Pedal to the Metal: Love's Drivin' but Fate's Got the Pole (The 'Cuda Confessions Book 3) (48 page)

The stench of vomit and stale beer made me heave, so I hurried down the hallway. The bedroom door popped open with a nudge. Tiptoeing across scattered clothing and pizza boxes, I propped the note against Robert’s pillow and turned to leave. 

Something red caught my attention. Pushing aside the Little Caesar’s box, I lifting the scrap with the toe of my boot and studied the feminine underwear. Cautiously, I raised my foot until I could grab the elastic. I tossed the panties that weren’t mine beside the note.

“Not planning to tell me goodbye to my face?”

I whirled, heart lodged in my throat. “Robert.”

He sauntered into the room. “I guess that’s my ring?” He gestured toward the folded paper.

“Yes.”

He brushed past me. Lifting the panties, he scowled. “You know half the frat brings girls in here, right?”

“Robert, it’s not about cheating. It’s about—”

“Your stepbrother. The dark-haired one. What’s his name?”

“Caine.” Why couldn’t I speak above a whisper?

He dropped the underwear and slid his fingers into the front pockets of his khakis, but soon tugged them free.

Raking a hand through his hair, he demanded, “What did I do wrong? You asked for space after Christmas. Hell, before Christmas, if we’re being honest. So, I gave you space. Do you even realize, the entire time we’ve dated, you never came to me? You held back, made me do all the work. Never called me, barely texted. Never stayed the night unless I begged. But, you finally came to me. That night, when you showed up, I’d given up.”

Oh God, please don’t let him cry.

“I was trying to move on, and suddenly, here you were. When I saw you, any doubt I’d ever had about whether or not I loved you evaporated. I thought I’d fucked up by letting that girl... but you were amazing. We had the most incredible sex of my life. You took the ring. I don’t understand. What did I do wrong?”

His injured expression looked so much like my mother’s that I had to fight to breathe. “I was just running from what I felt for Caine. I-I didn’t trust him. Didn’t trust what I felt for him.”

“And now, all of a sudden, you trust him?”

If it’s your baby, it’s my baby.
I almost blurted the news I might be pregnant, just to see how fast he’d bail, but bit the inside of my cheek instead. I had complications enough already. “Yes.”

His Adams apple bobbed. He raised his arm to swipe his sleeve across his face. “I’m sorry for what I said about Dale after that dinner with our parents. I hope he recovers.”

“Thank you.” I ducked my head, unwilling to see whatever was in his eyes. With a sob, I hurried toward the bedroom door.

He caught my arm, spinning me. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I watched the press conference. How’re hat sales going?”

Trying to speak past my tight throat, I gasped, “No idea.”

He rolled his eyes, but held on to my arm. “I take my car to a mechanic when it messes up. I prefer the convenience of an automatic. I try not to drive more than ten miles over the speed limit, because people die every day in car crashes. In fact, I hate driving, period. I’ll probably be first in line for one of those little cars that drives for you. You’re my adrenaline. The most dangerous thing I ever attempted. If he lets you down, if you ever need me, let me know.”

People die of boredom every day, too. Who do you sue when that happens, if not yourself? If I ever need you, I’m in more trouble than either of us can fix.

“Weren’t you ever tempted to break every speed limit? To find out what living without a safety belt feels like?” I dampened my lips. “To make your own rules?”

“No. That’s just crazy. Nobody makes their own rules.”

“I want crazy.” Confident I’d made the right choice, I headed out the back door.

I
wanted nothing more than to curl up in the corner of Francine’s comfortable couch and unburden my soul. The trip from Wofford to her house took only minutes. I cruised past the front of the bungalow and turned onto the side street.

Ernie’s truck wasn’t in its accustomed spot. For one horrible second, I wondered where he might’ve gone. That was the worst part of losing him, those moments when I forgot he’d died and had to wrestle back my grief all over again.

Pulling up behind Francine’s pristine ’69 Mustang convertible, I turned off the truck.

The Tiptons had one thing in common with the Hannahs. While their everyday vehicles lived underneath a carport, I’d never seen the small garage off to the side of the driveway with the doors open until today. She must’ve moved the truck inside.

Exhaustion rode me as I slid from behind the wheel. Francine strode out of the building carrying a cardboard box. “Well, hello. Tough day, dear?”

“The good news is, I didn’t get suspended for nearly slapping a bitch with a cafeteria tray. The bad news is, I think I totally tanked Dr. Winston’s exam. I don’t even know how you teach history. Anything with dates and facts to regurgitate just—well, to be honest, this semester, they were never in my head long enough for me to forget them. I winged it, and that’s never a good thing. If I’m lucky, he’ll give me the pity D.”

“Oh, my.” Pausing beside my open door, Francine’s eyes rounded. I peered into the box, but a manila file folder rested on top, hiding the contents.

“I was hoping we could grab dinner. Souvlaki, maybe? Then, I want a dozen raspberry-filled doughnuts. And milk. I sold all my textbooks, so my treat.”

“Sure. Let me run get my purse. Do you mind closing the garage door?” She shoved the box into my seat.

Grabbing the cord that dangled from the bottom of the metal door, I cast a look around the dim interior. A huge pile of dusty canvas rested near the spot where I stood.

I swallowed hard. She’d sold Ernie’s truck. Looked like she’d sold whatever vehicle had sat here as well.

Vintage enamel advertising signs lined the walls. Tools hung in neat rows above a wooden workbench on the back wall. Boxes labeled ‘Christmas’ lined the low shelf underneath. A case of Quaker State motor oil rested on the ground nearby.

Rafters braced the peaked roof. Quarter panels from race cars—mostly crumpled and scarred with paint from a different vehicle—hung from the cross beams. A colorful poster nailed between two of them enticed me closer.

Faded rainbow colors lurked behind bold, black text. Apparently, Ned Jarrett, Cotton Gowens, and Richard Petty showed up to race at the Spartanburg County Fairgrounds on the 19
^th
of May, 1962.

Cotton Gowens had built the car that Richard and Dale came to buy from Ernie. The Spartanburg racetrack was where Ernie had bought the car. The sudden urge to sit down and howl swept over me. Instead, I gave the push mower a watery smile. Noting the brand, I moved closer to the yellow and green machine.

“Who knew John Deere made push mowers?”

“Another of our rare fights.” I jumped a foot. Francine laughed for the first time in my presence since the night I’d raced to the hospital when she’d called to tell me of Ernie’s heart attack.

“You don’t even want to know what it cost. Ernie despised yard work, but was too tight to hire it done, and honey, I don’t perspire if I can help it. The man wanted a John Deere tractor the size of Kansas. I told him he could have it if he gave up Moon Pies. He came home with that the next day.”

Stories did more than sell cars. They kept the dead alive, too. Laughing through my tears, I followed her out of the garage.

“You don’t want to park the Mustang in here?”

“No, it’s a pain in the ass to lift the door, then get out and close it again.”

I’d get Caine to install an automatic opener, maybe for her birthday in July.

I grasped the cord, appreciating her concerns when it took all my weight to pull the balky door down. “Is there a lock?”

Francine shoved the box onto the front seat of Caine’s truck. “Look in the grass to your left. I haven’t braved that garage in years. Lots of names from my childhood in there. My family had a lot of friends in this town. That’s the only reason Daddy agreed to let me come to school this far from home. Boy, was he ever pissed that I stayed.”

I snagged the old-fashioned padlock and fit the shank through the hasp. Catching me eyeing the box, she gestured. “That stuff’s for you. Or, I hoped you could take it along.” She cast a jaundiced eye at the bed of Caine’s truck, filled with suitcases, boxes, and trash bags of my clothes.

I squeezed the padlock. “What’s in there?”

“Found a stash of Brad Taggert memorabilia. A replica car he signed, photographs, and the rest of that contract in that tacky frame Ernie hung over his desk. You know his daughter, right? I thought she might like them. I guess I’ll offer Rick or Dale the Ridenhour stuff, but that’s a project for another day.”

Suppressing a groan, I loped across the tiny side yard and grabbed the box off the front seat. I wanted to give Marley a gift like I wanted another smack on the head. I could raise the console and leave it on the seat, but I pictured the stupid box flying into the floorboard the first time I hit the brakes. Maybe it would fit behind the seat and keep my art portfolio from bending.

“I call dibs on those old photos of Dale and the boys, if you’re clearing out the racing stuff.” A wave of sadness threatened to drag me under. Francine was dismantling her life with Ernie. What would that look like?

Lost in thought, I struggled to fit the box behind the seat. The folder slid off. Papers sailed across the driveway and into the grass.

“Dammit.” I backed up and kicked the damn box into place, then scurried to pick them up. It took a minute to turn all the pages in the same direction. I halted, staring at the sheet in my hand.

I’d filled out a form bearing the same heading to get the adoption process underway.
North Carolina Division of Social Services.

Two name leaped out at me.
Kolby Aaron Barnes. Kasey Allen Barnes.

And the department—
Children’s Services?

I jerked my head up and held out the paper. “What the hell?”

Any trace of mirth evaporated from Francine’s eyes. “Ernie could turn up some strange stuff. He kept small ads in area newspapers, offering to buy anything related to NASCAR drivers. That file should never have gotten into his hands, but people will do stupid things for money, and Ernie’s drive to document all things NASCAR led him to buy whatever came his way. After I went through it today, I thought perhaps you should read it.” She sighed. “After dinner. No sense in spoiling your appetite.”

Lifting the edge of the folder, I laid the page on top and let the heavy Manila cover drop. Already staggering under the weight of secrets, I was in no hurry to read more. I shoved the folder into the box and climbed into the cab.

I slammed the door, unsure why I asked. “Child abuse?”

She turned her palms up. “Lots of bruises, broken bones, black eyes. Teachers are required to report anything we think could be abuse. Every time—and judging from that file, they were investigated almost every year they attended school—both Kolby and Kasey swore they were just roughhousing, as brothers will do. But, children with only one parent, in particular, will protect their abusers. At best, the file paints a case for neglect, but they were never taken out of the home.”

“You know, I did tell George England that the least he could do was require Kolby to get counseling. But, that was in the waiting room, right after he got to the hospital. By the time I wrote my statement, it slipped my mind.” I turned to face her. “If George knows this and just keeps sending Kolby out there to drive, he’s a bigger ass than I thought.”

“Indeed.” She pressed her lips together.

I turned the key. After the truck fired, I added, “I forgot to tell you my other big news. Caine and I are a thing.” I held my breath, waiting for her reaction.

Francine bent to find the safety belt latch. “Took you long enough. I noticed at Christmas, the man can’t take his eyes off you.” She slammed the buckle home with a grin. “And oh, my God, what a hottie.”

I missed the clutch, I laughed so hard at the way she fanned her face.

My cell phone interrupted our moment. The number had had a Charlotte area code, but wasn’t one I recognized. I pressed the button on the blasted earpiece.

“Hello?”

“Miss Roberts? George England.”

Blinking in surprise, I squeaked, “Yes?”

“Look, let me say right up front that you won’t like my decision. I’ve wrestled this pig all day, but I want you to remember one thing. Dale never gave up on Kolby. When he comes to, I don’t think he’d like knowin’ he was the reason you tried to get that boy kicked outta NASCAR. These drivers, well, they’re the last American cowboys. Ain’t none of ‘em lookin’ to be tamed.”

I put my finger to my lips and engaged the speaker. Francine’s brows rose when the voice filled the cab. She leaned closer.

“I’m givin’ Barnes a quarter of a million dollar fine and a four-race suspension. Rick’s suspended for two races. He has to write me a check, too. Any more than that, and Ridenhour won’t have no shot at a decent season. That affects every employee Rick’s got. Including your brothers.”