#Rev (GearShark #2)(94)

2.) He still wanted to be my manager.

I told him the only way he could prove he deserved the job was to take it and do it well. So he accepted on the condition he still be allowed to manage my career and be at all my races.

Gamble accepted because, after all, I was just another extension of the racing and one of his investments. What was good for me was also good for him.

Gamble wasn’t the only owner of the NRR; it was too big for just one man to own. Now there were three different investors, and they all had a vote in how it was run, so technically, Trent wasn’t working for Gamble, but for a corporation Gamble partly owned.

I didn’t care really. I just wanted T to be happy, and it seemed like he was.

“It was good,” he answered, throwing an arm around my neck as we entered the short-term lot where I’d parked the Fastback. “Busy, but good. I’m excited about this season.”

“Me, too,” I said. “But no more business trips without me. If you can travel to all my races, then I can travel to all your meetings.”

“I can live with that.”

At the car, he didn’t get in. Instead, his duffle hit the hood and the sound of the zipper brought up my head.

“What the hell are you doing, frat boy?”

“I got you something.” He grinned.

“Yeah?” I abandoned the door and came back around.

Nodding, he reached inside his bag and pulled out what looked like a rolled-up T-shirt. It was gray, and he held it out.

I took it and let it unravel, shook it out, and held it up. Laughter bubbled up as I stared at the front. It was a vintage-looking tee, and in the center was the huge label for Heinz ketchup.

I lowered it enough so I could look at Trent. He was smiling wide. “You had to have it.”

I tossed the fabric on the hood and ripped the T-shirt I was wearing right over my head in the center of the lot. Trent ripped the tag off the new shirt and handed it over, and I slid it home.

“Looks good.” T nodded.

“You owed me a new favorite shirt anyway,” I said, taking in my old favorite shirt, which was stretched across his chest.

“I got you something else,” he said, reaching back in the bag.

“How the hell did you have time for shopping? I thought you were working.”

He shrugged. “I missed you.”

Sometimes, Trent’s voice still dropped with vulnerability. Sometimes, I still heard the hesitation when he expressed his deepest feelings.

I walked around the hood where he stood and squeezed between him and the front fender. My ass hit the car, and I spread my legs to make room for him to step close.

I didn’t care we were in the parking lot at a busy airport. All I cared about was making sure the vulnerability that sometimes haunted him was put back in its place.

“I love you,” I told him. Those three words seemed the best in combating anything Trent might feel. “It’s not gonna change.”

He wasn’t insecure. He believed me when I told him how much I cared. He wasn’t clingy either. He spent too much time being alone; he knew he’d be fine if he had to do it again.

He just felt so deep, it sometimes hurt him, and I knew without him saying it, I had the ability to ease that pain.

His hazel eyes warmed. “I love you, too.”

A warm early summer breeze blew through the air and ruffled the tips of his hair. Trent’s hand appeared between us, and he opened it up to reveal a small box in the center of his palm.

“Oh, I hope it’s a diamond!” I cracked.

“Shut up and open it, wiseass.”

I lifted the lid to the black velvet box and looked down. In the center was a round charm, one that could be worn on a chain.

“It’s a St. Christopher medal,” he said. “You know, to protect you while you’re driving. Figured it might come in handy during your first season while you’re kicking everyone’s ass.”

I was totally gonna kick ass, just like I did in all the preliminaries. And right there on my bumper was Lorhaven.

“You got me a medal for protection?” I asked, still looking down. It looked like it was made in stainless steel and had the familiar image of St. Christopher in the center. Around the perimeter were the words: Behold St. Christopher and Go Your Way in Safety.

Trent reached into the box and flipped it over. The back was engraved.

Watch Over Drew

“Figured you could add it to the chain you always wear with the speedometer on it,” Trent added.

I blinked down, still staring at it. My finger brushed over the words.

Sometimes it overwhelmed me how much he loved.

How much I loved.

I pulled it out of the box and palmed it. We added it to my chain right then, but instead of tucking it back beneath my shirt, I left it out with the round medal on top.

“I’m never gonna take it off.” I promised.

“That’s the idea.” His fingertips brushed across my jaw.

“I didn’t get you anything,” I murmured, wishing I had.

“You get me something every day just by being in my life.”

“Braeden’s right,” I said. “We’re like a damn Nicholas Sparks movie.”

He laughed.

I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down. He came willingly, the look in his eyes changing from amusement to desire.