Millionaire Crush (Freeman Brothers 3)

All I could think about was Lindsey and how worried I was about her. Even with Nick reassuring me that Grant was never a violent man, I felt uneasy. People did unexpected things when they felt threatened all the time. Just because he had never been violent before didn’t mean he wouldn’t change his ways when backed into a corner. It didn’t even have to be direct violence to Lindsey in order to be a threat. He could damage her car or her business. He could go after her reputation and try to ruin her bar. His mother showing up at her apartment only showed they had no respect for her personal space and could go after her there again.

Checking my phone, I read the updates from Quentin. Nick was there at the bar with him, which I should have expected. He wasn’t going to just stop spending time with Lindsey, especially if I wasn’t there. It was reassuring to know both men were keeping an eye out. Nick and I had already agreed we weren’t going to tell anybody else about what was going on with Lindsey until she was ready to do so herself.

It might have been easier to rally even more of a support system around her if she was open with everybody, but that was her choice to make. Up until now, she was insistent about keeping Remy and conflict with Grant out of general public knowledge. It wasn’t up to us to reveal it to anyone else. At some point, she would be ready, and when she was, we would all be there for her. At least I could be grateful my brothers were willing to do things for each other no questions asked.

The block party went even better than we hoped, and by the time we were wrapping up, all the merchandise had sold out. There were still lines at the beer truck, and the food vendors had already packed up because they’d run out of ingredients. Our fans were ready for the race and buzzing with excitement as they headed for their seats in the stands. I lingered back long enough to make sure the cleanup efforts were underway before going down to the pit.

It was strange being there without Quentin. He was always so enthusiastic and excited at the races. He had gone home from the bar by the time the bikes were taking their last laps. I decided to call him and pull up a video chat so he could at least watch some of the race. Earbuds in to make sure the loud sound of the race didn’t filter out of his phone and disrupt the baby, he watched gleefully.

I was still preoccupied as hell, but the adrenaline rush of the end of the race drew me in. Darren zipped over the line second, and we all cheered and took off to the finish line to celebrate with him. Greg hugged him tight, the emotion on his face obvious. He hated not being out there. The team needed him, and he wanted it for himself. But he needed to heal. If he took his time and put in the work, he would get there. We were hoping to have him back out on the track by the end of the season.

While the crew cleaned up the pit and started packing up the gear, I watched the finish line celebration for Darren. He accepted the silly giant novelty check and the garland of flowers they draped around his neck like a horse. Tonight’s race was just the beginning. There were two more events the next day and a last on Sunday before we headed home. They didn’t all have prize money hanging in the balance, but they were going to be fun. Darren was glad to have snatched some of the pot while he had the chance.

“Where are we going to celebrate?” he asked when the track party was over and everyone started to dissipate.

A couple of the crew members were more familiar with the area than we were and suggested a nearby bar. We all piled into cars and headed over. It felt strange going to a different bar for an after-race celebration. Almost like we were betraying Lindsey’s place. But Darren reassured me she would give us her blessing, as long as we made sure to make it up to the bar when we got back home.

The celebration was fun, but Saturday morning was a reminder of why I hadn’t done much drinking recently. I woke up hungover for the first time in almost a year and didn’t want to move. Eventually, I hit the snooze as many times as I could realistically get away with and sluggishly dragged myself out of bed. A shower cut through some of the fog and woke me up a bit. It was enough to get me to the room service menu so I could order breakfast.