Slow Ride (33 page)
Maybe she should have told him that. In a way that wasn’t roundabout and flippant.
“I’m sorry, sweetie, God, this sucks. And you know that I’ll help you in any way you can. If you want to do inpatient therapy let me know. And I can help you out financially, you know I’m happy to do that.”
“Thanks, Kendall. I really appreciate that.” Then she knew she needed to get off the phone. “Oh, damn, I’m going to be sick, I’ll call you later.” Tuesday hung up the phone urgently.
While the pain in her heart swelled, her stomach did likewise, and clearly in an effort to make her as utterly miserable as possible, hurled up all of last night’s wine all over her white down-filled comforter.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
FIFTEEN
DIESEL
studied the window of the car, his helmet in his hand, driving suit on. He was ready to go. All he had to do was climb in. But that was what was worrying him. What if he couldn’t get in? There was a ton of people milling around and if his knee gave out on the way into that car, he’d be humiliated. Then once he was in, what if he couldn’t get back out? What if his leg was too weak to control the car?
studied the window of the car, his helmet in his hand, driving suit on. He was ready to go. All he had to do was climb in. But that was what was worrying him. What if he couldn’t get in? There was a ton of people milling around and if his knee gave out on the way into that car, he’d be humiliated. Then once he was in, what if he couldn’t get back out? What if his leg was too weak to control the car?
Well, he could stand there indefinitely or he could find out.
If he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t do it. So there might be some sympathetic glances from the crew and the media, but no one was going to call him a pussy. He was the only one doing that.
In the week since the benefit, he’d only tried to call Tuesday once. She’d hit the ignore button on him, and he didn’t blame her. He had blindsided her at that benefit as much as she had blindsided him with her announcement onstage, and shittiest of all, he hadn’t checked up on her the next day. He had waited until Monday to call her, when his anger had simmered down a little, but by then she was probably even more pissed at him, and he couldn’t blame her.
Reflecting on whether or not to cancel this charity drive with Roger, who had pulled out the highest bid on the car, Diesel had reflected on a lot of things. Tuesday had made some fair points in the course of their argument even if she had hurled them at him in anger and alcohol. He hadn’t dealt with his accident. He hadn’t dealt with the fact that sometimes he didn’t feel quite as much of a man as he had before. He had been stingy with his emotions. Hell, he loved the woman and he’d never really told her that. His delivery of such a powerful sentiment had been lame and after that first time, he had only told her he cared about her. He had never said straight out, “I love you.”
So he was going to get his ass into this damn car and then he was going to tackle the rest of his life. He would conquer his fear, then he was going to apologize to Tuesday. He was going to open up, tell her how he felt, and make a total nuisance of himself until she agreed to give him a second chance.
He could live without racing.
But he couldn’t live without the woman he loved.
He wanted to help her with her own grief, work through it, without wine or walls up between them.
Together.
Taking a deep breath, Diesel climbed into the car, receiving only a slight twinge of protest from his knee. He was going to take the car around the track solo a time or two before Roger rode shotgun with him.
It felt good sliding down into the seat, like seeing an old friend again. He put his helmet on and secured his harness. When he flipped the switch to start the engine, he turned and grinned at Jesper, his old crew chief who had come out to back him up.
Jesper gave him the thumbs-up and said into his radio, “Hell, yeah. How’s that feeling, Diesel?”
“It feels fucking awesome.” It did.
Jesper laughed. “Have fun out there, bro.”
“I will.” Diesel hit the gas and pulled out onto the track. After a few seconds, he opened her up, enjoying the rumble beneath his legs, enjoying the power of the car. He had built this car, and that made it even more satisfying.
As he took the first turn, all the instincts, all the training, all the years of driving came right back to him, and he felt in control. He felt exhilarated. Free.
So he couldn’t drive for a living.
It didn’t mean he couldn’t have fun.
He’d been denying himself this because he was afraid of failure, afraid of embarrassing himself.
None of that mattered anymore.
As the lady in black rose up before him, the heat of the September sun making waves on the surface, he drove into his future.
TUESDAY
squeezed her mother’s hand as the final hymns of the mass rang through the church, but not out of concern, out of love. When her mother glanced over at her, they shared a smile. It had been surprisingly peaceful to be back in church, something she didn’t make a habit of, and she’d stood there next to her mother as they had dedicated the mass to her father, and she’d felt grateful, not the overwhelming sadness she’d been anticipating.
squeezed her mother’s hand as the final hymns of the mass rang through the church, but not out of concern, out of love. When her mother glanced over at her, they shared a smile. It had been surprisingly peaceful to be back in church, something she didn’t make a habit of, and she’d stood there next to her mother as they had dedicated the mass to her father, and she’d felt grateful, not the overwhelming sadness she’d been anticipating.
Grateful that she’d had Bob Jones as a father. Grateful that she still had her mother. Grateful that she had done justice to her father’s memory and the fight against cancer, despite her personal appalling behavior. In the end, they had raised money, and the driving community has praised her father’s memory. Out of respect for him, she hadn’t gotten much heat in the media for her drunkenness that night, which she had to admit was classier than the way she would have handled it. The old Tuesday Talladega would have torn apart in her blog anyone who had shown up at an event blitzed.
That was not the person she wanted to be. Either the drunk or the bitch. She wasn’t that person anymore. She hadn’t had a drink in four weeks and she was doing well in her counseling sessions.
The grief from her father’s death was still there, but not raw and weeping on the surface anymore. It was a beautiful day in late September. Birds sang outside, babies cooed inside, and she had survived both the loss of her father and the first man she could have seen herself actually marrying.
To have the hurt of her father be replaced by the sting of losing Diesel had been like an electrical jolt, especially knowing she had done the latter to herself. She had spent two days in bed, vomiting long after the results of the wine, and crying repeatedly. Then she had dragged herself out of bed, called a therapist, and dug deep for that strength she constantly touted to herself and others as having so much of.
She had screwed up with Diesel and she had paid the price. He had called her on Monday, but she’d still been throwing up, and too embarrassed to talk to him. She didn’t want to hear the truth, which was that she had probably ruined any feelings he had ever had for her. Eventually, she was going to return his call, to apologize for her part in their failure as a couple. She owed that both to him and to herself, but she had been waiting until she could speak to him without falling apart. She needed to do it soon before her apology no longer held any weight.
“You ready?” her mother whispered as the last notes died down.
She nodded, and they filed out of the pew and started the slow shuffle down the aisle with the rest of the congregation. She was about to invite her mother to lunch when she looked to her right and came to an abrupt stop.
There was a man wearing a Diesel Lange T-shirt. His face was right on the guy’s chest, right there in church. His hair had been shorter when the picture had been taken several years ago but he was wearing the half smile she recognized so well.
She looked back at the altar, where the priest had solemnly dedicated the mass to her father earlier.
Heart beating wildly, Tuesday decided it was definitely a sign. Today was the day she needed to apologize to Diesel. She had just been thinking about it and now there was Diesel’s face in front of her. What were the odds of that? As soon as they were out of the church she turned to her mom. “I need to call Diesel. I need to apologize.”
Her mother’s eyebrows raised but then she nodded. “I think that’s a good idea, honey.”
Now that the idea had popped into her head, she had to pursue it immediately. Pulling her phone out of her purse, she called him standing in the parking lot. It went to voice mail. She debated leaving a message, but his phone was clearly turned off, so she didn’t bother. Instead, she called his uncle.
“Hi, Johnny, it’s Tuesday Jones . . . how are you?” She paced across the sidewalk, barely aware of the warm air swirling around and the flowers still blooming, despite the coming fall.
Diesel’s uncle was obviously surprised to hear from her, but he just said, “Good, good, how are you?”
“I’m better, but I need to clear a few things up. I’d like to talk to Diesel but he’s not picking up. Do you happen to know where he is?” She knew it was a long shot. Diesel could be doing any number of things.
But his uncle answered right away. “Sure do. He’s at the track. Giving that businessman his ride today.”
Again, that struck Tuesday as a sign. That today would be the day he was fulfilling the promise she had rudely made on his behalf . . . she needed to apologize plain and simple.
“Oh, okay, great, thanks, Johnny.” She hesitated. “How is he?”
“He’s fine, but he misses you, girl. I wish the two of you would patch things up.”
Her throat tightened. “Me, too, but I’m not sure Diesel wants that.” But a glimmer of hope rose in her. “I guess I’ll let you know.”
Another minute and she was on her way to the track in high heels and a pencil skirt.
When she got there, for a minute she was worried she wouldn’t be able to gain access without any of her press credentials. But one of the guards recognized her and let her in.
Diesel was climbing out of his car, favoring his knee only a little bit. She stood on the edge of the track, overcome with emotion at the sight of him. When he pulled off his helmet, she saw he’d trimmed his beard. It wasn’t so unruly and mountain man as it had been. She wasn’t used to seeing him in riding gear. He looked sexy, like he was born to drive, which he had been. He was grinning, ear to ear, like he had just torn up the track and enjoyed every mile.
God, she loved him. How could she have ever let him go? How could she have said the horrible things to him that she had?
When he spotted her, he stopped walking and the grin fell off his face.
Tuesday forced herself to walk over to him, her heels clicking on the asphalt. “Hi,” she said, her voice low and husky.
“Tuesday. Hi. Are you here for the drive?” He looked wary of her, hands clenching his helmet against his chest.
She shook her head rapidly, not trusting herself to speak, the emotions she’d been busy processing all rushing to the surface at once, threatening to pull her under. “No,” she squeaked out. “I’m not here for the drive. I came to talk to you.”
“Oh.”
When she didn’t say anything, unable to figure out what to say he added, “How have you been? Are you okay?”
The answer she would have given in the past would have been that she was fine. But she no longer needed to cling to the façade of strength when none was needed. What they needed was the truth between them. “No, I’m not okay. I’m doing better, and I’m going to a counselor, and I’ve quit drinking, but, no, I’m not completely okay . . . not yet. I will be though.”
“I’m glad to hear that you’ve stopped drinking. That’s a good thing, sweetheart, a real good thing.”
The term of endearment emboldened her. She forged ahead. “I came here to apologize to you.”
“What?” Diesel glanced him around. “Do you mind taking a walk? I’d like to talk in private.”
“Sure, of course.” Tuesday fell in step beside him and without even thinking she reached for his hand and squeezed it, just like she had with her mother. She didn’t keep it there, though, and as glorious as it felt, it only made her more acutely aware of how difficult it was to no longer have the right to touch him.
She wasn’t sure what to say, where to start. She wanted to choose her words more carefully than she had in the past. “I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I was awful that night at the benefit. I can’t believe I made that announcement saying you would drive after you told me you didn’t want to . . . that was inexcusable. I did it because I was drunk and it made sense to me at the time and that just makes it even worse.” Tuesday stole a glance at him to see how he was reacting to her apology. She wasn’t sure if she should just shut up or keep going.
He was staring down at her intently. “I miss you, sweetheart,” he told her. He stopped walking and cupped her cheek with his hand. “I love you.”
Oh, God. That was the first time he’d ever come straight out and spoken those words to her and it thrilled and devastated her. But it had her tossing caution out the window and there was no thinking about her response. She just said it.
“I love you, too. So, so much.”
Then she threw her arms around him, because if this were it, if this were the last time she was going to see him in any meaningful way, she wanted to feel him, hold him. His arms came around her and he held her tight, his lips brushing along her temple.
“I’m sorry, too,” he told her. “I’m so sorry. You were right, I was holding back, I could have shared more. But I was afraid, I was afraid you would think I wasn’t a real man. And attacking you about everything that night at the benefit was the worst selfish timing.”
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