Love In The Fast Lane Part 13

"Hey, Kiddo," she called. "If you have any questions then you come right back and ask me, ok? Don't keep any feelings to yourself."

"Ok," he said absentmindedly.

She started chopping her veggies for that night's supper, deep in thought. This was going to be a shock to Nate. She really hoped she'd done the right thing and that Nate was serious about Noah because if he wasn't, Noah would be crushed. She couldn't stand to see her child disappointed. So unlike any other five-year-old, he was thoughtful and composed and so in tune with what the people around him were feeling. He was so unselfish and deserved to have the same returned to him.

"Momma!!" he shouted from the living room, interrupting her jumbled thoughts. "Come quick!"

She raced to Noah, her heart in her throat thinking of what she'd find. He sat, frozen in place, eyes fixed as he pointed to the TV screen.

She noticed that the news was showing some report of a car accident and it looked grisly. She was about to turn away when she read the caption at the bottom of the screen, "Multi Racecar pile-up for Austin F1". Nate was in Austin.

Brielle watched in horror as the crash was replayed. The news anchor then mentioned Nate's name and Brielle sat down heavily on the sofa beside Noah. Nate was in an accident. Was he ok? Was he even alive? She felt her world spinning.

Noah started to cry. "Is it him, Momma? Is he hurt?"

She knew who he was referring to but she had no idea. Two days ago! Why hadn't anyone called to tell her? Of course, she was no one to Nate. n.o.body knew that he'd fathered her child.

"We have to go to him, Momma," Noah cried, tears streaming down his face.

"Honey, we can't just-"

"PLEASE Momma," his eyes opened wide and he looked so distraught. "He can't leave me yet."

Brielle pulled him in and let the child sob. Her own eyes welled with tears as she felt the pain for her son. Please let Nate be ok," she willed silently.

A minute later the phone rang and she answered it automatically.

"I just saw the news." It was Emma. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah I'm fine, shocked but ok. Noah is taking it badly."

"Noah. Why would he be affected by that?"

"He knows Em. I told him."

"Oh. How did he take it?"

"Like a soldier." She smiled despite the circ.u.mstances, so proud of her stoic little man. "He wants to see Nate."

"I read online that he got transferred to County General. He and one of the other local drivers."

"Do you know how bad he's hurt?"

"The reports just said that he's stable."

"Ok, thanks Em."

"Are you going to take him to the hospital?"

"I don't see that I have a choice. He's inconsolable."

"Ok. Do you need me to come?"

"No, I can manage. But thank you. I will see you tomorrow."

"Take it easy babe, and love to Bucket, ok."

"Ok."

Half an hour later they arrived at County General Hospital. The place was a madhouse with news crew and paparazzi. They entered the ward where Nate was being held but his room was guarded by security that refused to let them in.

"Look, my son just wants to see him."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but no fans allowed. Mr. Wolfe needs his rest." The security officer informed Brielle.

She argued for a few more minutes but it was no use, they wouldn't let her in and Brielle didn't want to leak the secret out that Nate had a child it wasn't her story to tell.

She asked the nurse about his progress but they wouldn't tell her much either. Just that he was alive and stable.

Dejected, they left the hospital and headed home.

By the weekend, Brielle had heard that Nate had been discharged and was settled in at home. She had stealthily obtained his home details and like two crooks, she and Noah sat in her Mazda outside his apartment.

"You ready, Squirt?"

He nodded enthusiastically.

They strolled to the building door and when she pressed the intercom, a woman's voice came across, "h.e.l.lo?"

"Hi, it's Brielle, we are here to see Nate."

"Mr. Wolfe isn't expecting anyone."

"I know, we thought we would surprise him and see how he's doing."

The line went silent for a while.

"We won't be long, promise. Please can you just let him know we are here?"

Another few minutes of silence and Brielle was sure they would be sent away again. To her surprise the large gates buzzed open. They rode the elevator all the way up to the penthouse.

The front door was opened by a housekeeper and when she greeted them, Brielle recognized that she was the voice over the intercom. Why she felt relieved, she had no idea.

Nate sat on a large wraparound sofa, looking worse for wear. His beautiful face was battered and bruised. He had white strips along his hairline and an impressive purple bruise along his right eye and jawline. His arm was in a sling and he had his right foot bandaged and elevated on two pillows at the end of the sofa.

"Hey," he greeted roughly.

"Hey," she parroted, suddenly questioning why she had thought this was a good idea.

"What are you doing here?"

"We came to see you."

Nate looked surprised.

Brielle reached for Noah and was surprised that the boy was suddenly feeling shy and hiding behind her.

"Hey, Noah," Nate greeted, the pain clearly etched on his face.

"Hi, Mr. Wolfe," he said softly.

Oh, her sweet little boy. He was so shy and her heart ached for him.

"How are you feeling?" she asked Nate.

"How do I look?"

"Bad."

"I feel worse."

He didn't seem in a chipper mood but she didn't blame him.

"You ok with us being here? We can go if you need to rest."

"No, it's fine. Come, sit."

They came to sit around him and Noah stuck close to Brielle, seeking his mother's comfort.

"What's wrong, Buddy?" Nate asked him.

Noah didn't answer, just stared at Nate with wide eyes. Nate looked to Brielle questioningly.

"Nate, Noah knows who you are."

Nate still looked confused.

"He knows who you are to him," she continued.

And then the penny dropped. Nate closed his eyes for a few moments and Brielle found her anxiety levels rising. She'd been on edge all week, waiting for this to all be out in the open and hopefully not blow up in her face.

When he opened his green eyes, they were fixed on Noah. "How do you feel about that, Buddy?"

The small child shrugged, his eyes downcast.

"Are you disappointed?"

Noah shook his head no.

"Are you happy?"

He nodded and shrugged at the same time then turned his gaze to meet Nate's. "Does it hurt?"

"No, Buddy, I'm ok," he lied. "Don't be sad, ok?"

The situation was awkward from both sides and Brielle wished she could wave a magic wand and make everything ok.

"What happened out there?" Brielle asked, referring to the accident.

"One of the drivers lost control and rammed a bunch of us. So much worse with F1 cars because of the speed and fuel modifications." Nate looked pained. "My team mate wasn't as lucky as I was... he didn't make it."

"I'm sorry, Nate," she touched his un-bandaged arm. "How bad is the damage?"

"To me or the car?"

"I don't care about your car."

"And you do about me?" he asked sarcastically. She let the comment slide because she knew that the pain must be bad. He pulled himself together then said, "Broke my clavicle and dislocated my shoulder so my arm is useless. And fractured my ankle so there's not much to do but hop around. It's not so bad that it's permanent but it's bad enough that I will miss the rest of the season." And there it was-the reason for his c.r.a.ppy mood. "The doctor said it could have been worse."

"I'm sorry, Nate," she really felt for him and wished she knew how to comfort him but they were still virtually strangers.

"Don't be." He was in a very sour mood.

"Ok well, we will leave you to get some rest."

Nate felt like a complete a.s.shole. Brielle and Noah had come in here to make him feel better but all he did was push them away. He kept thinking of Noah's behavior earlier. He was so withdrawn and quiet, so unlike the happy, excitable child he'd come to know. The truth had done that to him. And as much as he'd denied that he was disappointed, Nate couldn't imagine him being anything but. He had nothing to offer, more so now than ever before. f.u.c.k, he felt like an invalid. He couldn't believe it. The accident kept replaying in his mind, over and over. Driving was all he'd had in life. It was who he was and now he was stuck here like a cripple! He was angry at the doctors. He was angry at the driver who'd lost control. h.e.l.l, he was even angry at his own d.a.m.n body.

Fighting for so many years of his youth for a sense of control, to defeat his inner demons and master the rage and one crash set him off. How could broken bones do this to him?

Nate knew it was more than that. He'd used the speed of racing, the adrenaline rush it brought him, to evade the anger. It was a subst.i.tute for the p.i.s.s-poor life he'd had before he discovered driving. It had been his wall that prevented him from remembering the past. From remembering his father's drunken tirades. At first he'd been a quiet drunk and then he'd become angry. And when he got angry, Nate was the easiest punching bag he could find. And when Nate's mother was diagnosed with stage four cancer, the drinking and anger got worse and then it just stopped because the SOB just up and left. He'd left a fifteen-year-old to care for his terminally ill mother, without so much as a phone call to check in.

Nate had had to get a job to support the two of them and still afford the medical expenses, but an adolescent couldn't get a job that paid enough to cover the best medical care and she had died at home because of it. Nate had felt responsible afterward, feeling he hadn't done enough. He'd been an angry teenager every day since then, picking fights with the biggest bullies, just itching for his fists to smash into something. He'd been angry and hurt and alone every day till the day Michael had found him and given him direction and discipline with driving. He'd been the closest thing to a father-figure that Nate had ever experienced and he'd cleaned up his act because of it.

Now over a decade of calm and dedication to putting his past behind him, was threatening to come apart because of a few fractured elements. Yes, he was p.i.s.sed but he needed to pull his s.h.i.t together. His father was dead, and he'd taken away any chance he'd had of closure with him. He was the reason he was sure he'd fail as a father to Noah and yet he couldn't get closure. No, he'd taken that away from Nate when he'd died and listed him as an emergency contact. And despite all the c.r.a.p he'd suffered because of his father, he'd had to bury the man. He'd had to sit through a funeral and a burial, bubbling over with anger. And he'd used that anger and channelled it into winning the formula one series that year. The same year Noah had been born.

He was jarred away from his thoughts by his buzzing cell phone. He answered absentmindedly without checking the caller ID, "h.e.l.lo."

"Hey, Champ," Michael greeted. "How you hanging?"

"Feeling like a sack of f.u.c.king potatoes right now. One arm and one leg that are just too d.a.m.n useless for their own good."

"You're young, Nathan. You will have more races ahead of you. Take the time to recover. Find a hobby."

"A hobby?" Nate scoffed. "Like what? Knitting? f.u.c.k, I can't even do that right, my arm is so messed up."

"Then address what you're avoiding."

"Yeah, what's that?"