It was probably that. Surely she didn’t spend that much time thinking about the guy who sat in the corner and never spoke.
The brew was scalding to the touch when I wrapped a single hand around the body of the mug, tucking a few fingers beneath the thick, white handle. The coffee was always fresh here. Always hot. A detail that was never lost on me. It bespoke of unspoken care. Like the woman behind the counter was thoughtful enough to make sure the beverage was digestible.
This brought back my previous musing about the creamer and the real reason she always brought it.
This was how I spent most of my nights, those hours when the previous day died and the new day had yet to be born. Pondering creamer and the actions of a woman I didn’t know. I drank cup after cup of near-boiling coffee, maintaining a permanent burn on my tongue.
Those quiet, dark hours were lonely and sometimes threatened to swallow me whole. Regret seared worse than any coffee ever could, and some nights I sat there and longed for the break sleep offered but never granted.
That was my punishment, though.
No peace. No break from reality or the life I created.
Instead, I wandered the night like a ghost doomed to never cross over, haunted with unfinished business.
My empty mug made a hollow sound when I placed it once last time against the table. The caffeine I consumed never affected me, never made me wired. Sometimes I thought it calmed me down. With steady hands, I fished into the pocket of my faded jeans, pulled out some cash, and tossed it by the cup and unused creamer.
Everyone else still sat in their designated seats. Sort of like they were all part of the mannequin challenge, but no one was taking a picture.
The night air was brisk and bit at my cheeks. The sound of an engine a few streets over rumbled through the night, and the low whistling sound of the wind brushed against my ears. I pulled my hood back up and shuffled off down the street.
The sun would be up soon. Another day gone. A new day arrived.
I would pound the pavement tonight, barely notice the window displays or passing cars. Just when the sky began to brighten, I would drive back home, shower and change, and head into work.
My head was down when a familiar sound cut through the night. Just like that, a million memories washed over me like a rainstorm.
A tidal wave of homesickness and guilt threatened to drown me, and I was left gasping for breath.
Then I remembered.
I wouldn’t drown. Not tonight. Not ever.
Apparently, I could breathe underwater.
Another cruel joke, another punishment.
I didn’t live anymore. I merely survived.
Someone was breathing over me.
The tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose, and I lay there with closed eyes and listened to the in-and-out of air. Right. Over. My. Head.
“Don’t you ever knock?” I groaned, whipping the pillow from beneath my head and throwing it toward the annoying sound.
“I don’t knock,” Lorhaven intoned, sounding like the ass he wanted everyone to think he was.
I cracked open an eye to see him towering over me, my pillow in his clutches.
“You’re being creepy.”
“You’re being lazy.”
I rubbed a hand over my face. “What time is it?”
He grunted. “Nine.”
My hand fell onto the bed. “It’s still the middle of the night!”
“Get up, asshole,” he muttered and threw the pillow at my face.
“I missed you, Lor!” I yelled from beneath the white fluff.
His chuckle made me smile, and I sat up. “You didn’t bring me coffee?” I bitched, knowing it would annoy him.
“Get dressed. We’re going out for waffles.”
I didn’t have to be told twice. I loved me some waffles. Actually, I loved any food.
I rushed into the bathroom, did everything I needed to do, then threw on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt.
His white Lotus was spotless, even with all the wintry weather, salty roads, and snow.
“Where’s Joey?” I asked as he sped down the street toward our favorite breakfast place, The Waffle Shack.
“Home. I’m driving down there after we eat. We have to go out of town. Work shit.”
“How long you gonna be gone?” I asked, my mood darkening a little knowing he was leaving.
“Few days, a week tops.”
I digested that as he pulled into a front parking spot by The Shack. The parking lot was pretty vacant, as usual. I didn’t know why more people didn’t come here. Their waffles were the bomb.
We got out of the car and headed toward the door. I grimaced. I guess I kinda understood why people didn’t come here. It wasn’t called a shack for nothing.
But I didn’t care. I didn’t need fancy. Hell, I wouldn’t know what to do with it.
I liked this place. I liked its dilapidated exterior and old, sort of rundown interior. It didn’t try to be anything it wasn’t. It never claimed to be some five-star dining experience. All they claimed to have was waffles, which happened to be the best in town.
Rough on the outside, kinda sketchy on the inside, but deep at their center was a warm, fluffy concoction that made a man’s mouth water.
Maybe I identified with the place. Except of course for making a man’s mouth water. That thought made my stomach twist.
We slid into a booth near a window, and a waitress appeared wearing a pair of jeans and a shirt that read WAFFLES across it. That was one way—no, the only way—to get me to stare at a woman’s rack.
“Haven’t seen you boys in a while,” she said, snapping her gum.
“Looking good, Shirley,” Lorhaven said with a smile.
“Charmer,” she crooned. “Coffee?”
Lor nodded. “Waffles, too.”
Shirley glanced at me, and I nodded.
“Coming right up!” she called as she walked away. “Frank, get off your ass and turn off that TV. We got customers!”
“Why do we come here?” Jace muttered.
“Because it’s cheap?” I suggested.
He rolled his eyes.
I glanced out the window at the Lotus, and Jace knocked on the table in front of me. “Hey, you wanna come with?”
“Out of town with you and Joey?”
He nodded and sat back. “Sure. It’s NRR shit. It’ll be good for you. I’ll introduce you around so when the season starts, you’ll have an edge over all the new drivers.”
Even though the thought of being here alone for a week was less than desirable, going with my brother wasn’t an option.
“Nah, but thanks.”
His eyes narrowed. “You sign the contract yet?”
I averted my gaze.
“Arrow,” he growled.
Shirley appeared with two white mugs filled with coffee that kinda looked like oil and set them in front of us. “Waffles are coming up.”
“Thanks,” Lorhaven said, and then his stare returned to me.
I pushed away the mug. Coffee wasn’t my favorite to begin with, but having to chew it?
Gross.
“Why the hell haven’t you signed? The sooner you sign, the sooner we can get your name out there.”
I shrugged. “I still haven’t decided.”
“What’s to decide? I get NASCAR is a big deal, but the NRR is almost just as big. Give it another year or two and we’ll be giving the pros a run for their money. Besides, the NRR is family.”
“I know.” He was right. It was completely logical for me to sign with the NRR. Shit, I’d been driving with most of the drivers for the division for months and months now. I did some qualifying races, hung out in Lorhaven’s pit. My name had been building, getting out there, and it was because of the NRR, Lor, Joey, Trent, and Drew.
Yet I still hesitated.
Why?
“Arrow,” Lorhaven demanded, and I glanced up. His face softened. Lorhaven disappeared and Jace took front a
nd center. “What’s going on in your head? You need to talk?”
Shirley appeared and slid two huge plates, piled high with golden-brown, steaming waffles in front of us. Butter melted over them, trickling into every groove and soaking into the fluffy pastry. A jar of maple syrup appeared, and I snatched it up and poured it generously all over the plate.
When I was done, I slid it across the table to my brother, who was still staring at me.
“I don’t need to talk.” I relented. “I’m fine.” As fine as I normally am. “It’s just a big decision. When I make it, a lot of shit is going to change.”
“I know,” he said. “I understand it’s hard. I’m not trying to push you.”
I gave him a look.
He chuckled. “Well, maybe I am. But only because I want what’s best for you. This is a huge opportunity for you. A chance to start all over, make a name for yourself.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I know.”
“I just don’t want you to not make a decision because you’re scared. I don’t want you to look back and regret this. Those contracts won’t wait forever.”
“You’re right,” I muttered and stabbed the side of the waffle with my fork. “I’m gonna make a decision.”
“This week.” Jace pressed. “When I get back, we’ll drive down to Gamble’s and you can sign.”
I nodded. “I’ll decide this week. I promise.”
Lorhaven grinned. “Fuck yeah.”
One week. I had one week to make a decision that would likely affect the rest of my life.
I wasn’t good at making decisions, but really, I already knew what everyone wanted me to do. It wasn’t as if a single week was going to change anything.
“Eat your waffles,” Jace said as he dug in.
As I chewed the delectable concoction, I couldn’t help but wonder why I suddenly had a twisty feeling that everything in my life was about to change.
Early morning meetings weren’t unusual.
Being summoned to the boss’ mansion for said meeting?
A little unorthodox.
Especially lately.
Ron Gamble and I had more than a business relationship. At least that’s what I’d always believed up until a few months ago. For the past several months, our meetings had been at headquarters only. I hadn’t been to any family dinners or any other social or family events that Gamble hosted.
In all honesty? The blackout stung.
But I understood it. Hell, I expected worse.
Joey suffered at the hands of men I’d been managing. Men I was basically in charge of. When I say suffered, I mean she was bullied, harassed, and physically assaulted.
I probably should have been fired. I had my shit packed when it all hit the fan and Ron called me for a meeting.
He didn’t fire me, though.
I did get punished. Being on the receiving end of the ire of a powerful man like Gamble wasn’t something I enjoyed. Especially when the powerful man was someone you looked up to, someone you considered a friend, and someone who was basically your savior.
I deserved the punishment I got, welcomed it as much as I hated it.
I guess I was a glutton for punishment.
The truth was I didn’t realize Joey was being hazed the way she was. It was the lamest, likely most unbelievable truth I’d ever tell.
Didn’t make it any less so.
I was selfish. The obsessive-compulsive way I sometimes got wasn’t a strength, but a major weakness. Matt was the first victim.
Joey was the second.
I was grateful to Ron Gamble for so many reasons. I loved my job because it allowed me to still connect to the racing world I had walked away from, but it also allowed some distance and anonymity.
I was a good manager—on the track that is. I knew racing, I knew cars, and I understood sometimes it was about more than the time you put in on the asphalt. I was also solely dedicated, with almost single-minded precision. It was the almost that got me in the most trouble.
Not to mention I was loyal as a Labrador. Ron Gamble earned my loyalty when he basically pulled me out of a ditch and helped me reconstruct some kind of life.
It was because of Ron and Joey I began putting one foot in front of the other, the reason I didn’t fall into the bottom of a bottle and never found my way out.
And this was how I repaid them. By allowing Joey—Ron’s only child—to be tortured on my watch.
As I said, I was selfish.
Sometimes I got lost in my own head. Sometimes I didn’t see things that were right in front of me because I chose not to look. I avoided conflict, avoided pain.
I avoided a lot of shit.
I focused on the cars, the racing, and driver performance.
Of course, I knew about the early hazing. I caught the bastards. I put the hammer down, too. Or so I thought.
I restricted driving time, made them pay a fine, and set them up on cleaning duty in the garage, community bathrooms, and the cars.
I watched them closely, and I thought I made it clear that kind of asshole behavior was a no-go. So when Joey told me everything was okay, I believed her.
Maybe if I looked deeper, paid better attention, I would have seen she was lying.
I took the punishment I was served. No more managing Joey (my favorite driver), and that meant I wasn’t crossing over into the NRR indie division with her. I’d wanted to go there. It was exciting, faster paced…
Maybe a little of the energy reminded me of the kind of racing I used to do.
It was the past, though, not my future.
I was staying on with NASCAR and cleaning up the mess the scandal with Joey left behind. We fired all the drivers but one. There was a strict no-tolerance policy when it came to hazing, and Gamble saw to it personally that anyone who even breathed in a way he found offensive was escorted off property.
Building a new NASCAR team for Gamble was no easy feat. But I was doing it. The guys were coming along. Come spring, our drivers would be ready.
Unless, of course, I was still living with blinders on, still too focused internally that I missed more crucial information.
Perhaps I was being summoned to Gamble Mansion because I was getting the axe.
I parked my matte-black Audi R8 near the large front doors, pocketed the keys, and strode toward the house like I wasn’t wondering if that was the last time I’d drive that car.
It was my car. I’d been driving it a while, but technically, it belonged to Gamble Enterprises. It was a company car I was given to drive.
NASCAR managers had images to uphold, you know.
It was a sweet-ass car, but my preference would always be a large pickup. However, even if my Audi were confiscated today, I wouldn’t get a pickup.
It was too much of who I once was. Not enough of who I was now.
You don’t even know who that is.
I was dressed in a pair of very dark jeans, tan suede loafers, a grey crewneck sweater with a checked dress shirt beneath it, and a matching tie. After I showered this morning, I combed my hair back so it looked like I attempted to control the unruliness, even though I hadn’t.
The front door opened before I knocked. I was ushered inside to Gamble’s study, which was basically an old-school version of an office.
Old-school = no foosball table or anything else entertaining.
He was already behind his desk, dressed in a full suit with a tie and a cup of coffee at his elbow.
“Hopper,” Gamble said by way of greeting. “Thanks for meeting me here this morning. Coffee?” He gestured toward a polished cart that had all the fixings for the perfect cup. He legit had kitchen help that wheeled in coffee service to him in the morning.
“Thank you,” I said, going to the cart and pouring myself some of the liquid crack. Once it was in hand, I carried it to the chair directly across from his desk and sat down.
“Are you firing me?” I asked, direct. I didn’t want to sit here and wonder. I liked to know what I was dea
ling with.
Gamble looked up, surprised. “Firing you? Why would you think that?”
I glanced at him dryly. “Because I’m here and not at the office. Last time I was here, I was interrogated about Joey and put on probation.”
“You’re not being fired,” Gamble answered, just as direct.
“How is Joey?” I asked, taking a sip of the coffee. I hadn’t seen her in several months.
“My daughter is doing just fine. She’s happier than I’ve ever seen her. The NRR agrees with her.”
“I imagine Lorhaven has something to do with it as well,” I added. Bringing up her boyfriend didn’t feel out of line because at one time I considered her a friend.
“I wouldn’t disagree.”
“So why the meeting at home?” I went right for it. This conversation felt slightly awkward, and that alone was making me uncomfortable. I was used to an easy dialogue, not something slightly stiff and almost polite.
“I wanted to speak to you without the listening ears of all the other staff members at headquarters.”
I waited.
He picked up his coffee, sipping at it while staring at me over the rim of the mug. Gamble was a formidable man; his presence alone exuded power.
I wasn’t intimidated by him, though. I wasn’t intimidated by much these days. When you go through hell and survive, there isn’t much that can inspire such a feeling.
“I’ve been keeping a close eye on the new team you’re building, and I’m impressed. I want your input on how it’s going.”
He called me here for a report? The staff could have heard this.
“It’s going well,” I said, going into a few details about the drivers, the cars, and getting ready for this spring.
“And how are they getting along? Any issues?”
“None,” I said, decisive. “I’ve made it abundantly clear no form of bullying, hazing, or discrimination will be tolerated. Plus, the fact they were all hired to replace those who didn’t heed that warning carries a heavy weight.” I paused, clearing my throat. “I’ve been making sure to pay closer attention. I’m focused on what’s going on around me.” Instead of what’s going on inside me. At least I think I am.
#Blur (The GearShark Series Book 4) Page 11