Pedal to the Metal: Love's Drivin' but Fate's Got the Pole (The 'Cuda Confessions Book 3) (37 page)

“That’s been going around.” I drew up to my full height, wishing I’d worn taller heels. I smiled and tucked my hand through Caine’s arm. “We need to take our discussion to the bus. It’s the polite thing to do, so folks don’t have to sneak behind our backs to talk about us.”

Caine’s eyes glowed. He dropped a big hand over mine. I drew from his strength. It seemed idiotic, but with the world around me exploding, I’d never felt safer.

“Ask me if I care what they think about me lovin’ you more’n my next breath.”

Silence reigned. My heart did a joyous shimmy.
He loves me, and not just in the dark.

David Northern rubbed his palms together with a wide grin. “Y’all makin’ up for the fact I didn’t get no Springer tickets when we ran in Chicago.”

Then I remembered the mess I was in. 

Caine lifted a fist to his lips in a pretense of coughing, but not in time to hide his smirk.

I pinched David’s cheek. “Glad to be of service.” Hell would freeze before I flinched in front of these men. I tugged Caine past the crewmen and toward the elevator. We passed Colt, who refused to look my way.

I stepped into the elevator and jammed a finger on the button to hold the door open. After a few moments passed without hearing any footsteps, I leaned into the corridor and glared at Colt. He finally left Marley and strolled our way, scrubbing the top of his head like he wanted to erase the last trace of hair.

“She ain’t speakin’ for me at this thing,” Colt muttered, glaring at Caine as he stepped into the tiny carriage. Turning slowly, Colt met my gaze. I’d never seen the expression on his face before. It looked a lot like... hatred. I tried to breathe through the invisible blow to my gut, but the young girl who’d given her heart to Colt just kept talking in my head.
He feels left out.

Colt jabbed a finger into Caine’s chest. “’Cause, when she’s done blowin’ up everything we got, she’s gonna stroll her ass right out the fuckin’ door and never look back. Believe what you want. She always runs, brother.”

The venom in his tone washed away the pity I’d felt moments before. I refused to bear the scars of Robyn’s abandonment of Colt.

“England wants to sweep this... assault... under the rug with some half-assed excuse like, ‘emotions run high’ or ‘boys will be boys’!” I snapped. “And you think I should let him?”

Colt barked, “That’s racin’, goddammit. Checkers or wreckers. Emotions
do
run high.”

Jerking free of Caine’s grasp, I slapped the back of my hand across Colt’s midsection. “There’s driving balls to the wall and there’s suicide by opponent. It’s not the same goddamn thing and you know it! If NASCAR had done one goddamn thing to bitch slap Kolby into line, none of us would be here. Including Dale.” Going up on tiptoe, I narrowed my eyes. “And, before I’m done, he’s gonna goddamn wish he had.”

“All mouth and no ammo,” Colt spat. “That wreck did affect your comprehension. England’s holdin’ all the fuckin’ cards, Shelby. You,”—the way he stressed the word sent a shaft of pain through my chest—“ain’t even got a seat at the table.”

I sucked in a deep breath. “Like hell I don’t. Dale gave me one. Is that your problem, Colt? I thought it was Mom who got Dale to take my name off the Hannah-Built site as Chief Operating Officer, but it was you, wasn’t it? God, is this another of your twisted games?”

His eyes rounded. “Me? Hell, it was you! He done that after that goddamn dinner with your fuckin’ boyfriend. After you told him you planned to go your own way.”

“Colt, goddammit—”

Colt slammed a fist against Caine’s arm. “You agree with her, huh? Ready to hang up fliers advertisin’ tune ups to pay for that fuckin’ garage? I reckon I can go back to drivin’ a forklift. If she steps in front of two hundred reporters and starts layin’ the blame on George and Rick, I guarantee, me and you get our walkin’ papers as soon as the press looks away.”

To my astonishment, Jesse pushed Marley into the elevator. He slapped my hand aside and mashed the button to close the door. The carriage lurched into action, but he only let it descend about half a floor before he slammed a hand over the button to stop the elevator again.

The former champion drew a deep breath, studying me. “Shelby, I’m behind every word you said to George. But, you three are worried about the wrong problem. That drag race is how he’s gonna shift attention from his actions, or the lack of ‘em. George’s sly. He’d look like a dick goin’ after a fresh-faced college girl whose daddy’s in a coma, and he knows it. He’ll have reporters planted in the crowd. If you don’t respond to their questions, they’ll say you have something to hide. Fans already feel sorry for poor little Kolby, who has to work with a crew chief that disrespects him at every turn.”

He spread his hands, palms up. “Even has his daughter makin’ fun of him on her website. Good God, everybody in NASCAR, from the drivers to the ticket takers have seen that video. And everybody knows, Kolby’s takin’ his life into his hands if he responds, because Dale can fuck up his car nineteen different ways no one would ever find. Why, that’s enough right there to make any man act irrational.” 

Sincerity glowed in Jesse’s eyes, but goddammit, this was ridiculous. “I don’t understand. Kolby attacks Dale in full view of ninety thousand people, but the issue is something that happened five months ago? Why? Why is the issue not Kolby’s behavior on the track, today and every other day I can recall, for three fucking years now? Why is the issue not workplace assault?”

“Because, darlin’.” Jesse’s superior tone made me grit my teeth. “Rick started it. Why anybody went to jail, I don’t know. Fists fly come race day.”

He shifted his weight, glancing at Colt. “Listen, you did the smart thing sendin’ Kossel away. Now, stay smart. Go out there and give folks an update on Dale’s condition, then shut up. Don’t take no questions. That crowd out there? They’re on your side. Don’t let George use ‘em against you. The minute you start talkin’, you done already lost.”

Marley crossed her arms. White half moons appeared in her tan where she dug her nails into the skin above her elbows. “Dale thinks she can be the front man for a big-time NASCAR team, Jesse. I think speaking up’s a job requirement.”

I blinked.

“Marley, for God’s sake. Dale means sweet-talkin’ the fan base.” Jesse sighed. “This is George we’re talkin’ about. And Colt’s right. She can’t throw mud at him without some landin’ on Richard.”

I stomped my foot in frustration. “Is it true that the other drivers are taking their frustrations with Kolby out on the rest of you?”

Something flickered in Marley’s eyes, but Colt barked a short laugh. “Fuck, no. That’s just fans talkin’. Christ, every week NASCAR’s ever run a damn race—all the way back to 1946—people get taken out. Nature of the beast. Thinkin’ there’s a conspiracy is just stupid. Damn, you couldn’t get four drivers to agree that gasoline’s a fossil fuel, much less get forty to work together.”

Marley’s eyes said different. I glanced at Caine, but saw nothing in his eyes. Nothing at all, which seemed odd, given the nature of the conversation.

If there was an informal driver retaliation in progress—a little street justice, so to speak—that would explain Bliss’s attitude. And Jamie’s. If he was the target, rather than Kolby, that would ratchet the pressure up on Dale. And I’d already seen, these guys were merciless with each other.
Fuck, what a damn mess.

Jesse jammed the ‘stop’ button, then tapped the button for the second floor. The carriage lurched and started its slow descent, only to jar to a halt. He dragged Marley off.

“We’ll walk back up to pay our respects to Macy.”

For one horrible second, I thought Colt would go with them, but he let the door slide closed. I launched myself into his arms. “I’m sorry,” I blurted. “I can’t be with you both, not in public.”

It took him forever to return my squeeze. “I know. I just didn’t see it comin’. Of all the times for y’all to blow that shit sky-high.”

I couldn’t explain why the brakes were off with my mother.

It hit me what I’d done. If Dale was badly hurt, I’d handed Mom the perfect excuse to pack her bags and march off into the sunset. Try as I might, I just couldn’t picture Macy standing tall through a long recuperation.

But, by God, she’d go with the clothes on her back, and she’d better make a reservation at the trailer park. I’d testify, if I had to, about her little escapade on the dryer.

If she left Dale, she’d get nothing. I’d see to that.

“W
e love you, Colt!” Three teenage girls—
and their mothers?
—screamed when we stepped out of the service entrance. The six women jumped up and down like they were at a rock concert. One waved a sign wishing a speedy recovery to ‘
the best crew chief in NASCAR
’, but the sign that transfixed me said, ‘
Much love for the House of Hannah’
.

I had to work to see past the security guards that surrounded us the instant we stepped outside, but red or black baseball caps studded the milling crowd. Caine urged me forward. Satellite dishes perched atop van after van. I tried to count.
Seven, eight. Nine, ten. There’s one from ESPN, so, eleven?

“Is it always like this?” I glanced at Caine.

“At the track? Yeah. Fans wanna get close.”

A blazing ball hovered low on the horizon, painting a perfect copy of the sunset on the black metal skin of the long bus. Thanks to drawn shades, I couldn’t see inside. My hand felt lost inside Caine’s clutching fingers, lost and perfect. I studied the rectangle protruding from the side of the long vehicle as we jogged though the fenced lot.

“Shelby! Shelby!” Hearing my name was so unexpected that I halted to search the faces pressed against the fence. A man waved frantically. A taller, dark-haired man stood beside him, wearing a light blue cap that matched their—
oh, my God.

“Harry! Phillip! Let them through the gate.” I grabbed the arm of one of the security guards, pointing. “Those two, in the Hannah-Built shirts. They’re my friends.”

The guard peeled off, jogging toward the fence. Reporters fought to slip through, but the Charlotte city police officers held them back long enough for Harry and Phillip to dart inside.

“I’ve worn dents in the glass on my phone trying to call you.” Harry panted from the sprint. “Dear God, Shelby. We turned the race on late. Is your stepfather okay?”

“Inside,” Caine urged. “Get on the bus.” He poked Harry in the chest and grinned. “Dude, you gotta be Harry Kinston.”

“How in the world—?”

Caine grimaced. “Only customer we’ve had on the website. Shipped those shirts and wrote the label myself.”

Colt tapped on the bus. The doors sprang open. I realized with a pang that we’d left Jonny upstairs. I’d forgotten about him when Jesse horned in.

“You’ve never seen inside this thing, have you?” Colt asked. I shook my head, prepared for a larger version of Caine’s red-and-black-themed room when I reached the top step.

I stopped in my tracks, gazing around with wide eyes.

The driver’s area was at my back, to the front of the steps. A kitchen area and banquette-style table filled the front third of the long structure. In the center, two sofas occupied bumped-out sections, facing each other to make a cozy seating area. Past the couches, six captain’s chairs gleamed beneath the soft glow of wall sconces, complete with silk shades. A flat screen television hung on the wall across from the dual rows of chairs.

Through an open door at the back of the bus, more lamps illuminated a massive bed. A padded headboard peeked from behind piles of throw pillows.

“This is nice.” Harry shoved me forward. “Is that marble?” He slid a hand across the surface of a small desk behind the front passenger seat. He craned his neck, and I followed his gaze to another flat panel TV above the desk.

Caroline leaned a hip against the counter by the sink. The aroma of fresh coffee filled the bus. I managed to move my feet in her direction.

Harry followed on my heels. “This’s ten times nicer than Gretchen Wilson’s.”

Jonny must’ve used a different exit, because he sipped coffee at the kitchen table.

This thing had to cost more than the damn house.
“This isn’t the motor home y’all took to Daytona my senior year in high school.”

“Nope. This one’s got a pair of five-hundred horsepower diesel Mercedes engines. Rick upgraded everyone’s accommodations a couple years ago. Jonny was the only one still thinkin’ straight after Dad went down. He had Dad’s bus brought over. Y’all have a seat.” Colt gestured toward Harry and Phillip, then introduced himself. “Nice shirts.”

“Hey.” Jonny raised his cup in salute. “I know you guys. You tended bar at the Christmas shindig.” He wriggled farther into the booth to make room for my friends. “By the way, did y’all get that text from Richard? The press conference has been delayed till ten.”

“How do y’all take your coffee?” Caroline asked, reaching into the cabinet for more cups. “Did you get to see Dale?”

“Mom and Colt did.” I wrapped my arms around her, but stared at Jonny. “Really? England pushed the time back?”