Speed Demons (5 page)

“You didn’t. I promise I won’t ask chauvinistic questions. And I was there. I don’t have to ask about the crash, or your injuries. I want to document your comeback, which in turn will be a story of how a young woman finds the strength to overcome adversity and work through pain, fear, and survivor guilt.” Blythe raised an eyebrow. “Right?”

“I—I guess so.” Evie was taken aback by Blythe’s sudden eloquence and her vision for the photo book. “I’ve seen a lot of your work. I know you can portray just about anything you want. Just don’t make me out to be some damn hero, okay? I’m not. I was lucky to live to drive another day. Several others weren’t.”

“I meant to ask your opinion about that.” Blythe scooted closer. “I thought it might be a good idea to either begin or end the book with pictures of the guys who didn’t make it. I already have permission from their families, but they also know that I need your input on this.”

Evie was stunned. Not a day went by that she didn’t think of the young men who lost their lives when hers changed forever. “I…I like that idea. I count on you to do it tastefully.”

“That’s up to you as well. I was thinking you should write the text for their pictures.”

“Me?”

“You knew them.” Blythe spoke firmly.

“I’m no writer. I’ll need you, or someone, to help me. Please?” A little panicky, Evie took Blythe’s hand and squeezed it hard. “All right?”

“Of course. I’ll help you. The editors will go over it with us as well, don’t worry.”

“That’s important. It’s my only chance to do them justice. You see?” Evie hadn’t been able to attend any of the funerals. Even if her team had represented her, it had bothered her that she was still unconscious and completely oblivious to what had happened. As much as the thought of expressing herself in writing intimidated her, this might be her chance to make up for her absence. Evie knew her reasoning was illogical. The crash wasn’t her fault. Being hurt and unconscious wasn’t her fault either, yet still she experienced this immense guilt. The therapist had explained it more than once. This was something she would need to work through in time. Perhaps by writing a tribute to the guys she could do that?

“I can see where you’re coming from,” Blythe now said. “You feel you owe them. You’re here and they’re not.”

“Yes.” Evie wiped furiously at some treacherous tears. “Yes.”

“I get it.” Blythe moved closer, strengthening her grasp of Evie’s hand. “I really do. If it wasn’t so trite, I’d say ‘been there, done that.’”

“Yeah?” Evie focused on the warmth of Blythe’s hand and the spot where their legs touched. This close, she could see fine lines around Blythe’s eyes, really the only evidence of her age. A band of freckles across her short, straight nose, the soft, pink, curvy lips, and the curly blond hair framing it all made Blythe seem at least fifteen years younger. Still, those fine lines kept Blythe from looking too…cute. Evie hadn’t realized that she clung to Blythe’s hand until a thumb caressed the back of her own.

“Yes. I’ve had some close calls where others died. Young men and women in their teens or early twenties. Horrible.”

“You helped by telling their stories.” The tables had turned. Evie now focused on the pain on Blythe’s face. “Because you lived to tell their story, they didn’t recede into anonymity.”

“I know. It’s just—I have these permanent images. Every time I close my eyes I see the severed limbs, the blood…” Flinching, Blythe looked mortified. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t talk about that.”

“Hey. Yeah, you should. As I should, sometimes. To a friend.” Evie knew deep inside that it would be problematic for her to refer to Blythe as a friend only. She was far too conscious of how holding Blythe’s hand made her tremble, and how their legs pressing together made her want to edge closer. Her libido, which had been completely dormant since the crash, was waking up.

“All right. Thank you.” Blythe lowered her gaze and looked at their joined hands. She’d begun to pull hers away when deafening thunder hammered outside, rattling the house. The wind roared and growled. Her eyes grew huge. “Oh!”

“Shh. I’m here. You’re not alone.” Evie instinctively pulled Blythe in under her arm and wrapped it around Blythe’s shoulders. “Let’s just sit here under this nice cozy fleece blanket.” Evie wrapped the blanket around them.

The lights flickered and died.

Chapter Four

“Evie?” Blythe gasped her name before she could stop herself.

“The power’s gone. Let’s light more candles.” Evie shifted and let go of Blythe.

Blythe wanted to pull her back and press her face against that long neck. Hide.

Evie quickly lit a few more block candles. Huge, with three wicks in each, they helped illuminate the room. She sat down again, this time even closer to Blythe.

“See. Lights.” Evie smiled and lit up the room much more than any candle.

“Yes,” Blythe murmured, gazing at her. “Lights.” Entranced, she nearly forgot about the storm. If she could just stare at this stunning woman for the entire time the storm caused havoc along the New England coast…

“You comfortable?” Evie took the blanket and covered them again. “I usually stay here on the couch during a storm, since this is the center of the house. The guest room is on the—”

“No, I want to stay here.” Blythe couldn’t imagine being alone at the far end of a darkened house.

“You sure? The couch is big enough for us.”

“I’d say. It’s humongous.” Blythe couldn’t remember ever seeing such a plush couch. “We’ll be fine.”

“Sure we will.” Evie pulled her legs up and edged closer to Blythe. “Tell me if you’re hungry. I won’t be able to cook, but I can get us some sandwiches.”

“Maybe in a bit, if that’s all right?”

“It is.”

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the pounding rain and growling wind. Blythe still fought the nausea from her flashbacks, but her immediate fear had diminished while she talked to Evie. She stealthily glanced at her. Evie sat with her eyes half closed, her hands resting on top of the blanket. Her dark hair framed her high cheekbones and broad forehead, and the flickering candles created pretty shadows around her eyelashes. Evie was so beautiful in this moment, in this light, Blythe wanted to get her camera out again. A stronger part of her didn’t want to move and disturb the serenity on Evie’s face. She had seen many emotions depicted there, but this calm, reflective mood was new.

“What are you thinking?” Evie asked without turning her head. “Since you’re scrutinizing me?”

Caught.
“I was trying to think of reasons not to pull Viktoria out and take pictures of you in this amazing light.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” A tinge of steel crept into Evie’s voice.

“That’s why I’m still huddled under the blanket.”

“Good thinking.” Evie turned her head, a slow smile forming on her lips. “Smart, even.”

“Glad you think I’m not a hopeless case.”

“Oh, I think a lot, Blythe, but never that.” Evie’s expression turned a little wicked.

Blythe muted a gasp at the last moment. Was Evie actually flirting with her? Blythe had never mastered that particular art, and it had been too long since she’d thought of a woman that way. Working too hard, all-consumed by looking at life through the lens of her camera, she had withdrawn. Apart from communicating with her agent and the people she worked with, she spent what little free time she had in her condo. Even then, she worked on her photos, using her computer to experiment on them. She was far more comfortable doing that than reading other people’s signals. Blythe returned Evie’s smile carefully. “Want to share what you
do
think?” she heard herself ask. To her surprise, and intrigue, Evie blushed faintly.

“Um. That I find you amazing. Admirable. Pretty.” Evie pulled her knees up, hugging them close.

“Admirable? Pretty? Huh.” Blythe cringed. She was never comfortable accepting compliments and always suspected ulterior motives behind them. Surely Evie was pulling her leg.

“Is that so surprising?”

“Yes. And unexpected.” Blythe took a deep breath. “What makes you say that? I’m not fishing for compliments or details, just your reason.”

Evie’s lips parted and she looked confused, a small frown appearing between her eyebrows. “You think I’d come up with a compliment that isn’t true? What would be the point?” She tilted her head, her eyes becoming like unwavering green searchlights, impossible to look away from.

“I haven’t the faintest,” Blythe murmured, withdrawing from the camaraderie they’d shared briefly. Looked like Evie was of the same make as many other people who’d enjoyed taunting her back when she allowed such remarks to bother her. Blythe had run her own race for many years, and one of the ways she did that was to close the door on that soft, vulnerable inner part of her that bled so easily. The shell became harder with each hurt, impenetrable, or at least, that’s how Blythe chose to see it.

Evie leaned closer. “Hey. Where did you go? You’re good at that, aren’t you? Shutting yourself in, like the shutter opening and closing in your camera.”

“Evie, please.” Blythe folded her arms over her chest.

“Ah. I see.” Evie scooted closer, startling her by finding and gently cradling one of her hands between hers. “I said something that hurt. It was a compliment and a very true one, but if you hate anyone calling you pretty, I won’t do it again. Okay?”

“I’m quite a bit older than you. I can handle whatever you choose to call me.” Blythe meant to sound indifferent, but her voice had a faint tremble. Naturally, as she was trying to get her emotions in check, the thunder and wind escalated and something, a branch perhaps, slammed against the wall close to where they sat. Mortified, she felt her body go rigid and could smell smoke, taste dust, and hear cries of pain in the distance. Trembling, she clung to Evie’s hand.

“Hey, I’m here. You’re okay. You’re fine.” Evie closed the last bit of distance between them and almost pulled Blythe onto her lap. Wrapping the blanket around them, she uttered hushing, comforting sounds. “I’ve got you. We’re in a storm, but we’re safe.”

“I—I can hear them. I can hear them cry out. I smell the…the blood.” Blythe had never had such a strong flashback in the company of another person, and to go through this in Evie’s presence embarrassed yet oddly comforted her.

“It must’ve been hell to witness what you’ve seen.”

“I saw you too, through the camera. The smoke, the flames. All I could do was keep pressing the shutter release. You were hurt. I kept taking pictures. Others were dismembered, gutted, and I took fucking pictures.” Tears of fury and frustration rose in her eyes. “I work on these pictures in Photoshop, you know—cropping, emphasizing with brightness, contrast, hues. I dissect them, I go over them, zoom in on each detail.”

“And relive it all. Over and over. Every horrible detail.” Evie was hoarse now too.

“I shouldn’t have mentioned your crash. I’m sorry.” Blythe tried to pull away, but was relieved when Evie pulled her close again.

“It really doesn’t matter. Not when it’s you talking about it. You were there. You saw everything up close. It’s different if someone wants to hear the gory details just to sensationalize it all. That hurts.”

Blythe inhaled Evie’s scent—musk and something fresh, soapy. She rested her head on Evie’s shoulder, feeling it shift to accommodate her. The fabric in Evie’s shirt was soft, worn, and Blythe turned her head, pressing her forehead against Evie’s neck.

“I apologize for acting like a child. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I believe I hit a nerve, right?”

“You did.” Blythe didn’t volunteer any explanations. Evie was smart. She would figure out that Blythe didn’t respond well to comments like that.

“Wish I hadn’t. I find you very attractive, but I didn’t mean to sound condescending.”

Attractive? Blythe’s heart began to race again, this time for completely different reasons. Logically, Evie had no reason to say that if it wasn’t true. Blythe was the driving force behind their project. Evie didn’t have to appease her. Scrambling to say something, anything, Blythe spoke quietly into Evie’s shirt. “You’re beautiful.”

“What? I can’t hear you.” Evie rubbed a hand along Blythe’s spine.

“Beautiful. You.”

Evie laughed, a bubbly full laugh that sent tingles up Blythe’s arms, around her shoulders, and straight into her chest. The happy, kind sound didn’t resemble the taunting, horrible ones from her past. As much as Blythe would like to deny it, she could still hear those voices if she allowed them to surface and gain entrance. Evie’s laugh trickled like a happy brook, and Blythe lifted her head, drawing courage from it.

“Beautiful? Thank you,” Evie said, still smiling.

“Stunning. You’ve adorned enough motorsport calendars to know that.”

“Oh, God, don’t remind me. I want to shoot my agent for talking me into that contract. Still, they’re for a good cause.”

“You’re not getting a cent for them, are you?”

“The proceeds go to charity,” Evie said lightly. “As it should. My team constantly teases me about the pictures. Amicably, of course.” Making quotation marks in the air around “amicably,” Evie made a production of rolling her eyes.

Blythe chuckled, amazed at how quickly, and adeptly, Evie had defused her flashbacks, war-zone and others. She attempted to sit up, only to change her mind quickly when another roar of the wind lashed the house.

“Stay here.” Evie held her closer. “I have more up my sleeve to distract you.”

Blythe’s mouth was suddenly dry. The sexual undertones of the words made it impossible for her to swallow. At a loss for words, Blythe dug her teeth into her lower lip and half hid her face against Evie’s shoulders again. She was safe here. It felt good to be wrapped in a blanket and held by this amazing woman. Evie was strong, clearly having worked hard at regaining the physical status required to make her comeback at the same racetrack where she nearly died.

*

Evie had overstepped a whole series of boundaries this evening. Normally not a person to be physically close to someone she didn’t know, not nowadays, she’d acted on instinct when she’d understood just how damaged Blythe was by her past. But the hellish places Blythe’s career had taken her to didn’t seem to be the only cause. As much as Blythe feared the sounds of the storm, the word “pretty” had set her off. Eager to know why, Evie feared if she put Blythe on the spot, the discussion would end. Storm or no storm, Blythe would remove herself.