Racer

No, she wouldn’t, because I would walk on water, part oceans, and fucking turn green and three times my size for this girl.

I kiss her eyelids.

"I’m fucking okay. All right?"

She raises her eyes, and bites down on her lip, her eyebrows still joined in a frown of bewildered confusion.

“When were you going to tell me?”

I drink in her features and run my thumb gently down her jawline. “After we won the Grand Prix.” I hold her gaze and will her to know how damn much she means to me. “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you.”

“How were you going to do it?”

I smile and almost fucking laugh, ‘cause that’s how fucked up this is. “Hell, I don’t know. Wine you, dine you, ease you into it. Make you wet for it.” I smirk at my own words, but she doesn’t, and my smile fades.

“I told you about David, Racer,” she says, still disappointed and fuck, I know she opened up. I know she wants me to trust her but this isn’t something you just tell a girl like that. Not the one you want to fall for you.

“This is different, Lana.”

“Why?”

“This is my fucking life,” I growl, seizing her face in one hand and drinking in those bewildered green eyes. “And I want you to be a part of it.”

Those eyes seem to flicker at my words.

“I didn’t want to scare you away,” I tell her, resting my head on hers as I inhale and grit out the rest. “Yes, I have it. I can hurt you, Lana. But I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life.” I fist her hair in my hand and urge her to keep her eyes on mine. “I want you for real, and I know you want me too. It’s all there, Lana. In your eyes. It’s all there for me to see. I’m going to be okay. I’m going to fight to be okay. I’m the son of one of the world’s greatest fighters, I know how to put up a fight, and I’ll never stop putting it up against this.”

A shudder wracks her body, and when she exhales a deep breath, I do too.

She bites down on her lip and looks at me.

“Tell me about it.”

Hell, I don’t like getting into details. This is my Achilles heel after all. I don’t like remembering it’s there and live my life like it’s not.

But she wants to know. And I want to tell her. Be as real as possible with her.

“Some switch goes off in my head—and I’m either feeling immortal or like I want to die that day.”

“Racer,” she breathes, and I want to punch myself for admitting it so blatantly.

I stop her from turning her face away. “Hey,” I command, looking into her eyes. “Yes, I have it, and it can’t be easy to be with me when I do, but I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life the way I want you, crasher.” I fist my hand in her hair and force her to look up at me. “I want you like nothing in my whole goddamned life, and I’d kill myself before I ever deliberately hurt you. Do you understand?”

She nods, her eyes still shining with emotion. “How did you find out?” she asks, lying down on her side on the bed.

I stretch out on my side and look at her, stroking a hand down her bare arm.

We stroke each other for a couple of minutes, and there’s something about feeling her touch me that relaxes me. That calms the worry of her not taking this well.

“My whole life my parents were concerned about me or Iris having it because of my dad. But I was okay; 19 years, and nothing. Then at 20, something happened. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t focus or listen. I felt wired, like I was pounding Red Bulls. The next week, I didn’t come out of my room for days; nothing mattered. Nothing seemed important. Even shit I loved. Even music or food. Hate it most when I feel like that. At 21, I was diagnosed, put on Lithium.”

She’s still stroking my shoulder with the same arm I’m caressing, drinking in my every word.

I clench my jaw and stare up at the ceiling as I roll to my back and force myself to continue. “My dad … it was hard for me to deal. Looking at him.”

“Why? Your dad loves you,” she says, confused as she sits up to look into my eyes.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t what he wanted for me. He has it too.” I sit up and twist my mouth, remembering the day my father learned about me. Worst day of my fucking life and I’m only too happy to never remember it again. “It triggered him. I couldn’t fucking deal with the fact that I was a huge disappointment to my father. That his perfect son turned out to have the one thing he didn’t want him to have.”

She swallows, and I push the memory away.

“It’s hard to live up to your dad’s worst fear. It took me some time on meds to stabilize. To look him in the eye and say I don’t want to be this, but I’ll take it.” I smile at her and tweak her nose, gruffly say, “I’ll make it my bitch.”

She laughs. “Racer!”

I chuckle too, grab her skull and pull her closer. “Hey. Don’t ever worry about me. This bitch is mine.”

“And when it’s not?”

“And when it’s not … I’ve got it. That’s what my meds are for,” I tell her, stroking her cheek.

“Is there any way I can know when you’ve been … triggered?”

“I’ll tell you,” I assure her.

“Promise me?”

I look at her, into her eyes, and see my own worst fear reflected back at me. That one day, someone I love won’t understand this, won’t be able to live with this, bear with me through this, and leave. “It’s not going to be pretty,” I rasp.