Millionaire Daddy (Freeman Brothers 2)

“I’ll be up there in a minute,” I told him and hung up.

When I got back into Greg’s room, he was eyeing the Jell-O cup the nurses brought him like he thought it might be alive. He finally took hold of it and poked it with his spoon, watching it jiggle.

“You’ll probably be getting much better food when your mom gets here,” I said.

“I hope so,” he told me. “She hasn’t cooked for me in a long time.”

“I’m relieved to find out she’s coming and will be able to be there to take care of you while you’re trying to piece yourself back together. I was looking around to find somebody to hire for you,” I told him.

Greg blushed and got very invested in his Jell-O again.

“You don’t need to do that,” he said. “You shouldn’t be worrying about me like that.”

“Of course I’m worried about you. We all are. We want to make sure you get back to fighting form as soon as possible. You’re going to be dealing with that bum leg for a bit, so you need someone to help you out. It’s good to hear your mama will be around to help you,” I told her. “Just let us know if there’s anything you need while you’re out. Of course, you’ll be getting paid, and if we can help you at all, we want to.”

Greg seemed touched by the statement, and possibly a little overwhelmed. I decided to give him some space and finally left the hospital when we got word his mother was getting close and would be arriving soon.

Monday morning, I called Quentin to let him know I might be late getting to the complex and headed over to Greg’s house. His mother opened the door with a bright smile. She looked just like I would have expected Greg’s mother to look—a small, feminine, slightly older version of him. She gestured for me to follow her and brought me into the living room where Greg was sitting on the couch, his leg propped up. He grinned when he saw me.

“Look at you,” I said. “Out in the real world.”

“Yeah. Thank goodness they didn’t have to do any surgery. It will take some time to get healed, but it won’t be as bad a recovery as it would have been if they had to put metal in there,” Greg said.

“I’m going to make breakfast,” his mother announced and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Have a seat,” Greg said.

I settled into a chair positioned near the end of the couch, and we started talking. It was good to have the chance to connect with him away from everybody else, away from the pressures of the complex. Even away from the hospital. Here in his home he could just relax, and we were able to have a good conversation. We talked about how the race ended, and what I was going to do next time.

Our conversation had shifted over to the next round of customized bikes we were working on when Greg’s mother came into the room with two plates overflowing with food.

“Thank you so much,” I said, accepting the surprise meal. “Wow. Maybe I won’t mind having Greg laid up for a while as much as I thought.”

She smiled at the teasing, but Greg looked slightly guilty again. As soon as his mother left the room, he turned to me.

“I’m really sorry to put the team in a lurch,” he said.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, and you didn’t put us in a lurch.”

“Of course I did. The team has planned for the season to have two racers, and now it’s down to just you. I promise I will find a replacement to step in for me until I’m back on my feet. Someone who can take my place for the races I miss.”

I wasn’t too sure about that offer. As much as I understood how he was feeling and appreciated him trying to do whatever he could to minimize the negative impact his crash and injuries had on the rest of the team, I didn’t particularly like the idea of a different person just walking on to the team. I’d known Greg for a long time before I’d even considered having him race for us. It took watching him work on the bikes, practicing with him on the practice track at the complex, then putting him through training and trials before I agreed to recommend Quentin put him in his first race.

The idea was still tossing around in my head when I left Greg’s house and headed for the compound. Along the way I stopped at one of my favorite bakeries and bought three large boxes of pastries. Mom’s baking had taken a savory turn recently, and though I always enjoyed what she made, a spinach and feta puff didn’t stand in the place of a raspberry jelly-filled donut or a ganache-covered eclair. There was definitely a place in the world for the rich, buttery, cheesy things that kept cranking out of the kitchen and filling little bags Mom placed on our desks during the day. But that place wasn’t today. Days like today, when everyone was still going to be upset about what happened at the race the night before and shaken up worried about Greg and his recovery. Days when everyone’s minds would be on trying to figure out once and for all what went wrong and how to prevent it from happening again. Those kinds of days deserved chocolate.