Aflame (Fall Away #4)(77)

After the ceremony, Madoc slapped me on the shoulder as we all trailed toward the cars. “I’ll lead,” he instructed, meaning what, I didn’t know.

We had a lot of cars between us all, but I saw no reason to make a parade.

But whatever.

Climbing in the black limo behind Tate, I closed the door and instructed the driver to follow the GTO. He then closed the privacy glass, and I wasted no time hauling Tate into my lap.

I bunched up the dress to allow her legs to straddle me, and the poor girl sank into a cloud like it was a patch of quicksand. I saw just her face.

“I really love this dress”—I slid my hands up her silky thighs—“but it’s a pain in the ass.”

I took her hips in my hands and pulled her in for a kiss, not caring that she was messing up my hair, which my mother had made me style to perfection today.

The limo took off, following the GTO and trailed by everyone else.

“Our wedding turned me on,” I admitted, slipping my hand inside her underwear. “Will you let me get to third base right now?” I teased.

She nuzzled into my neck, kissing and playing, and—I closed my eyes, groaning—f*ck dinner. We needed a room.

But horns sounded outside, and Tate sat up, peering out the window.

“What the hell?” she breathed out, sliding off my lap.

I winced, my cock stretching painfully against my pants.

Looking out the window, I immediately rolled it down, seeing the city street littered with all of our friends. All of them not invited to the ceremony, because it was family only.

What? Horns honked, people whistled, and I even noticed a few of Tate’s old track teammates clapping.

Although it was a surprise, it was kind of touching to see the people we’d grown up with sharing this.

“Oh, he did not . . . ,” Tate seethed, thinking the exact same thing I was.

Madoc.

He’d told everybody.

And speak of the devil. I leaned out the window, seeing that Madoc had done a U-turn and cruised past us, grinning from ear to ear.

“I lied,” he admitted, all too proud of himself. “Huge f*cking party at my house.” And he sped off laughing.

Tate’s wide eyes met mine, and she shook her head, amazed.

All of these people were going to be there, apparently.

I rolled up the window, and Tate slid back onto my lap, sighing.

“He’s got rooms,” she taunted over my mouth, looking at the bright side. “Lots of rooms for us to get lost in.”

And I leaned up, grabbing her lips with mine as I shucked off my jacket. “Who needs a room?”





Chapter 19


Tate

One Year Later

“You need to relax,” Pasha scolded, standing next to me. “It’s his last race, so stop fussing.”

I craned my neck while fidgeting with my hands, seeing Jared weave around all the twists and turns, and I really hated how his bike always looked like it was about to tip over when he leaned into a curve.

“I can’t,” I choked out, sticking my thumbnail in my mouth. “I hate it when he’s out there.”

All of us stood off to the side—Pasha, Madoc, Jax, Juliet, Fallon, and me—lucky enough in not having to stay in the bleachers with the crowd, but unfortunately, we didn’t have as great a view, either. Jared’s mom and stepdad were up there, and Addie, Madoc’s housekeeper, was back at the hotel with Quinn and Hawke, Jax and Juliet’s infant son. The speedway in Anaheim was packed with fans wanting to see Jared’s last race, and although he was going to miss racing, we decided he needed to focus his full attention on the business, JT Racing.

He’d made good connections during his time here, and while I finished medical school—when I finished—he had every confidence that we’d be able to take the business back home and his clients with us.

“And it could be a bad one if he has to worry about you worrying,” Pasha complained. “Let him enjoy it.”

I tried to, but racing on the bikes always put me on edge. At least the car offered some sort of protection. Like armor. Biking wasn’t like that, and racers fell into two groups: those who had been in accidents and those who would be in accidents.

It was only a matter of time. Which is why I was ecstatic that Jared was retiring.

“I’m fine,” I lied. “I just feel sick.”

Fallon came over and wrapped an arm around my shoulder, trying to soothe me.

“Beer, please!” Pasha shouted into the stands, and I looked to see her going over to one of the guys selling in the bleachers. “Want one?” she asked, looking back at us.

“Water,” I shot back. “Thank you.”

She brought back the drinks, and the motorcycles whipped past us, the high-pitched whir buzzing in my ears as my hair went flying.

I couldn’t look.

“And you know”—I continued talking to Pasha—“as well as I do that he’ll jump in for a sporadic race here and there. He’s still so young. He’ll want to do this again.”

“You both are coming home next week, right?” Jax asked, looking away from the race at me.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “We’re driving. We should be in by Thursday.”

It was summer break, and although I had lots to do to get ahead for my classes, we were excited to head home and relax with our family and friends.