Epilogue
CENTURY
Six months later
Redline Speedway was packed. Engines screamed around the permanent road course, the sound ricocheting off grandstands filled wall-to-wall with spectators, sponsors, crews, racers, old ladies, prospects, and enough locals to make the place feel like the whole damn town had decided to come watch horsepower burn through asphalt.
Timing boards flashed above pit lane, crew chiefs barked orders into headsets, and mechanics moved with tools in hand. I’d spent most of my life chasing that edge between control and disaster, and tonight, with one of my fastest bikes waiting in staging, I should’ve been locked all the way in.
Instead, I kept looking at my wife.
Saylor stood in my pit wearing my property vest over a fitted black maternity top that stretched over the round curve of her belly, my rings on her finger and my kid riding high and proud inside her.
She had one hand braced at the small of her back, the other resting protectively over the baby, and even from twenty feet away, she looked like every dream I never knew I had until she walked into The Burnout.
Her cheeks were flushed from excitement, her hair was swept back from her face, and she was laughing at something Jana said while Savannah handed her a bottle of water and a snack.
The old ladies had surrounded her with folding chairs, fruit, crackers, and enough unsolicited pregnancy advice to fill a pit manual, and Saylor looked amused as hell by the whole thing.
But I didn’t like her standing that close to pit lane.
Didn’t matter that Redline Speedway was locked down.
Or that Shifter had security tighter than a bank vault, with three prospects assigned to keep idiots away from the old ladies without looking obvious.
Didn’t matter that Saylor was perfectly safe, capable of telling me to stop being ridiculous, and absolutely stubborn enough to keep standing if she wanted to stand.
My woman was pregnant, wearing my patch, and glowing under track lights beside machines built for speed, and every protective instinct I had was chewing through my patience like a pissed-off dog through a leather glove.
Edge appeared beside me, looking toward Saylor with that lazy grin that meant he’d noticed way too much and planned to be annoying about it. “You know staring at her belly won’t make the baby arrive faster.”
“Wasn’t aware I asked for your medical opinion.”
“You didn’t.” He folded his arms, his shoulder brushing mine as his gaze moved over the pit. “That’s what makes it generous.”
I grunted and looked back at the bike, pretending for half a second that I cared about the final checks more than I cared about Saylor shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Did her feet hurt? Was she too tired to be here?
Chief had already gone through the machine twice, and I’d done it myself before that because nobody touched my builds without me knowing exactly how and why.
The bike was perfect. Responsive, fast, tuned down to the breath, and built to eat the road course clean.
I trusted the machine, my hands, and my skill.
Yet my focus still kept dragging back to my wife like my body knew where the real center of gravity was.
“You’re twitchy,” Edge observed.
I shot him a look. “You got somewhere to be?”
“Watching you pretend you don’t want to wrap Saylor in bubble wrap and carry her to a padded bunker is the best entertainment I’ve had all week.”
“Fuck you.”
Edge laughed and wandered off before I could decide whether knocking him into a tool cart would improve the evening.
It probably would’ve, but Saylor caught me watching and tilted her head, that amused teacher look settling over her face.
She said something to Savannah, then made her way toward me with one hand on her belly and the other lightly skimming the edge of her vest.
She didn’t walk fast these days, but she still moved with that same quiet confidence that had hooked me from the start.
“You’re doing it again,” she accused when she reached me.
I slid one hand to her waist and the other over her belly, tugging her close enough that the scent of her skin cut through the smell of fuel and asphalt. “Doing what?”
She gave me a side-eye. “Hovering.”
“I’m standing still,” I objected.
“Menacingly.”
I shrugged. “That’s my resting posture.”
Her lips twitched, but she tried to keep her expression stern. “Levi, I’m fine. I’m in a professional pit area, surrounded by half the club, several old ladies, and enough security to protect a head of state. I’m not wandering across the track blindfolded.”
“I’m allowed to be fucking twitchy.”
Saylor’s mouth softened even as she rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe,” I agreed. “Still married me.”
“I did. But I was pregnant, which means I could blame the hormones for that.”
I lowered my head until my mouth was close to hers. “You weren’t blaming hormones last night when you had your hands in my hair and your legs—”
“Levi,” she hissed, her cheeks turning pink as she smacked my chest, though the laughter in her eyes ruined any attempt at outrage.
I grinned because making her blush still hit the same way it had when I’d first said something dirty and watched color climb her throat.
Pregnant Saylor was worse for my sanity in every possible way.
Softer in some places, sharper in others, more emotional when she thought nobody was looking, and so damn beautiful with my baby inside her that I spent half my time hard, smug, and irrationally possessive.
Her smile faded slightly, just enough for me to notice. “I got something today.”
My hand stilled on her belly. “From who?”
“Sutton.”
I watched my wife’s face carefully, reading the soft tension around her mouth and the careful way she held my stare. “She ask for something?”
“No.” Saylor’s voice was quiet, and her fingers clutched lightly around the edge of my cut. “That’s what made it feel different.”
“What did she say?”
Saylor breathed in slowly, then rested both hands over mine on her baby bump. “Not much. Just that she’s alive, that she’s trying, and that she meant what she said about being glad I’m happy. She said she isn’t ready to be the sister I deserve, but she’s trying to become someone who could be.”
I studied her face, the moisture brightening her eyes, the trembling edge of her smile, the sadness that didn’t look as raw as it once had. “How do you feel about that?”
“I don’t know. Better, maybe.” She let out a small laugh that barely made it past her throat. “I don’t think fixed is the right word for me and Sutton. But she didn’t ask for money. She didn’t ask me to call. She didn’t blame me. That’s new.”
“Then maybe she’s learning.”
“Maybe.” Saylor leaned into me, her forehead resting briefly against my chest. “I still love her, but I don’t feel responsible for saving her anymore. I think that’s the difference.”
I kissed the top of her head, breathing in the soft scent of her shampoo under the bite of the track. “Good.”
She tipped her face up. “That’s it?”
“That’s the important part.” I brushed my thumb along the curve of her stomach.
“Sutton can keep trying from a distance. If she comes back wanting nothing from you except a real relationship, we’ll deal with that when it happens.
Until then, you’ve got me, our kid, and a whole club full of loud, interfering assholes who apparently carry crackers for you now. ”
Her laugh came out watery but real. “Mace has three kinds in his backpack.”
“That so?” I asked with a smirk. I was gonna have fun giving him all kinds of shit for that.
Saylor smiled up at me, and the last shadow left her face enough that I could breathe again. I caught her chin, kissed her, and felt her soften against me the way she always did. The baby shifted under my palm, not a full kick, just a small movement, and it still hit me hard enough that I froze.
Saylor noticed immediately. “There he is.”
“He?” I asked, even though we’d both gone back and forth on whether we thought the baby was a boy or girl every other day since Cage confirmed everything looked good.
She shrugged, looking smug. “Today I think he.”
“Yesterday you thought girl.”
“Yesterday she kicked me in the ribs during a staff meeting, and I decided she was dramatic.”
“Our kid is definitely gonna be dramatic.”
“With you as the father? Stunning development.”
I lowered my mouth to her ear. “Careful, baby. Keep being mouthy and I’ll take you home after this race and keep it full.”
Her breath caught, her fingers tightening in my shirt, and damn if her reaction didn’t nearly make me forget every person standing within twenty yards. Her body still responded to me even more so pregnant. I felt the answering pull in my own body, my cock thickening despite the race suit.
The announcer called the racers toward staging, and Saylor’s eyes flicked to the track. “That’s you.”
“Yeah.”
“You focused?”
I looked down at her, letting my hand spread wider over her belly. “Always.”
She gave me a look.
I amended, “Focused enough.”
“That doesn’t sound reassuring.”
“It should. I do some of my best work distracted by you.”
Jana passed behind us in a fire suit, her helmet tucked beneath one arm. “He’s not lying. Men around here have been racing distracted since the first old lady showed up. It’s honestly a miracle any of them survive.”
Nitro appeared at her side, looking like he’d been summoned by the insult. “I heard that.”
“You were supposed to.”
He stared down at his wife, then glanced at me. “You ready, or are you gonna keep fondling your wife’s stomach until the starting grid files a complaint?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t make me regret helping you tune Jana’s car last month.”
Nitro smiled. “You mean the car she drives better than half the men you’ve taught?”
Jana patted his chest. “Aw, baby. That was almost sweet.”
Saylor laughed, and I pulled her closer for one more kiss before I had to leave. When I pulled back, her eyes were darker, her lips parted, and her fingers were curled in my suit like she wanted to keep me there.
“Win,” she whispered.
I brushed my mouth against hers. “Always.”
The race blurred into instinct, heat, precision, and the kind of speed that stripped everything down to what mattered when the flag dropped. Redline Speedway’s road course unfolded under my tires, the turns familiar.
Racing was discipline at speed. But still, Saylor stayed with me through every lap.
My anchor. She was in the weight of my wedding ring under my glove. The piece of me that no longer raced just to feel alive, because I had something waiting at the finish line that made it feel like too small a word.
By the final lap, I knew I had it. The man behind me was good, fast enough to deserve the position, but not enough to take mine.
I opened the throttle through the last straight and crossed first under the lights, the Speedway exploding around me.
The crowd came up off the stands, the crew shouted, the timing board flashed my number, and engines snarled behind me as the rest of the pack finished.
Victory still hit me, but not quite the way it used to.
I slowed through the cooldown, circled back toward pit lane, and saw Saylor before anyone else. She stood near the front with both hands on her stomach, smiling so wide it damn near cracked my chest open.
I parked, killed the engine, and pulled off my helmet before anyone could reach me and walked straight to my wife, still breathing hard and sweat damp along my hairline. Her eyes went soft as I reached her, and before she could say a word, I dropped to my knees in front of her.
Saylor’s hands landed in my hair, while I pressed both palms to her belly.
Our baby kicked almost immediately, a strong little thump against my hand, and every bit of leftover race heat in my body shifted into something so much bigger I had no idea where to put it.
I’d chased speed my whole life, built machines that broke records, tuned engines that made grown men grin like fools, and ridden hard enough to make death look up from whatever corner it waited in.
None of it touched this. It didn’t even come fucking close.
“Levi,” Saylor whispered, her voice thick.
I looked up at her, my hands spread over the life we’d made, and felt my throat go tight. “Fastest thing I ever built doesn’t mean shit compared to this.”
Her eyes filled instantly. “You can’t say things like that unless you want me crying in front of everyone.”
I stood and pulled her into my arms. Then I brushed my lips over hers, slow enough to taste the salt of her tears and the sweetness of her smile. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“I’ve spent my whole life chasing speed, baby,” I murmured against her mouth, my hand spread over the life we’d made together. “Turns out this is what finally made me want to slow the fuck down.”
There wasn’t a finish line in the world that could touch the one I’d already crossed with her.