipated. The preliminaries were huge, the competition was fierce, and with the actual racing season about to begin, I knew it was only going to get bigger.

Trent’s passion and smarts for business and finance earned him a job offer from Gamble himself. He was now employed by the NRR and handled a lot of the financials but also some of the business side of the division. When Gamble first offered him the position, he was skeptical for two reasons:

1.) He didn’t want the job because of who he knew. He wanted it because he deserved it.

and

2.) He still wanted to be my manager.

I told him the only way he could prove he deserved the job was to take it and do it well. So he accepted on the condition he still be allowed to manage my career and be at all my races.

Gamble accepted because, after all, I was just another extension of the racing and one of his investments. What was good for me was also good for him.

Gamble wasn’t the only owner of the NRR; it was too big for just one man to own. Now there were three different investors, and they all had a vote in how it was run, so technically, Trent wasn’t working for Gamble, but for a corporation Gamble partly owned.

I didn’t care really. I just wanted T to be happy, and it seemed like he was.

“It was good,” he answered, throwing an arm around my neck as we entered the short-term lot where I’d parked the Fastback. “Busy, but good. I’m excited about this season.”

“Me, too,” I said. “But no more business trips without me. If you can travel to all my races, then I can travel to all your meetings.”

“I can live with that.”

At the car, he didn’t get in. Instead, his duffle hit the hood and the sound of the zipper brought up my head.

“What the hell are you doing, frat boy?”

“I got you something.” He grinned.

“Yeah?” I abandoned the door and came back around.

Nodding, he reached inside his bag and pulled out what looked like a rolled-up T-shirt. It was gray, and he held it out.

I took it and let it unravel, shook it out, and held it up. Laughter bubbled up as I stared at the front. It was a vintage-looking tee, and in the center was the huge label for Heinz ketchup.

I lowered it enough so I could look at Trent. He was smiling wide. “You had to have it.”

I tossed the fabric on the hood and ripped the T-shirt I was wearing right over my head in the center of the lot. Trent ripped the tag off the new shirt and handed it over, and I slid it home.

“Looks good.” T nodded.

“You owed me a new favorite shirt anyway,” I said, taking in my old favorite shirt, which was stretched across his chest.

“I got you something else,” he said, reaching back in the bag.

“How the hell did you have time for shopping? I thought you were working.”

He shrugged. “I missed you.”

Sometimes, Trent’s voice still dropped with vulnerability. Sometimes, I still heard the hesitation when he expressed his deepest feelings.

I walked around the hood where he stood and squeezed between him and the front fender. My ass hit the car, and I spread my legs to make room for him to step close.

I didn’t care we were in the parking lot at a busy airport. All I cared about was making sure the vulnerability that sometimes haunted him was put back in its place.

“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.

So yeah, walls around our private residence were a good thing.

We could afford it because I got a fat paycheck from Gamble for the season. Then I got a bonus because I won so many preliminaries. If I made it to the championship race at the end of season one, there was quite a paycheck waiting at the finish line.

At first, Trent wasn’t too keen on me slapping down the money to build us a place. But it wasn’t as if he didn’t bring in income. He did. He got paid for managing my deals and he got paid well for his job with NRR.

We definitely weren’t rolling as deep as Romeo, but money wasn’t necessarily an issue.