Hustle by Teagan Kade

Author:Teagan Kade [Kade, Teagan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Teagan Kade
Published: 2017-07-07T18:30:00+00:00

EPILOGUE

Sara

Gretchen has disappeared inside the house a minute after her latest boyfriend. I almost choked on my Caesar salad when she talked about marrying him the other day. My sister? Settling down? I can’t picture it.

But I couldn’t picture Andy Fortes the father two years ago, and yet here we are. Andy’s got his gig with Ferrari and we’ve got places in Milan, Monaco and Texas, a big ol’ ranch like Andy always talked about, though far more homey than the stuffy manor of his parents. No, this home is messy, cluttered. It’s a living, breathing hub of activity, and although it drives me mad, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

After the crash in Spain, I thought I might lose him. Four drivers, one dead, Carl in a coma. Andy got off easy, managed to get out of his car before it became a fireball. It could have been so much worse than a broken collarbone, but it wasn’t the physical injury that had me worried. It was the lasting psychological impact.

I needn’t have worried. Andy was back racing the very next round, even started flying in to check on Carl in Geneva from time to time. Pop Princess waited less than a week after the accident before moving onto her next toy boy. When Carl came to, it was Andy by his side. If you had told me two years ago they’d be best buddies, I wouldn’t have believed you, but life is strange like that. You can plan your path all you want, know the route inside and out, but anything could be waiting around the corner.

We never heard from Steven again, or Stacey. Steven went missing after his stint in jail, Stacey nowhere to be found. Even the FBI hasn’t been able to track them down. Perhaps they never will. Steven owed a lot of money to a lot of people—bookies and loan sharks, even the Russian mob. Goodall distanced itself far from him the moment it all came out.

“Gretchen!” I yell up to the house, sure they’re up there screwing in our newly renovated bathroom.

“Go!” Andy pushes the back of the soap box racer. Our one-year-old boy, Asher, laughs as the soap car picks up speed, bumping down the hill towards the field where we keep the horses. His floppy blonde mop whips with speed, his smile so wide it seems to wrap around his little, pin-cushion face. He looks so happy. The cart slows and Asher leaps out before it’s even stopped to push it back up the hill again for another go. He’s got his daddy’s need for speed, that’s for sure.

We have money, more than I ever dreamed of making at Caliber. Andy could easily have bought Asher a go-kart, a motorbike, a baby Ferrari, but no, he wanted to build a soap box racer with him, bond. Seeing the two of them in the garage night after night melts my heart, the father of my child, the reformed bad boy… Well, almost reformed.

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