Pedal to the Metal: Love's Drivin' but Fate's Got the Pole (The 'Cuda Confessions Book 3) (42 page)

Hooked the story to their passion. Check. Go for the jugular.
“Not some poser who loses his cool time and again, and expects you to overlook his shortcomings.”

I swept a hand toward the crew at my back, as I felt was their due. “Not a man who, thanks to the solid teamwork behind him, can win on any given Sunday, but chooses instead to throw their hard work away to pursue his own grudges.”

I paused to breathe. “I think we all want the same thing. Hard racing without the continuous temper tantrums. Tonight, I’m begging Mr. England to hold our heroes’ feet to the fire and insist they be more than mere winners.”

A smatter of applause came from the spot where Harry and Phillip stood. “Please join me in demanding that NASCAR tell their drivers and crews, loud and clear, that we deserve heroes who embody the principles of good sportsmanship and character, along with their competitiveness and skill, because our children are watching. Because we are watching.”

A low murmur rippled through the reporters, but applause came from all over the crowd. A few shrill whistles pierced the air—but not many. Not enough.

I turned toward George England, locking gazes briefly before turning my attention to crowd once more.

“Barring that, get him some help. Spend some of that fine money on anger management, to help this member of the family. Making money by giving a man a chance to show off his skills is the definition of professional sports. Making money off a man’s self-control issues is reprehensible.”

“Now, I’m just one voice. One person who understands that fans expect to see a hard-fought race. Tradin’ paint is part of the sport. I have no wish to slow that down. And yet, if I may borrow the exasperated tone of Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart, when he attempted to define hard-core pornography, I know an intentional act—
a modus operandi
, if you will—when I see one.”

I gathered the breath to finish. “So, if you also want NASCAR to give us back our heroes, then here’s what I’d like you to do.”

Dropping my gaze to the iPad, I enlarged the first graphic I’d made. “Hashtag Make Mine Heroic. Post it everywhere NASCAR has a public presence. That’s Twitter, Facebook, You Tube, Instagram, and any open comment section of their official website. Mr. England can ignore me. But, I guarantee, he cannot ignore you.”

I turned the screen toward the closest camera and gave Caroline a nod. Her thumbs moved across my cell phone, sending out the message on Twitter, but I was gratified to see how many reporters scribbled down the information.

Yet, the crowd was too quiet. Not... inspired.

“I’m not asking you to stop buying NASCAR merchandise while we wait. But I am asking you not to buy any NASCAR-licensed hat. To remind the powers that be in our sport to put his thinking cap on and find a way to give us back our heroes.”

The crowd was unnervingly quiet. I stumbled on, giving the grim details of Dale’s injury and prognosis. “And thank you so much for coming out in support of our hero, Dale Hannah.” Every muscle in my body trembled, but I forced out the words. “I will take questions.”

“Shelby, will your family sue NASCAR?” one reporter shouted.

“The question’s premature, but I don’t think the situation is going in that direction.”

“Did that race Hannah rigged between you and Kolby lead to this fight?”

This is it.
I straightened my spine and lifted my chin. “You’ll have to get that answer elsewhere. I was two hours away when the fight started. I can only tell you that I don’t have an NHRA card. I’m not a professional driver. But, when Kolby refused to let go of his dare that he and I race, Dale took him up on the challenge. Despite my lack of experience, I listened to my crew chief and Team Hannah scored the win.”

I shrugged. “It could’ve gone either way. That’s racin’. As far as any allegation that Dale set out to humiliate his driver, I can tell you that none of the Hannahs called ESPN to cover that race, so draw your own conclusions as to who might’ve done so. And what their motives were.”

“Did you use nitrous?”

“Did you see the video?” I snapped. “I think it shows my hands at all times. One on the wheel, one on the gear shift. How would I deploy the nitrous?”

The reporter pulled the mic to his mouth. “Knee switch? Maybe Hannah rigged up a continuous spray to the carburetor?”

My temper flared. “And maybe somewhere, pigs fly. What father in his right mind would add nitrous to an engine cranking out seven-hundred and fifty horsepower, and then put someone with my limited experience behind the wheel? I’ve said this before and I’ll repeat it now. Make up your minds. Either I shouldn’t have won because I have no experience, or I can pilot a rocket, but it cannot be both.”

To my shock, no more questions came. I waited, but several reporters began to shoulder their way through the crowd. “If that’s all, Caine and I haven’t seen Dale yet. I’ll update you on his condition on Wednesday.”

Before I could step away from the podium, something flew over my head, low enough to stir my hair.

The crowd erupted in cheers. I wrenched around. While I stood frozen, the Ridenhour crew, one after another, hurled their hats into the crowd with the aplomb of rock stars.

David Northern stepped forward, hand extended. Stunned, I let go of the podium and slipped my damp palm into his paw. He leaned close, squeezing my shoulder with his free hand. My brothers strode closer, grinning.

“I’d say old George feels a little bit like white trash boy pussy along about now, wouldn’t you, Colt?” The crewman gave Colt the once-over, then peered over his shoulder at Jonny. David turned back to me with a grin. “You’re a class act, honey. Purple and silver, huh? Damn, we gonna look fine as frog hair come next season.”

The other guy, the one who’d made the remark about the R8, stepped up to shake my hand with a smile. “You got your daddy’s balls, little girl. I dunno if we got us any heroes like you’re talkin’ ‘bout, but George was bettin’ you’d stumble, and that ain’t happened. Dale’s gonna die laughin’ when he sees this.”

“Will Kolby compete in the All-Star race?”

I darted a glance around for George. He stood at the front door with Richard and Doris, head down, typing on his phone. He must’ve felt my stare because he lifted his head. We locked gazes. His smile made the hair on my arms stand up. My heart sank. I’d swung... and missed.

“Penalties are announced on Tuesday, as y’all know.” He tapped the screen again before tucking the phone away and striding inside the hospital.

Doris hustled after him. After a moment’s hesitation, so did Rick.

“H
ero? You think Hannah’s a hero? What kind of hero cheats his own teammate out of a quarter-million-dollar car?”

My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. I spun toward the familiar voice in time to see the camera lights split into two lines, as if the operators faced off to square dance. The crowd contracted on both sides, drawing away from the center of the walkway.

“Fuck you, Barnes!” a voice cried.

“Team Hannah!” cried a few more.

“Ban Barnes! There’s your damn hashtag!”

My pulse thudded in my ears. At first, all I made out were the colorful patches on a red-and-black racing suit. When Kolby sauntered past the closest camera, his face came into view. He drew to a halt in front of the podium.

“Someday, Shelby, you should get your brothers to explain exactly what Dale does for a living, because I think you might not understand.”

“Want some more Hannah, asshole? You came to the right place.” Colt sprang to my side. Shouts rang out behind me. Hands and beefy arms came out of nowhere, wrestling Colt against the exterior wall of the hospital.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Multiple shouts rang out. “Kick his ass, Colt!” and “He brought the fight to you, finish it!”

Panic ripped through me. Barnes’ build was too slight to be intimidating, but the man haunted my dreams.

Barnes continued like he’d never been interrupted. Reporters crowded close, but at this back, shoving their mics over his shoulders.

“But nobody in this business gets the big bucks to keep their hands clean. Maybe Dale played you, too. Maybe he let you in on the secret, but we both know, it ain’t heroic to steal a car. Much less to try to steal four million bucks.”

“Let. Go!” Colt yelled, throwing an elbow that caught the man holding him in the jaw.

Kolby held up his hands. “If I get attacked, Colt, I fight back.” He scowled. “’Bout damn time my crew had my back. Where were y’all this afternoon?” His harsh laugh sent a shiver down my spine. “Oh, that’s right. Makin’ movies. Hard to believe I got arrested for somethin’ that happens every damn week at the track. But, I want to say, I didn’t see that damn tool box. After Dale coldcocked me, I could barely see a’tall. I was just defendin’ myself.”

“Tell that to a judge,” I snapped. Shadows cast by the lights veiled Barnes’ eyes, making it impossible to gauge whether he spoke the truth.
If his lips are moving, he’s probably lying.

Hands landed on my shoulders, spinning me, then jerking me forward. My nose was buried in a swath of purple silk. “Time to get the hell up out of here.”

“Dammit, Jonny, get your hands off me!”

“If I was you, Barnes, I’d go on home.” Caine’s voice rang out, silencing the buzzing crowd. “Pete, let me fuckin’ go!”

“Oh, two on one? Again?” Kolby laughed. “See, Shelby? Now, I gotta ask, how heroic is that?”

I was over this asshole’s taunts and lies. Drawing my arms close to my chest, I threw them sideways, breaking Jonny’s grasp. When I spun, I spied Caroline. A tear raced down her cheek. Jonny grabbed my wrists.

Enough with the fucking crying, too. This jerk had everyone I loved in tears. The bastard wasn’t going to crash my press conference and call us out like we were the criminals. I twisted in Jonny’s arms, bringing my boot down hard on his instep. “Let go of me!”

“Ow!” Jonny barked. His grip loosened. I broke free.

Dashing to the podium, I demanded, “Why come here? What do you want?”

Barnes cocked his head. A hush fell over the crowd, but goddammit, nothing I’d said generated the excitement that now lit every face. 

“I want a shot at gettin’ my car back. I custom-ordered that car. Had it a week before Dale stole it right out from under me.”

“Shouldn’t bet what you can’t afford to lose.” I had to grip the podium, but adrenaline, not fear, caused my tremors.

“So, after your big speech about sportsmanship, you’re tellin’ me,”—he swept a hand toward the crowd, like he loved the attention—“that you won’t give me a fair shot at winnin’ my car back? What’s wrong, Shelby?” He raised his hands and dropped them, fluttering his fingers. “Can’t win without Dale makin’ magic?”

“That’s not true!”

He cocked his head. “I been thinkin’ and thinkin’ on that race. Real convenient, your brakes goin’ out. I mean, it almost makes a man wonder why your daddy didn’t check those brake lines before the big race, don’t it? I hate to think what mighta happened if you hadn’t been able to turn out into the grass. But, they do say, if you ain’t cheatin’, you ain’t tryin’, right?” He turned toward the crowd like he thought they’d agree.

Not now!
Spinning colors flashed behind my eyes. The red, white, and blue bunting on the whitewashed stadium walls blended into a purple streak as I wrested the wheel hard to the left—inside my battered skull. The panic I’d felt when the brake pedal hit the floor, but the ‘Cuda hadn’t slowed, surged through my body like fast-acting poison. I blinked away the image. Everywhere I glanced, reporters scribbled avidly, or gestured in my direction, urging their cameramen to zoom in on me.

“Hell, no!” Caine barked. “She ain’t racin’ you again.”

No. She’s not.
I forced my eyes open. Sweat trickled down my sides.

Several people exchanged glances.
What did we have to hide?
I could almost hear the unvoiced question buzzing through the crowd.

“Fuck you,” Colt yelled. “She turned her fastest time before the brakes went out, asshole. Name the day, Barnes. When you want her to kick your ass again?”

Kolby twisted from side to side, mugging for the cameras. I ached to punch that those bouncing eyebrows right off his face. Didn’t the jackass know how many nights I’d suffered, reliving that wreck?

“Anytime, anywhere, asshole.” Colt surged to my side, nearly breaking free of David’s grasp. “That loss is eatin’ you alive, ain’t it? You throw away chances to win like they’re garbage, but this one loss is stuck in your craw? Hilarious. What’s another shot at her worth to you, jackass?”

Before I could open my mouth, Caine barked, “Shut up, Colt. I said, she ain’t racin’ him again. How many damn concussions can one man give this family before someone realizes he ain’t fit to get behind the wheel?”

I lifted my brows. Lovers or not, I sure as hell didn’t need Caine’s permission to do a damn thing.

“We can go to the same track, if you like.” Barnes took another step closer, smiling at me as if neither Colt nor Caine had spoken. Wagging a forefinger, he added, “But no Hannahs. They can’t even come through the gate. Neutral pit crews on both sides. I want pre-and post-race inspections, because it keeps grindin’ on me that you swung that helmet and took my mind off askin’ for your car to be inspected for nitrous. Agree to race on those terms and I’ll put that four million back on the table.”