Pedal to the Metal: Love's Drivin' but Fate's Got the Pole (The 'Cuda Confessions Book 3) (32 page)

“Just let me hold her a minute.” Caroline shook Jonny off and threw her arms around me. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.” She whispered, “Don’t you dare cry. I’m just hangin’ on by a thread.”

Too busy fighting the urge to puke to cry, I sucked down a lungful of her fruity shampoo before the elevator doors opened and I had to let her go. I blinked at the tiny space.

Caine dragged me to the rear of the conveyance. Colt shoved Robert into the middle, alongside Caroline, then he and Jonny wedged inside. The doors slid closed, shutting off my oxygen. Robert gave me a where-are-your-manners look I’d swear he’d stolen from Mom.

“Caroline, Jonny, this is Robert Kossel. Robert, these are—”

“Oh, I remember Mr. Jet. Hi, Caroline.” He managed to stick out his hand. “I’m Shelby’s fiancé.”

“Fiancé?” Caroline took the hand Robert extended. Jonny told her he and I had sex, but didn’t tell her I’d gotten engaged? The hard look in Caine’s eyes said Jonny hadn’t mentioned that.

Caine jerked me against his chest and wrapped his arms around me. His body heat cut right through the penetrating hospital chill. “I was right there,” he muttered. “I was right there and didn’t see it goin’ down.” A tremor shook his huge body. “If he dies—”

“He’s not gonna die!” I shrieked, tightening my arms around his waist. The sharp tang of Caine’s sweat, soap, and his cologne, so familiar and dear, made my knees weak. “Don’t even say that out loud.”

“Motherfucker saw me comin’ for his ass. He got back in his goddamn car and jumped back into the race.” Colt’s voice throbbed with pain. “Let me hold her, Caine. Just for a minute.”

Caine gave me a final squeeze before Colt shoved an arm between Robert and Caroline. He dragged me between the pair, uncaring that both tumbled against the wall. His unzipped hoodie had the sleeves ripped out, and naturally, he wore no shirt. My cheek connected with bare skin when he slammed me against his chest. Robert’s glare made the hair on the back of my neck stir. Colt’s steady heartbeat made me think I could get through this.

“He can’t hide in jail forever. If Kolby wants some more Hannah, I’ll be right here to help his ass out.” Colt lifted my feet off the floor, squeezing me so hard, I fought to breathe.

“That’s not going to help Dale.” I caressed his back, as though that would do a damn thing. The carriage lurched to a halt. The sudden up-down sensation unraveled the knot in my gut.

“Let me off,” I gasped, squirming out of Colt’s grasp. Hot liquid surged up the back of my throat. “Let me off!”

T
iny mosaic tile bit into my knees while everything I feared galloped through my head. Dale would die. Kolby would get a slap on the wrist. Caine would turn on me when he learned I was pregnant. Jonny would hate me for the wedge that would surely drive between him, his racing family, and Caroline. That meant Colt would hate me, too.

I pictured every possible bad outcome. Even the one where I labored for hours and gave birth to a perfectly healthy blue-eyed blond that wasn’t Colt’s son, but Robert’s.

Vomit surged up the back of my throat. I opened my mouth and let the contents of my stomach hit the water in the sparkling toilet. Caroline gathered my hair with cool hands. I heaved a final time and pushed the lever to flush.

And stay down there. No time for this bullshit now.
I swiped the back of one hand across my mouth. Getting on my feet, I backed away from the sour stench of bad outcomes.

Caroline didn’t say a word while I brushed my teeth, except, “You carry a toothbrush around?”

I spoke around the brush. “Never know when I might end up sleeping over at Robert’s.” Except, not once this semester.

“Took me a second to figure out why he looked so familiar. He kinda looks like Colt, at first glance. But, then I figured it out when you introduced him. He’s the spittin’ image of that lawyer on all the billboards around town. Her tone had the warmth of a January snowstorm.
For fuck’s sake, what does she want from me?

I spat and scooped water into my cupped palm. Tucking my toothbrush into the holder, I shoved the container and toothpaste into my purse. Spying something yellow, I pulled out the pack of Juicy Fruit gum I’d bought the week before.

“Want a stick?”

Caroline shook her head. “Better not. Can’t stop myself from poppin’ it. Makes other people go ballistic.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Especially in a quiet room.”

I slid a stick out of its wrapper and peeled away the foil. Folding the gum over twice, I stuck the lump into my mouth and bit down. She caught my hand, tilting my fingers so the small diamond glittered.

“That’s beautiful. So, you’re gonna marry him and keep—”

“One of these days, you gotta teach me how it’s done.” The sweet flavor flooded my mouth and settled my stomach. “Dale pops his gum. I wanna know how, too.”

“You ain’t—what’re you doin’, Shelby?” she whispered.

Squaring my shoulders, I met her troubled gaze. “Haven’t had the money. Week after next, maybe you’d come down to Spartanburg? I need someone to drive me over to Greenville. I have to keep working at the bar, at least until I can scrape together enough money.”

Her brows drew together. “Aren’t you gettin’ cash for graduation gifts already?”

Startled, I squinted at her skeptical expression. “I guess Mom put her return address on those invitations. We haven’t been in touch.” The tension at the base of my skull tightened a notch.

The security guard outside the open elevator stared straight ahead when we stepped out of the restroom. Caroline pointed right. Thirty feet away, a dozen or more men milled around an open door. The sign above marked the waiting room. I sucked down a deep breath. My cell phone chimed. I reached into my purse to shut the damn thing off.

“I’m goin’ back to the bus.” Caroline squeezed my hand. Before I could stop her, Caroline darted into the elevator. She slapped the button, but kept her head down. The doors slid closed while I stared.

I’d hurt her again, because I couldn’t fucking think straight enough to have Mom open my damn mail and deposit any cash gifts. I turned away, forcing my feet down the gleaming corridor.

Past the knot of men loitering in the corridor, double glass doors protected the nurse’s desk beyond. I blinked until the bold, black letters—
Intensive Care Unit, No Cell Phone Past This Point
—stopped wavering. Everyone in sight wore some sort of Ridenhour garb. Hard eyes peered from underneath the brims of matching black baseball caps, festooned with that hideous gold circus font. No one spoke.

Doris and Bliss bracketed Mom, who jumped to her feet the moment I stepped through the door. I tensed for a public tongue lashing, but she wrapped me in a hug. Robert and his dad sat in a row of chairs behind her, heads together. I patted her back, but raised a brow in return to Doris’s scowl.

“Shelby, Dale gave you his medical power of attorney because he felt you’d stand up to a doctor without being intimidated. Why would you just roll over and let them do this... this insane thing to the poor man? How does it make sense to put a man who’s already in a coma,”—Doris waved her hands— “into a deeper coma?”

My cheeks heated. The low buzz of conversation died. Sucking in a deep breath, I pulled away from Mom. “Sit. I’ll explain.” Macy fell into her seat. Bliss Roark gripped her hand. All three women fixed determined eyes on my face. I didn’t need to look around to know every eye was on me.

“When I hit my head in that wreck, I had a hematoma far less severe than Dale’s. My brain still doesn’t work the same as before. It’s getting better, but I can still lose my train of thought if someone interrupts me, or if I’m under stress. Dale’s job is pure stress. I can’t keep track of time. I don’t need to tell you that fractions of seconds are critical for him. Reading can be a struggle for me now. I have the attention span of a gnat, and my comprehension’s iffy.”

Mom’s face crumpled, but I hurried on. “Dale has to read bulletins, memos, entire manuals about the car, and even more manuals on each car system, not to mention the rules he has to memorize. My personality is more aggressive and I can’t seem to control the changes there, either.”

Mom’s ears reddened. I tuned in to the heavy makeup she wore.

Guilt flared, making me avert my gaze, only to meet Doris’s blazing eyes. “My head hurts all the damn time. That’s what Dale’s facing, times four. You want the same man back, right?” Once Doris nodded, I glanced at Mom. She shook her head, but said nothing.

Bliss Roark could kiss my ass.

Someone squeezed my shoulder. I glanced up into Colt’s eyes. “Good enough for me.”

“I just want to hear his voice!” Tears streaked Mom’s cheeks. Doris poked a tissue into her hand. Mom wiped her eyes. When she lowered her hand, her drawn expression made her look five years older than she had at Christmas.

Worse, the tissue smeared her pancake base, revealing a purplish half moon beneath her right eye. 

At least I know why she called the police. She couldn’t show up at Martinsville without a story about how she got the black eye.
The blame I was due for that made it hard to straighten my shoulders.

Uncomfortable with every eye on me, I crouched in front of Mom and kept my voice low. “We want to do what’s best for Dale. That’s why I gave the okay to put him in this coma. This mimics what happens to swimmers who fall into frigid water. Icy water slows the brain to nearly a stop. Once the brain and heart slow to that point, there’s no swelling. No swelling means we limit the brain damage. The other way is damage control, not prevention.”

I tensed, but she didn’t bring up the elephant in the room. Dale had to know she fell apart at the drop of a hat. But why hadn’t he put Caine or Colt in charge of making his health care decisions?

Colt tightened his grip on my shoulder. Caine’s worn work boots moved into my field of vision. I didn’t want to look up again, but didn’t see how looking up could make me feel worse than staring at the black eye I’d given my own mother.

Caine’s scowl made it plain which stepbrother had been against the neurosurgeon’s plan.

While I stared, the rims of his eyes reddened, but his gaze didn’t flicker. He finally nodded. The despair in those dark depths ripped into my heart like a machete.

“Who has the remote?” someone demanded. “They’re going live to the courthouse.”

One of Dale’s crew waved the slender black box toward a flat panel screen. An anchor man for a local news station filled the frame. The volume rose.

“Developments in a breaking story out of the Queen City tonight. After an altercation at the Charlotte Motor Speedway earlier today, Ridenhour Racing crew chief Dale Hannah is fighting for his life after being airlifted to Sammy Owens Trauma Center in Charlotte. In just a moment, we’ll take you live to the Cabarrus County Courthouse, where NASCAR driver Kolby Barnes will be formally charged with felony assault with intent to do bodily harm. Let’s see what our expert thinks about the charges, and Barnes’ chances of being released on bail. Martin?”

“Felony assault with intent?” Doris cried. “What happened to Dale was an accident.”

“Barnes intentionally tripped Dale.”

Horrified by the voice, I peered between Mom and Bliss. Robert—the younger—nodded. 

“How could you possibly know that?” Doris jumped to her feet and whirled. “You weren’t there. You just walked through the door with Shelby.”

“Someone was.” Senior smirked. “Thanks to cell phones, there’s always a camera handy nowadays. In the video posted on YouTube, you can see, plain as day, that Kolby hooked his foot behind Dale’s leg and shoved him right into that metal tool box. With that film, any first-year law student could make a case for intent.”

“Video?” Doris repeated. “Who in the hell—”

For fuck’s sake, why’d she glare at me?

“Shh,” someone said. “Listen.” The volume climbed.

Onscreen, the cameras panned, revealing a second man seated at the anchor desk. His credentials as a former prosecutor crawled across the bottom of the screen.

“My sources tell me that Judge Hellman Wallace is on duty tonight,” the expert intoned. “A NASCAR driver’s schedule is a matter of public record. Hellman will likely release Barnes on his own recognizance.”

I wrenched my gaze from the lawyer to scan the faces of Dale’s crewmen. All eyes were pinned to the screen. What outcome were they pulling for, for Kolby? One of the crewmen stood.

“You look mighty pale, Miss Shelby. Take my seat.” I gave the man a grateful smile and collapsed into the chair, several feet from Mom and the Kossels. The men on either side darted curious glances my way. Caine stalked out of sight behind me. Colt moved to a spot at the end of the row, exchanging a word with the guy who’d given me his seat.

Throw Kolby back in his cell and flush the key
. The station cut to a commercial. 

“Hey, Shelby.” The man on my right leaned close, but his eyes remained fixed on the flat panel. “How you likin’ that R8?”

What would Dale say?
To show no fear.
“It’s not bad for a free car.”

His silent chuckle shook the shoulder that touched mine. “I know that’s right.” He patted my hand. “David Northern. Barnes’ car chief. You made a fan outta me ‘fore you even pulled to the start line, when you did that thing with your helmet. I watch that video ‘bout twice a week, just to yank Kolby’s chain. You or your mama need anything while Dale’s off his feet, honey, you let me know, and I’ll take care of it. If I can’t make it happen, any of these guys will.”