"Rob Tracy called me,” Hudson said.
Wyatt’s head shot up at that. “What the hell did he want?”
“He’s concerned. Said it was mandatory that you see a sports psychologist after Diego died. He said you left halfway through your session. Rob told me that’s why he hasn’t cleared you to race.”
“Rob Tracy should keep his mouth shut. My personal situation isn’t any of your concern.”
“You’re wrong about that.” Hudson looked angry. “I don’t care if you’re ten, twenty, thirty, or one hundred years old. You’ll always be my little brother. And I’ll always look out for you.”
Wyatt made a sound of frustration. “Hudson, just leave this alone. I’ll be back to racing before you know it.”
“Not according to Rob.”
“Sorry to point this out, brother, but when it comes to the world of racing, you don’t know shit.”
“Then fill me in.”
“If Tracy doesn’t clear me to drive soon, Stu Randall, the owner and the guy who signs my paychecks, will. Denver Gilroy hasn’t placed in the top five since I’ve been gone. Rob Tracy has a hornet up his butt because I didn’t do things his way. Because I won’t listen to his bullshit. I don’t need to talk to some stranger about my feelings. Diego died. It was tragic and sad as hell, but it’s part of the job. Every time we get on that track, there’s the possibility of getting hit with bad mojo. It’s the nature of the beast. Stu will get sick of losing, and I’ll get the call.”
Wyatt had to take a moment, because there was a fire in his gut and it was spreading. He hadn’t come here to fight. Hell, he’d come here to do something good. Something that had nothing to do with racing.
“Hudson, let’s drop it.”
His brother must have known he was waging a losing battle, because
he gave up on the racing thing and dug in on something else entirely.
“What’s this I hear about you and Regan Thorne?”
Christ. He should have skipped out as soon as he was done eating. He sighed and shook his head. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”
Hudson frowned. “I’m just a little surprised is all. She’s not exactly the type you’ve been known to hook up with.”
Annoyed with his brother’s attitude, Wyatt shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. It was either that or hit something. And the problem with hitting Hudson? He would hit back.
“Didn’t know I had a type.”
“Oh yeah.” Hudson nodded. “You do. Tall. Blonde. Big tits and no brains.”
“That’s pretty generic.”
“Up until recently, you were pretty generic about the women you dated.”
“A guy can change.”
“True.” Hudson followed him back to the foyer. “But usually there’s a reason. And while Regan Thorne is one hell of a reason to change, I don’t get you and her. I thought she hated your guts.”
Wyatt reached for his coat. “Hate is a pretty strong word.” He zipped up and shoved his feet into his boots, not liking the way Hudson was looking at him. His gaze was piercing and thoughtful, and just like that damn eye in The Two Towers, it was all-seeing.
“What?” he asked casually, slipping on his thermal gloves.
“She’s the real deal, Wyatt.”
“Jesus, Hudsy. You sound like a wuss.”
“I’m not joking.”
“I can tell.”