Page 90 of Hook Up

Let me tell you, I’ve always hated needles, but this is an entirely new level of hell. Still, if there’s a 0.00001% chance I might regain my sight, count me in.

Thank God for my Gigi. The woman is tireless, always at my side, showering me with love and positivity.

I know two things: Gigi is the greatest thing in my life and I don’t deserve her. Not that I’m ever letting her go. No chance in hell of that happening, particularly not after she put up with my ornery ass those first couple of weeks.

Talk about devotion.

The world still doesn’t know who Greer is. After the accident, the media focused solely on my injuries and my return to racing. When it would happen. If it would happen. Any digging into my recent nuptials fell by the wayside.

Then, as is the norm in the world of celebrity, the media moved on to new topics. I can’t say I blame them.

Now their sights are set on how our F1 team has yet to secure another podium finish. Fucking barracudas. Don’t they realize they’re working not only with new drivers but a new crew?

Yes, I’m protective of the team. It’s still my team.

Colton tries to keep me in the loop, but he’s a busy man with a racing empire to run. Me? I’m running out of options.

My wife informed me that Greg just completed a stint in rehab and seems like a changed man, but I’m not ready to speak to him. It doesn’t matter that Colton verified Greg tested clean, or that Greg wanted none of this to happen.

None of them wanted this to happen, but that’s not the point. Life as I knew it is over, and their haphazard skills while nursing a hangover are at least partly to blame.

The real fear that creeps into my mind, the one that plagues me, is that Greer is only here out of pity. A morbid sense of obligation to stand by her man. She’s gorgeous and smart as a whip. She could have any guy she wants.

She didn’t sign up to marry a blind man, no matter what vows we said in Barbados. Hell, she never even got the chance to live the high life by my side. I planned to wine and dine her as we toured the circuit together, showing her the world.

Showing her off to the world.

Instead, she’s stuck here, day in and day out, catering to my needs. Not that she complains. She’s never once said a cross word, save for when she dumped the bucket of ice on me, and let’s be honest, I had that one coming.

She’s the epitome of the perfect wife, along with being the sexiest woman I’ve ever known. That I can grab her luscious curves anytime I want and sink inside her warmth is one hell of a wonderful concept. A concept I take full advantage daily.

I hear Greer dash out of the room, but I don’t ask. I know where she’s headed. She claims the stress is messing with her stomach, but I’m certain she’s lying.

Call it male intuition, but there have been changes in the way she smells and feels; changes so slight I’d never have noticed them if I could see, since her tits and ass would have stolen the show. But in my world of shadows, all my other senses have kicked into high gear.

Greer is pregnant. Not that she’s said a word to me.

I’m positive our conversation regarding children that one night is a large part of why she’s refusing to disclose her current condition, and I could kick myself for opening my big mouth. I was trying to ease her mind, assure her I don’t expect her to take on any additional burdens in our marriage. Instead, Gigi now thinks I don’t want a baby with her, but nothing could be further from the truth. If I had to choose between us having a child and regaining my sight, I’d choose the baby every time.

In fact, once my feeble brain realized she wasn’t nursing a stomach virus, the idea of her carrying my child re-energized my quest to find a cure for my condition. I have a goal now—to see my baby’s face when he’s born.

“You okay?” I ask when she returns to the living room.

“I’m fine. Sorry about that.”

“I think you need a doctor.”

“I told you, it’s just stress.”

“Or it’s something else.”

“We have to get going. You have your doctor’s appointment in less than an hour.”

Nothing like avoidance, Greer.

Every time I hint at her pregnancy, she changes the topic. Looks like I’m going to have to hold her down and force the truth out of her.

Not a bad idea, actually.

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