Off the Grid (Full Throttle, #1)

by K. Bromberg

If I’m ever in an accident, watch my hands, son. If they’re moving, that means I’m okay. They’re not moving. I stare at them. Waiting for them to move. Then the fire erupts. Then my world changes forever.

I could tell you a thousand times how proud I am of you, but it will never quantify just how much.”

This circuit runs solely on money. And when you don’t have it, it’s nearly impossible to win.

Love because, how can I fucking not? Hate because, I can have all the talent in the goddamn world, but it’s hard to be seen when you have subpar shit—cars, engines, support.

“It appears that way, but the press is still our friend,” she says and pats me on the shoulder. Fuck, do I know it. They can make or break you. And while I’ve fucked up plenty during my tenure, I know who butters my bread. The team. The press. The fans. Social media.

“But hey, we all can’t be good at everything, right?” I say with a shrug and a fuck you smile. “Lose my number.”

“Maybe you proved something to me last night.” “Like?” “Like I can trust you.”

“There are two things I want, Cami. The one you mentioned—keeping a ride in F1—but I can do that myself.” “The other?” My nerves skitter through every part of me. I need to leave. I can’t— “Camilla. Look at me.” He waits for my eyes to flutter up to his, and the serious expression in his eyes shocks me. “You. You’re the other thing I want.”

How did I think she wasn’t my type? Baggy clothes. Some clothes. No clothes. The woman is downright sexy as sin. “Please tell me you’re not asking me to fuck you in the paddock?”

“Elise, a man can tear you down quicker than shit, but only you can put the work in to feel better about yourself.”

Why is his hand fucking shaking? Why does he look like he’s . . . vibrating? He’s stressed, I get that, but— My dad was going through some health scares. That’s when I started flipping through the evidence. Camilla helping him in the conference room that day. His tendency to have his hands in his pockets to steady him. The cane he occasionally uses. The tremors that were slight but that I shrugged off. How did I not string the signs together? Just like my dad’s favorite actor and my mum’s Hollywood crush, Michael J. Fox, Carlo Moretti has Parkinson’s.

“Let’s stop playing this game, Gasket.” “What game?” “The no-strings one. I’m in love with you. Can’t you see that?

You’re it for me, Camilla. The kind of it I never expected, I never wanted. I thought love was for weak men and saps. I’ll be the first to admit I was wrong. Hands down. Head over heels wrong. You drive me crazy but fuck if that madness doesn’t make me love you more. You challenge me. You make me the kind of man who would give up his dream because it’s the right thing to do. And that’s fucking saying a lot. Because I would. I did. And I’d do it a million times over if that’s what you needed, because I’m in fucking love with you.”

“We’re a fucked-up pair, but my broken makes you whole. Your broken has made me whole. Now it’s time to let those breaks heal. For the scars to fade like nothing ever was.”