But if he took her, made love to her, kept her in his life it would ruin everything, at least complicate everything for Gabby. Because relationships ended. Love affairs didn’t last forever. And then how would he explain the fallout to Gabriela?
He couldn’t. She wouldn’t understand. Gabby was just a child and she doted on Sam, depended on Sam, and Sam was just as devoted to Gabby.
No. Desire—attraction—stopped here. Sam was right. Gabby had to be put first. Gabby couldn’t be hurt, not by the adults she trusted, not by those who’d sworn to love her, protect her.
And he did love Gabby. He loved her dearly. And he’d been fighting for her for years, since the night of the accident when the two formula one cars slammed together in balls of red fire.
He could see it all again. It never left his mind, playing and replaying in exquisite slow motion.
And slow, slow the car came up on his right to overtake him and there, ahead of him, was his teammate’s car, and Cristiano did what any aggressive ruthless driver would do. He blocked for his teammate, for his teammate’s win.
But the driver on his right was even more aggressive and cut left, and then right, and somehow lost control, careening out of control.
And that was how it always began, the slow motion movie rolling in Cristiano’s head, the car from the other team slamming into Cristiano’s teammate and then sliding back toward Cristiano’s car.
When you race, you travel at speeds beyond belief. Speed that’s like flying.
There’s no time to do anything. You can’t prepare. Not even react.
It just happens before your eyes.
Slow, slow, a movie one never forgets.
Cristiano’s teammate slams into the wall after being hit by the careening car and Cristiano, trapped by flying debris, can only go forward into his teammate’s car. Into the car he’d been trying to protect, a car already in pieces.
It was his teammate—his father—one and the same.
And that’s where it all ends and all begins.
The fire everywhere. Cristiano couldn’t see—guided only by the smell of burning petrol and exploding flames. The only reason he survived was because God, or an angel somewhere, plucked him from the fiery inferno and willed him to live.
The first thing Cristiano knew on awakening at the hospital forty-eight hours later was that his father was dead.
The second was that his legs had been crushed and burned so badly he’d never walk again.
The third was Mercedes at the hospital weeping and screaming, How in God’s name can I have this baby now?
Cristiano learned to walk again because a baby waited, needing a father.
He even learned to drive again because somewhere there was a baby Bartolo who’d need a strong man in his or her life, a man who wouldn’t quit and wouldn’t complain and would always believe that good prevailed.
Cristiano breathed deep, held the air in his chest and silently mocked himself. Don’t cry, you bastard. You’re a man, you can’t cry.
But God, the pain. The memories. The regrets.
And to think that Gabby, who was the good, should suffer again was the worst injustice of it all. For God’s sake, she’d already lost her mother, had an ass of a stepfather. How could he not do everything in his power to make Gabriela happy?
To make her life complete?
Santo Cielo, he’d do anything, absolutely anything for her.
The cottage door opened and Sam stepped out. She’d bundled up in one of the wool coats from the cottage closet. “Hey.”
He nodded, features hardening, hiding all that he felt. He was so good at disguising what he felt.
“Do you mind company?” she asked, clapping her hands together and blowing on her fingers.
“You’ll freeze.”
“You haven’t.” Her blue eyes flashed up at him. “And you’re not even wearing a coat.”
“I’m a man.”
She laughed, bless her, and he almost smiled. “That’s funny?” he asked.
“Just when you say it.” She glanced up, looked at the icicles above their heads, and reached up to try to break one off but couldn’t. “So when are you going to tell her?” Sam asked, and her wide blue eyes, cornflower-blue, stunning blue, pierced him. “About Johann, and you and school…”