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intrigued by her reaction and impressed by her strategy.
    Yes, revenge was an idea he could embrace. And for the first time since his accident, he was energized by a proposition. A goal that had nothing to do with racing.
    Nicole had married him because of what he did, what he offered, not who he was. She’d used him ruthlessly, and he still felt as if he’d done something wrong, that he should have been able to hold on to her and his life—even if both were an illusion.
    A wife was supposed to support her husband through good and bad, and she hadn’t. Marriage wasn’t easy. He certainly wasn’t easy to deal with most of the time. But she’d left when he’d needed her most.
    At some point, he ought to stop blaming himself.
    Hell, even his stable parents hadn’t been able to hold things together after his accident. For some unknown reason, the end of his career had caused irreparable harm in their relationship. Again, he couldn’t control that. Much as he’d like to.
    He couldn’t alter the past, but he could adjust his present and his future. That was what Darcy was offering—a chance to change. A challenge to accept what was, not wish for what had been. To quit wallowing and start moving forward.
    Maybe he’d never drive again, or trust another woman again. But he could be whole. At least in his own way.
    He stood and walked toward the sliding-glass doors to the balcony and thought about what Darcy had said. He did need a motivation. Something to jolt him from this rut. Workwise, he had drive and focus. He gave everything to GRI. Why couldn’t he share that commitment with himself?
    And if he could show up his traitorous ex or that jerk Chance Baker, all the better.
    “Aye,” he said finally, turning to face Darcy. “I understand revenge.”
    She smiled as he’d hoped she would. “Good.” She waggled her finger back and forth. “But we’re not drinking beer and singing songs about war and lost love in the pub.”
    He blinked. “Do what?”
    “That’s what the Irish do before, after and sometimes during revenge quests.”
    He recalled that movie from years ago. “Is that where the blue body paint comes in?”
    She wrinkled her nose. “That’s the Scots. We ought not get started on them. Instead, we’ll start on the treadmill.” She extended her hand toward the table. “Right after breakfast.”
    He groaned.
    “Change is sometimes painful,” she said, grabbing his hand and tugging him into the chair. “But rewarding.”
    He was sorry when he was seated and no longer touching her. The faint scent of vanilla and something citrusy drifted over him whenever they were close. He wished he could put his finger on just what the smell reminded him of, but the thought was yanked away as she pulled the silver cover off the breakfast plate.
    Amazingly, there was more than oatmeal—he’d have to remember his trainer had a sneaky, as well as demanding, streak. There were scrambled eggs, something round that wasn’t exactly ham and fruit. As they were in SoCal, this meant exotic stuff like mango, pineapple and something star-shaped that tasted great even if it looked a little weird.
    In the gym, she urged him on the scale, where he was embarrassed to discover he’d put on twenty pounds since the last time he’d weighed himself. Though his instinct—besides crawling under a rock—was to run until he fell down, ridiculously hopeful he could run off all those pounds in one morning, Darcy directed him to walk briskly for thirtyminutes, then do a short yoga stretch. She assured him weight loss and injury rehab were measured in millimeters, not miles.
    By the time he’d shaved, showered and dressed, he felt energized and ready to head to the track.
    “Morning,” he said, peeking over his newspaper when Cade and Isabel found him and Darcy at the appointed meeting spot in the lobby at seven.
    Eyes wide, their hands wrapped tightly around travel coffee mugs, they stared at him.
    “Huh?” Isabel asked