Page 1 of All That Glitters (Endurance #1)

Ashton

Racing…

…flows through my veins.

…is everything I am.

…is my birthright.

…is my first and only love.

…almost killed me.

Every inch of my skin crawls with the need to get back on the track, to get my hands back around the wheel, to feel the rush of adrenaline as my foot presses the pedal to the floor as I lead a pack of world-class drivers around turns, over esses and down straights.

I was also terrified.

The months of recovery were worse than anything I’d ever been through save for the wreck itself. The doctors said it would take six to eight months before I’d walk without a cane, before I’d be able to move around on my own without some kind of aid.

I achieved more than they expected in three months. I exceeded every physical test in five months and was nearly back to my normal exercise routine.

They didn’t know me. They didn’t know what I was capable of. They didn’t know what drove me, what pushed me to defy every obstacle.

I dared anyone to contradict me. I dared anyone to deny me my anger, my ambition, my drive to get back what’s mine, even if they didn’t know the kind of pain that dogs every move I make.

I’d finally been cleared to climb into the car. At least, physically.

And I’d heard more than once that I needed more talk therapy, that my emotions and my mind weren’t under control enough to handle stressful situations.

My therapist didn’t agree and wouldn’t sign off.

She said I needed to reconcile everything that had changed with my body, mind, and emotions.

She didn’t want me back in a race car for at least a year.

A part of me knew that I didn’t belong in one yet, that my head was still too fucked up, but I found someone who, for a pretty stiff price, would sign the forms I needed.

Leonardo Glitterati, my father, would present a whole other hurdle for me to jump over.

In the world of racing, I was his son in name only. He treated me like anyone else in his employ, sometimes harder, harsher, but never favored, never as the heir to the empire.

I had yet to pass his tests. He hadn’t decided if I was mentally ready to get back to business. He also thought I was too hot headed, too driven by anger and revenge to get his car back into victory lane.

The truth was, I had those same thoughts, too, but from a different perspective.

“Ashton.”

Here goes nothing.

I entered his office as casually as I could, doing my best to ignore the pain and stiffness with those first steps.

He sat behind the large, wooden desk that had been in our family for generations. The origins of it and how it came to be included with our possessions was a tale long forgotten.

“Sit.”

I was used to the gruff, all-business tone and it no longer bothered me. It never changed. No matter if he was pleased with something I’d done or not.

The chair across the desk was uncomfortable and I shifted just once, then focused on the rain coming down so hard outside that I couldn’t see through it.

Winter rain wasn’t unusual in Florida, but it was often bone chillingly cold, especially this close to the ocean.

He continued writing in a deep brown leather notebook for a moment longer and when he spoke, he didn’t look up.

“There’s a track test set for later this week.”

I continued to stare out at the wall of water beyond his shoulders. Did he think I didn’t know that? It was written on every calendar I owned.

I nodded, more to myself than to him. “Yeah.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

What did he want me to say? I did my best to keep my tone even and devoid of…anything. Impatience or attitude pissed him off. I’d seen it ruin careers. “Really.”

His eyes met mine across the expanse of wood. It was like looking into an aged mirror.

“Huh. You haven’t even driven yourself anywhere in a street car. You haven’t taken any of the test cars out. You haven’t even sat inside one or had the specs set for you seat. You can’t say you’re ready to race and expect me to believe you.”

I couldn’t, but I would. “I’m ready. The rain messed with my plans today.” Even I heard the excuse for what it was. We raced in the rain all the time. Hard, or slow and steady, it didn’t matter for us the way it did in some other racing series.

“What about yesterday? And the day before that? Last week? Brax is ready. He can take the first few races for you and we have other drivers we can pull in at the last minute if we need to.”

Red clouded the edges of my vision. “I don’t need Brax to take my seat. I told you I’m ready.”

“What about Hale?”

The red darkened, filled in. “What about him?”

“Have you talked to him?”

“I don’t have anything to say to him.”

“No?”

“No.”

“You can’t start this season without settling things.”

“What do you want me to do? Call him? Go on a date? Kiss and make up?”

“The sarcasm isn’t helpful.”

I knew that before the words ever came out of my mouth, but fuck…

“You need to talk to him. Hear his side of the story. Bury your anger and forgive.”

“Dad…”

“There will be no retaliation in a Glitterati car.” He didn’t raise his voice.

He didn’t show any sign that this was more than a business meeting with an employee.

The only change he allowed me to see was the shift in his eyes.

They hardened, the color lightening to that of watered-down whiskey. “Do I make myself clear?”

“I wasn’t planning to retaliate.” We both knew the statement for the lie that it was, but I wouldn’t take it back.

“Talk to him or Brax will be in your seat for as many starts as it takes for you to get yourself under control.”

The threat was real. It was more than that, though. It was a promise. Leonardo Glitterati didn’t make idle threats and he didn’t say anything he didn’t mean. He’d take everything from me without blinking until he was satisfied that I’d learned my lesson.

I couldn’t let that happen. I’d worked too fucking hard to lose it now.

“Fine.”

“Before Friday.”

“Before Friday,” I agreed.

“Good. Now… Have you heard from your mother?”

When my father talked of my mother, his eyes softened, darkened, and he became a different man. When it came to my mother, I became his son, not the championship driver that brought the company renewed respect and put us back on the map after years of obscurity.

“No. Is everything alright?”

“She’s planning her annual dinner to celebrate the new season. When she calls, say yes. And be happy about it.”

Normally, I liked that dinner. I enjoyed getting together with everyone before the start of the new racing season.

Most of us grew up racing around the country together.

Some of us were in stock cars now, some were open wheel, and the rest of us were involved in endurance racing with sports cars.

It was fun to see the guys and shoot the shit.

I wasn’t in the mood this year.

“Don’t upset her, Ashton.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He knew that. He knew I loved my mother. She was one of the best friends I’d ever had. She was the one I could talk to about anything, share anything with.

Okay, so maybe not everything, or just anything. She didn’t know about the rage that permeated every pore. She also didn’t know about the fear that made me shake and break out in a full-body sweat when I thought about getting into a race car.

No one knew.

No one would ever know.

If anyone found out, not only would I be out of my seat this season, but every season for the foreseeable future. And I’d definitely be out of Glitterati Racing .

Nope. No one would ever know.

I couldn’t lose my ride. I couldn’t lose my career. I couldn’t lose anything else.

My unshakeable confidence, my daredevil side was more than enough to sacrifice.

“Thank you. You can go.”

I nodded, but again he didn’t see it. He’d lowered his eyes back to the notebook, dismissing me.

Once outside the office, I breathed easier and my shoulders sagged. For a moment, I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes, only to open them immediately.

I was exhausted. My sleep was screwed up and had been since I stopped all my meds. Besides, they hadn’t kept the nightmares at bay. They hadn’t stopped me seeing the wreck in flashbacks and slow motion behind my eyelids.

And my father wanted me to reach out to the asshole responsible.

Hale Troye should’ve been punted from the sport.

How was I supposed to move on? How was I supposed to remain calm? How was I supposed to not want to turn him into the nearest wall and flip him over it? How was I supposed to forgive him for the physical and mental anguish, the goddamn fear that lived with me every single second?

How?

I pushed myself off the wall. With a measured gait and aching with every step, I made my way to the end of the hallway, avoiding the eyes of my great-grandfather, my grandfather, and my father as they followed me from their portraits hanging along the walls.

I avoided looking at the trophy cases. I avoided looking at everything but the far wall.

I took the stairs to the ground floor. The movement helped to work the stiffness out of my legs to the point I could almost forget the broken bones, the pins and plates and rods, and all the therapy.

Almost.

I remembered that one of my doctors told me that I’d feel the weather in my bones and I wondered if everything I currently felt was what he’d meant.

“Ash.”

“Shit,” I said under my breath before meeting the gaze of my cousin. “Brax.”

“You coming from his office?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m headed there. He just called.”

That didn’t take long. “Have fun.” I walked around him.

“He ask you about driving?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

I stopped my descent. “And you’ll be watching from the pit box unless someone else can’t race. You’ve been demoted to back-up driver. You won’t be taking my place this season.”

“I’m not your enemy. You know that, right?”

He stood three steps higher. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t give anyone that kind of advantage over me. Normally, I’d have climbed back up to meet him eye to eye.

Nothing about me was normal anymore.

“I know.”