Page 2 of Drive To Survive

“How’s he doing, Doc?”

Was that Jared?

“It’s too early to say.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit.”

Yeah, definitely Jared. Blunt and direct.

I heard a sigh, and then the doctor said, “The operation went as well as could be expected, but we won’t know the true outcome and if it was successful until he’s fully awake and we can run some tests.”

Operation? What fucking operation? What the fuck is going on?

“But you’re pleased, yeah?”

That’s Tate. Jared and Tate are both here.

Where’s here?

No way was I having a second go at any head movement, not even to try to clear the confusion. The first attempt damn near split my head in two.

“Let’s wait and see, shall we, Mr. Flynn?”

“How soon until he can race again?” Jared asked.

Racing. Yes! I was on the track. I remembered now. Spa. Behind Tate, going for the win. A snap. Something breaking. The wall… pain. So much pain.

Shit.

I crashed the fucking car.

“Mr. Kane, I don’t think you understand.”

My ears perked up. Why the incredulous tone? Kind of hushed, but firm and, yeah, disbelieving. The hairs on the back of my neck stood upright, my nerve endings firing.

Fuck, this is gonna be bad.

“If we succeed in getting enough blood flow to Mr. Palmer’s lower limbs, then we might avoid amputation, which in itself will be an amazing achievement, right up there with the miracle of him ever walking again. But racing? I’m sorry. There’s no way he’ll ever race again.”

No.

No. No, no, no.

It can’t be.

Racing is my life.

My heart thrashed against my rib cage.

Several alarms jangled.

“What the fuck’s happening?” Tate barked.

A woman in lilac scrubs lifted my lids and shined a light in my eye. I squeezed them shut.

“No,” I mumbled, sounding nothing like me. I tried again. “No,” I croaked. Christ, the rasp was horrendous.

“Nico.” Jared’s face appeared in front of me, his dark hair cropped shorter than usual, his brown eyes filled with concern. “Bud, can you hear me?”

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