by Gina Wilkins
She smiled, feeling her cheeks warm a little as everyone looked at her. “I’m sorry. I guess my attention wandered.”
“I asked if you want anything else to eat. I think I saw some little pecan tarts out there for dessert.”
“No, thanks, I’m full.” She looked down at her empty plate almost in surprise since she didn’t entirely remember eating the last few bites, so lost had she been in her thoughts.
“I think I’ll have one,” Tobey said, rising to his feet. “Anyone else?”
“Yeah, bring me one,” Kent said.
“Sure. Neil? Amy?”
Both shook their heads, Neil impatiently, Amy with a smile.
Sipping iced tea, Tanya made an effort to pay more attention, since she didn’t want to be caught off guard again. She was letting herself worry too much, she decided. She would enjoy the rest of the weekend and let the future take care of itself, with no more secrets between her and Kent.
KENT AND TANYA WERE scheduled to attend a fancy party that night, hosted by his sponsor, Vittle Farms. It was a working evening for Kent, of course, since his presence at the event was the promotional draw. Still, they both enjoyed parties, especially when dancing was involved, so they didn’t mind attending.
Tanya wore a standard little black dress that she kept on hand just for this sort of occasion. Scoop-necked and long-sleeved, it fell to just below her knees, with a modestly provocative slit on the left side. It could be dressed up or down, but on that night she chose to dress it up with diamond jewelry and glittering metallic heels. Kent wore a dark suit with a pale blue shirt and a silk tie in Vittle Farms colors, blue and red. Very photogenic with his bright blue eyes, which was exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d chosen it, as media-savvy as he was.
True to her role, she stayed at Kent’s side as he skillfully worked the crowd, every inch the dashing driver hero. More than once that evening, she heard the phrase “perfect couple” aimed toward them, and again, the words caused her discomfort. She tried to ignore them.
There was food—lots of it, all organically grown, all provided courtesy of Vittle Farms. An open bar was also available, though the drinks weren’t dispensed quite as freely as the food. Party favors included Kent Grosso caps and T-shirts, which he cordially signed when asked. He posed for photographs and patiently answered the same questions over and over—specifically, did he think he could win another NASCAR Sprint Cup Series championship that year? As if he would say no to that, Tanya thought with a shake of her head. Why would he even be racing this season if he didn’t have hopes of winning again?
When a well-known band took the stage later for dancing, Kent and Tanya were watched from all over the room as he led her to the dance floor. She was getting used to that, too, though she thought it would always feel strange to be on this side of so many camera lenses when she was more comfortable being the one pressing the shutter release. Still, when Kent took her in his arms, smiling down into her eyes as he began to move to the music, she was almost able to forget everyone else in the room but him.
They danced until eleven, at which time Kent announced that he had to get some rest before the big race the next day. They left to warm choruses of good-luck wishes.
Because she knew he did need his rest, Tanya was a bit surprised when Kent didn’t immediately drive back toward the motor home. Instead, he drove to the beach, to a relatively secluded spot he’d found a couple of years earlier and had brought her to last year.
The beach was deserted when they climbed out of the rented car, letting the moonlight wash over them as a salty breeze tugged at their clothes and played with their hair. It was cool, but comfortable enough with the light silk wrap Tanya had brought with her that evening.
Kent reached out to take her hand, matching his steps to hers. She carried her shoes in her other hand, letting her feet sink into the damp sand. The strappy sandals hadn’t provided much warmth, anyway. Kent kept his shoes on, apparently unconcerned with the sand that clung to the smooth leather.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, gazing out over the moon-kissed waves.
Closing her eyes, she tilted her face into the breeze. “Mm.”
She felt his hands settle at her waist, turning her to face him. Opening her eyes, she found his face very close to hers, his smile filling her field of vision. “I wasn’t talking about the view,” he murmured, lifting a hand to touch her cheek.
She gave a laughing groan. “That is so corny.”
His other hand rose, cupping her face between his palms. “I know. But no less true.”
Her smile faded as a nameless longing rose in her. Her tiptoes dug into the sand as she rose to press her mouth to his.
Kent gathered her closer, kissing her with a hunger that mirrored her own. The waves that crashed on the beach beyond them might as well have swallowed them for all Tanya knew. She felt as though she were drowning in emotion, buffeted by love and doubt, desire and apprehension.
When they were together like this, she could almost believe everything was settled between them. The past twenty-four hours had been wonderful. Just like it had been before, she assured herself. There was nothing more to worry about.
Still holding her face, Kent broke the kiss, lifting his head only far enough to gaze down at her. Moonlight danced in his eyes, reflecting the smile that lit his face. “I’m glad you’re here.”
She laughed softly. “So am I.”
Letting his left arm slip around her shoulders, he tucked her into his side, motioning with his right hand. “It’s the perfect night, isn’t it? The perfect place to be alone together.”
Resting her head against him, she watched the waves lap at the beach. “It’s beautiful.”
“So are you,” he murmured, and covered her mouth with his again. Tanya wrapped her arms around his neck, letting herself drift into the blatantly romantic moment. For tonight, they hadn’t a care in the world, she assured herself. For tonight, all she wanted to do was enjoy.
THE ATMOSPHERE AT THE track Sunday morning could not have been sharper in contrast to the quietly romantic interlude on the beach the night before. The pace was hectic, the crowds almost overwhelming, the noise close to deafening. By late morning, the parties were in full swing in the infield camping area, grills and smokers already in use, sending the scent of various meats wafting in the air to blend with gasoline and the other aromas unique to a crowded race track.
Souvenir trailers were crowded with fans wanting to take a piece of this day home. Others milled through the hauler area or peered into the viewing windows along the garage stalls, hoping to spot any famous face, especially the ones matching the pictures on their officially licensed hats, T-shirts and jackets.
Rushing from one publicity event to another, the drivers signed anything shoved in front of them, all of them skilled at signing while walking, knowing that to pause was to be mobbed by eager admirers. P.R. reps and sometimes security people accompanied them, keeping them on time for their obligations, shooing away anyone who threatened to detain them too long.
From the nondenominational church service to the drivers’ meeting to the various appearances in VIP suites and sponsor tents and press rooms, the drivers never slowed down. There were so many responsibilities to being a modern celebrity driver, in addition to just speeding around a race track, trying to be the first to cross the finish line.
Tanya had heard Milo marvel about the modern racing life many times, expressing doubt that he could have kept up with the pace had it been like this back when he was driving. The purses had been a lot smaller then, of course, he’d remarked, but so had the responsibilities. Back then, a driver didn’t have to worry about looking good on TV or watching what he said in front of a reporter, he insisted. All he had to do was be the fastest.
His family had reminded Milo on one of those reminiscent occasions recently that there was a new breed of race car driver on the track these days. Polished, media savvy and fan friendly.
“And young,�
�� Patsy had muttered with a glance at her husband, who had only frowned at her in response.
Tanya noticed that Patsy was fully playing her part in public today, smiling and staying close to her husband as he reveled in being the pole sitter. For the whole family’s sake, Tanya hoped Patsy and Dean settled their differences about Dean’s future in racing. As much as Patsy wanted him to retire and concentrate on their NASCAR Nationwide Series team and their son’s career, and as much as Dean wanted to keep pursuing a NASCAR Sprint Cup Series championship, there had to be a compromise that would satisfy them both. They’d been together too long to let this disagreement come permanently between them, she assured herself.
Besides, if Patsy and Dean couldn’t survive this life, she couldn’t help wondering nervously, could any couple, no matter how much they loved each other?
KENT SQUIRMED IN THE custom-fitted seat of his car, trying to get as comfortable as possible while he waited for those famous words that would begin the new season. The inside of a race car was designed for safety and function, not for comfort. There were no luxuries, just a hard seat designed to fit his body. Safety straps held him in place and his helmet and the molded sides of the seat limited both his view and his movements.
The cars weren’t equipped with air conditioning; during the hottest part of the summer he’d been known to sweat off ten pounds during a race. His boots were even fitted with heat shields to keep him from burning his feet against the hot metal beneath him. It was like being in a noisy, claustrophobic, solitary furnace—and he felt as much at home here as he did in his own living room.
Voices came through the radio mounted in his helmet—Neil and Steve, mostly, Neil making crucial pit decisions, Steve watching all the parts of the track Kent couldn’t see and relaying the information to guide him safely through the pack. He had to trust them both implicitly, and he did—pushing any concerns he had about Neil to the back of his mind so that they wouldn’t interfere with his concentration.
He wouldn’t let himself think about Tanya, either, except to savor the awareness that she was there for him today, watching him, supporting him. Their problems were all behind them now, he assured himself. They were starting the season—and their relationship—on fresh footing, stronger than they had ever been.
He couldn’t allow himself to believe anything else.
At the command from his crew chief, he reached for the ignition switch. All personal thoughts were turned off as the engine roared to life.
For the next four hours, he would concentrate on nothing except winning.
IT WAS NOT THE YEAR for Dean Grosso to win the season’s opening race. Less than halfway through the race, a nudge from Rafael O’Bryan, in a hotly contested challenge for the lead, sent Dean crashing into the wall. Dean, himself, was uninjured, to everyone’s relief, but the car was irreparable. It was taken by wrecker directly to the garage, where Dean’s disappointed crew immediately started to pack up to go home.
Disappointed for Dean’s sake, Tanya focused on Kent, who was rapidly recovering from a pit mishap that had almost put him a lap down. She kept hearing from his team that the car was awesome, that Kent was very happy with the handling, and that everyone thought he had a good chance of catching the leader.
Too nervous to settle anywhere for long, she would watch from the top of the hauler for a while, and then move to the pit area to stand beside the pit box and listen to Neil talking to Kent through the headset she wore. She had been invited to watch from Dawson Ritter’s VIP suite, and though she occasionally took him up on that offer, today she preferred being down on the pavement with the rest of the team.
After Dean was eliminated, Patsy, Sophia and Alicia drifted over to Kent’s hauler to watch the rest of the race with Tanya.
“I’m sorry about Dean’s wreck,” Tanya shouted over the race track noise when Patsy joined her.
Patsy shrugged, her expression hard to read. “It’s not the first time he’s started the season with a wreck. Might not be the last, if it’s up to him.”
Tanya and Sophia exchanged worried glances in response to Patsy’s tone, but another loud cheer turned their attention toward the track. Kent was closing in on first with Justin Murphy right behind him.
It had been a long stretch of green-flag racing and fuel was becoming an issue. As Tanya walked back to the pit box, she saw the concern on the faces around her. She overheard Neil and Tobey talking, their heads close together as they studied the screen on Neil’s laptop computer, running the numbers to see how many laps Kent could complete before a pit stop became a necessity. She heard speculation that Justin was in even worse straits, since he had last refueled several laps before Kent.
She winced at the sound of a multi-car crash, hearing the reaction from the crowd as a tight group of cars spun and careened into each other. Smoke and the smell of burning rubber wafted from the track, leaving an acrid taste in her mouth even as she turned rapidly to the closest large-screen television to make sure Steve had guided Kent safely past the danger zone.
“He’s fine,” Dean assured her. He had escaped the reporters who had mobbed him after his departure from the race, changed into a sponsor’s polo shirt and chinos, and joined his family at Kent’s hauler to watch the end of the race. “He wasn’t anywhere near it. This will give him a chance to get some fuel.”
“Splash and go,” Tanya heard Neil say behind her, and she knew that meant Kent would stop in his pit only long enough for a can of gas. No tires or adjustments, just enough fuel to make it to the end of the race.
Justin came in to pit, too. In his hurry to beat Kent back out to the track, he barely waited long enough for the gasman to remove the can. Had he driven away with the can still inserted, he’d have been penalized, but the gasman was able to jerk back just in time. Kent’s team hooted derisively at Justin’s reckless impatience.
The last few laps had Kent’s family and teammates screaming in excitement. Kent continued to gain ground on leader Rafael O’Bryan even as Justin closed in on him. Back at the hauler, glancing around at his family’s faces, Tanya could see that every one of them wanted Kent to win. Despite the competitiveness between him and his father, the family supported each other completely.
The last lap was a nail-biter. Rafael moved ahead while Kent and Justin battled for second position behind him. The noise was almost earth-shaking as the crowd roared, all 165,000-plus fans on their feet and screaming. To the dismay of everyone around Tanya, it looked as though Justin had a slight edge. With half a lap to go, he went low, looking for an opportunity to pass.
Tanya held her breath. And then, miraculously, Justin’s car began to fall back. Kent shot ahead as if he’d hit a rocket booster.
“He’s out of gas!” Dean shouted, laughing and punching the air. “Murphy’s out of gas.”
The team exploded in cheers—not just because Kent had secured second place, but because he had wrested that place from Justin Murphy. He crossed the finish line half a car length behind O’Bryan. Justin coasted over the line, finishing fifth.
So it wasn’t a win. As much as they had wanted that trophy, the team chose to celebrate the excellent finish they had achieved. Only Neil looked glum after the race ended—but then, he always seemed to look that way these days, Tanya thought. Though she had been notably absent during the race, Erica showed up in time to be photographed with the crew chief in the post-race interviews. She stood slightly behind Neil, smiling adoringly at him, and Tanya felt a little sick.
Sweaty, tousled and trailed by a comet’s tail of fans and media, Kent finally joined them at the hauler. He walked straight to Tanya, giving her a hug.
“I’m sorry you didn’t win,” she told him quietly. “But that was still a great finish.”
“Hey, I came in ahead of Murphy. That made it easier to take,” he said with a shrug.
Keeping one arm around her shoulders, he turned to talk to his parents and sister.
Tanya stood quietly, looking from face to face, her hea
rt suddenly filled with affection for all of them. She remembered how much of an outsider she had felt at the first races she had attended with Kent, and marveled at how much at home she felt here now. Like she belonged. She didn’t want to lose this feeling.
SEVERAL PARTIES WERE scheduled after the race, but Kent and Tanya decided to head back home. They left the motor home in Jesse’s capable hands; he would drive it from Daytona straight to California for the next race. Boarding Kent’s plane, they settled wearily into their seats as Cappy handled the controls.
Quite a few of the drivers flew their own planes to the tracks, but that was one skill Kent had shown no interest in learning. He acknowledged the convenience of having his own plane, making it well worth the expense, but the only steering wheel he wanted to be behind was attached to a vehicle on solid ground, he insisted.
It was a quiet flight home. They talked a little about the race, and about their respective schedules for the next week. They discussed their plans for the following weekend in California. Tanya didn’t have a wedding scheduled for the upcoming weekend, though she had several appointments during the week. She did have a huge wedding the weekend after California, but that was an off week for racing, with Las Vegas the week after that.
“So you’ll come to California?” Kent asked.
She nodded. “I don’t see why not.”
He looked pleased. “I’m glad.”
“Um…when are you going to talk to your parents?”
His smile faded, as she had been afraid it would, which was why she’d hesitated about asking. “I said I would talk to them.”
“I believe you,” she assured him. “I just wanted to know if you’d like for me to be there with you. You know, moral support?”
He seemed to consider it a moment, then shook his head. “I think I’d better take care of this myself. You don’t really want to be there when I break it to them.”