You Drive Me Crazy (The Blackwells of Crystal Lake 2)

set and concerned.

“His boss, Rob Tracy, called me because Wyatt had walked out on a mandatory evaluation with a sports therapist or psychologist or whatever the hell you call them. This therapist recommended to Tracy that Wyatt be suspended from driving until he’d completed at least a full session. According to this guy, the crash triggered something in Wyatt. He admitted to nightmares and trouble sleeping. It’s not just because of Diego. I know it’s deeper than that.”

Regan slowly nodded. “Because of what happened with his mother?”

“You know he was in the car with her when the accident happened, right?”

“Yes. He told me a little bit about it.”

Hudson blew out a long breath. “It was a drunk driver. She was on the road that day, heading out to meet someone, and Wyatt just happened to be with her. I know she was alive after the initial hit. I know he crawled from the backseat, his little body broken … I don’t know how he did it. He’d sustained substantial injuries himself. My little brother held our dying mother until the ambulance arrived.”

Hudson swore and ran his hands through his hair, still so affected after all these years. “Things were bad after that. Wyatt was in the hospital for a long time. Dad was…well, he was never the same, and he made things difficult for all of us.”

Chest tight, she thought back to their conversation. Of how John had forced him to drive. And of how he’d found some sort of peace on the track.

“I’m worried about him. I don’t think he should be driving. I don’t think he has the focus he needs to compete at that level. He needs more time.”

“Hudson, I’m not well-versed in psychology, even though it was part of my studies. I can’t say for sure either way, but when he meets this sports psychologist again, this man might be able to shed some light on things.”

“That’s the problem. He’s not meeting with this guy again. He’s racing next weekend at Daytona.”

“I…” Shocked, she could only stare at Hudson. “When? He never said anything to me.” She thought of their morning. Everything about it had been amazing. Hell, if she heard birds singing all day, it would have been because her morning had been Disney perfect.

Hudson sighed. “The owner came to see him this morning. Stu Randall isn’t as concerned about Wyatt’s mental health. He wants to win this race, and he wants Wyatt behind the wheel.”

Hudson stopped pacing. He walked to her desk and placed each of his hands there. She saw the worry close up. The anguish and uncertainty.

“You need to stop him.”

“Me?” Regan shook her head. “I don’t know what difference I can make.” She made a noise and closed her eyes. “He’s Wyatt. He’ll always do what he wants to do.”

“He’s changed, Regan. Since he’s been with you, he’s changed.” Hudson pushed away from the desk, and for a long time, there was only silence. It rang in her ears so heavily, it was loud.

“Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe Rob Tracy got it wrong too. But the thing that makes me nervous is the fact that for the last six weeks, he’s been here. He hasn’t been fighting to get back on that track. Now, I don’t know what that says, but it sure as hell says something. I just… I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Regan. He can’t drive at Daytona. You need to make him see that. I tried this morning, but he wouldn’t listen. I think he might listen to you.”

Regan slowly got to her feet, still holding on to that damn pen and paper.

“And if he doesn’t? If he tells me to go to hell and mind my own business? What then? He’ll feel like we ganged up on him. He’ll feel betrayed.”

“I’m willing to take that chance if it keeps him away from Daytona.” He paused, his tone frank. “I guess the question is, are you?”

Chapter 27

Wyatt rolled into the Coach House around five o’clock, looking for Jarret. He’d been pissed off since Hudson had stopped by in the morning, and now Wyatt needed a beer and someone who was on his side. When Jarret had sent him a text message asking for a meet-up, he’d agreed right away.

His pal wasn’t there, so he sat his butt down at the bar, and Tiny, the massive bartender, made his way over.

“What can I get you?”

“Draft.”

The place was mostly empty, but he supposed this time of day, it was the norm. He accepted the cold mug from Tiny and took a good, long draw. His cell phone buzzed, and he pulled it from his pocket with a frown when he saw the caller ID. John Blackwell.

Christ. He didn’t have it in him to get into it with John. Not tonight. Especially if Hudson had gone to their father and told him about Daytona. He was ready. He could do this. He didn’t need some pussy shrink to tell him whether or not he could get behind the wheel.

He didn’t need this crap. He still had to figure out how to tell Regan he was leaving. Had to figure out what that meant. More importantly, he needed to know where her head was at. He’d never been so nervous about a conversation as he was right now. He had to get it right. No way did he want a repeat of the shit show from this morning.

“Damn you, Hudson.”