Redeemed: Prologue

Crowds of fans roar in the distance, fueling the adrenaline building up inside of me. The Silverstone Prix lights reflect off the hood of my red Bandini car. Sweat trickles down my back from the heat of the vibrating engine behind me.

I take a deep breath and hold it as each of the five Prix lights shuts off.

Vamos. I press down on the throttle. My car squeals as it rushes past the first straight. Noah, my brother-in-law and the best F1 racer, leads the group of drivers. His rear bumper stays within touching distance as I turn past the first corner behind him.

The post-rain humidity makes my helmet’s shield foggy as we race lap after lap. Slick roads challenge my skills and my tires. I lift the protective visor an inch, allowing the hot air from my mouth to escape through the gap in the helmet.

My lungs tighten with each heavy breath. I push through exhaustion and attempt to get around Noah’s car. He keeps to the center of the track, making it impossible to take over his first-place spot.

“Get better control of your car on turn four. You’re driving sloppy because it’s wet out there,” James Mitchell, Bandini’s team principal, speaks into my earpiece.

“Got it.” I grip my steering wheel tighter, focusing on the road.

Turn after turn, I match Noah’s speed. Although he’s family and my teammate, we both crave beating each other as often as we can. But together, we work as an unstoppable Bandini force competing against everyone else.

Noah enters the pit lane in need of new tires, leaving the track and his first-place spot open for me. It’s my moment of opportunity.

Everything counts. Every breath, every wheel rotation, every damn second ticking away.

The pace of my heart increases as I pass another blurring Grandstand filled with cheering fans. My body hums with a rush of energy. It’s a feeling unparalleled to anything else. I’ve never been high a day in my life, but I assume it feels like this—exhilarating and untouchable. I smile behind my helmet as I drive by the crowds.

Noah returns full force and speeds around me at the latest straight. His tires shriek as he presses on the brakes at a corner.

I jab the button to switch gears. “Bastard. Always trying to steal the spotlight.”

“Our computers show that there’s a light shower coming in. For fuck’s sake, watch for the wet patches and don’t crash into Noah.” James’s voice echoes through my ear.

“Are they going to let us switch to wet tires?”

“I think the call should be coming in soon. Hang in there.” James mutes himself.

A sheer mist from Noah’s wheels shoots through the air. Visibility becomes difficult as Noah’s tires cause more water to splash against my helmet. I swipe my gloved hand across my visor, wiping away the condensation.

With my visor clear of water, I grip the steering wheel with both hands. My breath catches in my throat as I run over a slick patch of pavement.

One breath. One tire rotation. One second to lose it all.

Control escapes my grasp. My car speeds past the corner I should be turning at. All hell breaks loose as I clutch onto the useless steering wheel.

“Shit. Shit. Shit!” I smash my sneaker against the brakes, but nothing works to slow my car down fast enough.

“Santiago, fuck! Brace!” James yells out something else, but I can’t hear him over the blood pounding in my ears.

Everything blurs as the car propels across the gravel at over two-hundred miles an hour. My car speeds toward the protective barrier without slowing. The front right wing of my car smashes into the tires lining a concrete blockade. Rubber tires fly, doing little to shield my race car from the drastic impact.

My teeth snap together and my body jostles from the hit. Blinding hot pain shoots up my right leg. My heart races in my chest, and short, ragged breaths escape my lungs. Every part of my body aches. I blink back tears as my hands shake against the steering wheel.

“Santiago, are you okay? The safety team is on their way!” James calls out. The tremble in his voice gives away his fear.

Fuck. The world spins on its axis as I gaze at the damage. My front bumper resembles a mangled metal ball, with the right side taking the most damage. Smoke billows from behind me, clouding my vision.

I lift from my seat. A sharp pain shoots through my body, forcing me to bite down on my tongue. “Need a medic. Now.” My words come out as a moan.

James curses into the mic. “Can you get out of your car and get behind the safety barrier?”

Safety barrier? What a joke, seeing as it did a shit job of keeping me protected.

I attempt to remove my harness, but another rush of pain elicits a groan from me. “No. Fuck. I can’t get up.” I attempt to wiggle my toes, but my right one stays numb. “I can’t move! Ay, Dios. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Negative thoughts fuel the rush of panic building inside of me. Why can’t I move? Why can’t I get out of this fucking car? Stand up! Do something!

Everything I try to do is met with a sharp stab of pain. My vision blurs and acid crawls up my throat.

“Santi! The safety patrol is almost here.” My sister’s voice booms as she rushes up to the broken barrier. A metal fence rises above the barricade and keeps us apart. Her crazed brown eyes latch onto mine as she frantically grips the chain links.

“Maya. No te preocupes!” I try to calm her worries as I remove the steering wheel from my dashboard and throw it on the front wing. The move jostles my body again, sending another shattering pain up the right side of my body.

“They’ll get you out! Stop moving!” Maya’s voice rises as she calls out for any medic to help.

“I couldn’t get up even if I wanted to.” My body grows hot as sweat trickles down my face. Everything around me slows as I try to comprehend the pain in my leg. Is this what shock feels like? 

Adrenaline escapes me like a deflating balloon. My vision darkens as I attempt to remain conscious. Maya tugs on her brown hair, trying to catch my attention, but I don’t respond. Processing her words takes effort, and my body wants to give out.

The safety team rushes onto the scene. They ask rapid-fire questions that add to my growing unease. I struggle to explain my situation, and they work on getting me out.

Maya comes up to my side and clutches onto my hand. “It’ll be all right. The ambulance is on its way now.” Tears escape her eyes.

“It hurts so fucking bad. I think I might pass out.”

“Quédate conmigo.”

I can’t stop the panicky sensation building inside of me as the medics pull me out of my car.

“Maya,” I croak.

Someone forces her to let go of my hand as they move me onto a spinal board.

“It’ll be okay. They’ll take good care of you!” she cries over the yelling crew and blaring sirens.

The lights of the ambulance flash around me. I don’t want to give into the darkness, but the mind-numbing ache in my leg has other plans. It steals away my consciousness and my dream of winning another Championship along with it.

The smell of antiseptic hits me first. My nose twitches at the mix of alcohol and pine needles, and my eyes burn as the bright ceiling lights come into focus.

It takes me a few moments to register my surroundings. Beeping machines match the accelerating beat of my heart. An IV needle pricks my hand, attached to bags of fluids.

I blink, forcing my eyes to adjust. My foggy brain doesn’t want to comprehend why I’m in a hospital bed.

“Ay Dios, ya estas despierto.” My mom gets up from a chair across from me and pulls my hand into hers. Her brown hair is thrown up in a messy bun, and the wrinkles in her clothes match the ones etched into her face.

Maya and my dad walk up to the other side of my bed. Noah stands behind my sister, wrapping his arms around her body.

“Mami? Papi? What are you doing here?” I rasp.

My dad runs a hand through his gray hair, making the strands go everywhere. His brown eyes reflect the same concern as everyone else’s.

What’s happening? 

My mom’s brown eyes glisten as she looks at me. “Mi carino.” She sobs as she throws herself on top of me. The sudden movement jars my body.

What the fuck? My mom never cries like this. Not when she could barely pay the bills, or when she had to work during my birthday every year. Not even when my dad lost his job, making it almost impossible for me to compete in a kart race. She’s always been a warrior.

I lift my free arm and wrap it around her shaking body. “Estoy bien, Mami. I’ll be fine. It was just an accident.”

Maya places a trembling hand on my shoulder. “Santi—” The way she looks at me has the beeping machine kicking into overdrive. Her stare sets off every internal alarm, and I struggle to understand why.

My brain moves at a snail’s pace to catch up on everything. “What’s going on—”

An older doctor walks into the room, interrupting me. He flips through a few papers on his clipboard. “Oh, good. I’m glad to see you’re awake, Santiago.”

“Who are you?”

He smiles. “My name is Dr. Michaelson. We are relieved that you’re up and talking. We were all worried about you, especially your family. You’ve been through a traumatic experience.”

“Why am I here?” My brows draw together.

His smile remains bright and warm, but it does nothing to calm my erratic heart rate. “You’re recovering from a surgery. I’m the doctor who was assigned to your case and I plan on helping you through this whole process.”

“Surgeon? Why do I need you?”

Whatever I said makes my mom grip onto my shoulder, her nails biting into the hospital gown covering my body. Another sob escapes her, and the sound hits me right in the chest.

The doctor clears his throat. “You’ve been through a lot within the last twenty-four hours. I can tell you’re a strong man. Are you in any pain right now?”

Pain? Everything inside of me feels…numb. Nothing like how I usually am after a crash with my limbs aching and my head hurting. It’s as if someone hit a reset button on my body, and I’m still booting up.

“No. I don’t feel anything.” I bristle when I meet the doctor’s gaze.

There’s that look again. Something in his eyes doesn’t sit right with me.

The doctor scans my body before offering me another reassuring smile. “I’m sorry we have to meet under this kind of circumstance. I’m a huge fan of your driving.”

The heart-monitoring machine’s tempo increases as the doctor’s eyes flit from me to my family. “If it’s okay with you, Santiago, I’d like to speak with you privately for a moment.”

No one says a damn thing. Not one single person makes a move to leave the room. It’s so damn silent, the IV drip makes more noise than the people surrounding me.

Whatever the doctor has to say can’t be good. Fuck. Is it cancer? A ruptured organ? Why would I need a surgeon in the first place? 

I fist my trembling hands, unsure if I can do this on my own. “Anything you need to say can be said in front of them.”

Doctor whatever-his-name-is’s brows draw together as he takes a deep breath. “You’re currently heavily medicated, so I apologize for any confusion you might be experiencing at the moment.” The doctor walks up to the end of my bed. His warm smile drops a fraction, becoming something I don’t want to see. Growing up poor and an underdog allows me to recognize pity instantly. It’s written all over the doctor’s face. It catches me off guard because I haven’t experienced it in some time. Not since I made it and became someone. Not since I started living my dream and proving everyone who doubted me wrong.

A bead of sweat drips down my forehead. “Just get on with it. You’re making me nervous.”

The doctor’s frown becomes more pronounced. “I’m very sorry, Santiago, but you had an extremely traumatizing accident.”

“No shit. Get to the point,” I bite out.

Maya takes in a sudden breath. “Santi.”

“It’s all right. I can imagine this is stressful and I’m not helping. Not to mention, mood changes and fogginess are expected with the amount of morphine they gave you to combat the pain.” His eyes move from my face to the lower half of my body.

I tense.

He releases a shaky breath. “I want you to know that the accident wasn’t your fault. There was absolutely nothing you could have done to change what happened today. I’m very sorry to tell you that we could not save the bones below your right knee. They shattered on impact, along with the cartilage, to the point that there was nothing left for us to work with in the operating room. We were able to conduct the emergency amputation to ensure the rest of your leg could be saved…”

Everything around me stops. The whooshing of the machines. My family’s cries as they break down in front of me. The whole damn world fades to a gray so dark, it borders on black. One word hits me like a battering ram to my skull.

Amputation. 

Amputation.

Amputation? 

I clutch onto the sheet covering the lower half of my body. My stomach twists at the cry my mom lets out as she turns toward my dad.

I consider telling my family that the doctor must be wrong. He has to be wrong. But something stops me as I lift the sheet with shaky fingers.

It takes one second for my world to crumble around me. One second to realize my life has ended before it ever truly began. One second to wish I could take it all back.

I stare down at my body. My right leg is bandaged and wrong. So fucking wrong I can barely look at it, with acid crawling up my throat. I gag and look away. Someone places a plastic container on my chest as bile escapes my mouth.

I’ve never experienced pain like this before. The emotional kind that borderlines on physical, as if someone set off a bomb inside of my chest.

I’m not sure who shoves the sheet over my body, but I’m grateful for it. I shut my eyes and tell myself how none of this is real. Except my mind has other plans, not allowing me to think past anything but my leg.

Everything below my right knee is missing. The foot I use to press against the pedal. The calf muscles I work on daily in the gym to make me stronger. The very part of me I depend on during every race is gone, like it never existed in the first place.

Tears escape my eyes. I hate the feel of them sliding down my cheeks. I’m quick to brush them away, not wanting anyone to see me break down. Everything remains eerily silent as my world is destroyed around me. A hollow space takes up the spot in my chest where my heart once belonged, matching my missing appendage.

The doctor’s voice breaks the quiet. “I’m very sorry, Santiago. I’m hopeful that we can help you have a speedy recovery. With our patients, it’s normal to feel overwhelmed from the shock—”

“Shock? You know what’s shocking? Finding out my sister was dating the one man I didn’t want in her life. Or maybe learning I would sign with the best F1 team after only a couple years of racing. This? This is fucking catastrophic,” I hiss. “So don’t pretend it’s anything but a death sentence.” I stare at the doctor with every amount of hate I can muster. Hate feels better than the numbness seeping into my blood, erasing everything I once was. Hate is something I can hold on to. Hate is something I can remember when all else fails me.

“Santiago.” My dad speaks in a meek voice, lacking his usual assuredness.

I can’t find it in me to care and apologize. I can’t find it in me to do anything.

“I want everyone out,” I say it low, yet the sentence carries a sense of finality.

Mami’s cries become louder. Papi tugs her into his chest, muffling her sobs.

“You shouldn’t be alone right now.” Maya’s small hand clutches onto my shoulder.

Noah looms behind her like the fucking shadow he is. I can’t look him in the eyes. Acknowledging his presence reminds me of everything I’ve lost. My whole life’s work down the drain in the matter of twenty-four hours.

“It’s all gone. One wrong move and my entire life is done. One stupid fucking move of driving on the wrong part of the pavement.” I hide my face behind my trembling hands. I don’t want anyone to see my pain or my tears because it feels like another thing stolen from me. My pride. My manhood. My dignity. All of it robbed after one mistake. One devastating, career-ending mistake.

Fuck that.

Life-ending. One life-ending mistake.

“Your life isn’t over. We’re going to fix this,” Maya says loudly over my heavy breathing.

Noah places his palm on top of hers, giving my shoulder a tighter squeeze. “Your life isn’t over because I won’t let you give up on yourself. This isn’t the end.”

I refuse to look up at him. My family ignores my protests and stands by me as I lose my shit in silence, giving in to the emotional and physical pain.