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

by Eden Connor

  I yanked the contract from Robert’s hand. “He’s my dad. He’s not gonna cheat me any more than I’d sue my family.” I darted another glance at Dale, but he leaned over to kiss Mom on the cheek, then took a peek down the front of her blouse. I bit my tongue to keep from saying more.

  While I scrawled my name, I darted another glance at Senior. Mom had dropped ten pounds since Christmas. Her haircut was new and extremely flattering, but I doubted our host had noticed her face. The low-cut neckline of her dress had Senior every bit as spellbound as Dale.

  The arrival of the waiter saved the Kossels from anything I might have said. I handed the signed document back to Dale and pounced on the delicious bread.

  “Oh, look.” I grinned when I spied the small dish on the waiter’s tray. “Here’s your tomáto purée. Turns out, do you get what you ask for.”

  Senior asked for the wine steward. We struggled through another few minutes’ conversation. I perked up when I spied the server bringing our appetizers.

  As soon as my plate hit the table, Mom leaned close to whisper. “Here, Shelby, let me cut that up for you.” She shifted her knife and fork over my plate.

  I stiffened. “It’s a mushroom, for fuck’s sake. I can handle it.”

  “It’s not steak?” Mom’s brow furrowed.

  “Did you not hear me order the sautéed Portabella cap?”

  “I thought those were the size of a quarter. She leaned so close, her head touched mine. “Don’t be rude. It looks like a filet mignon.”

  I whispered back. “But this is the appetizer course. The trailer park’s in your rear view. Isn’t that what the new house and pushing me toward Robert is really all about? Try to keep up. Somewhere, Bliss is writhing in shame.”

  Her cheeks flushed. Hurt flashed in her eyes. I had a similar soft spot in my armor about paying our rent with Section 8 vouchers.

  Until Dale. How dare she act ashamed of him?

  The sommelier returned. Senior ordered a second bottle of wine. It arrived along with the main course, but at least nobody offered to cut my damn meat. We all passed on dessert, and at long last, Dale and Robert dueled over the bill. Senior won. Dale threw down a hundred-dollar bill for the tip. To my shock, Senior added a twenty. Jesus Christ, how much was that wine? Senior didn’t strike me as overly generous.

  The night air cooled my stinging cheeks. I paused on the front sidewalk to say good-bye to Dale and Mom, but Dale tipped his head in the direction of the gleaming black dually truck with a pointed look that froze me.

  “It was real nice meetin’ you folks. We appreciate the fine meal, but if you don’t mind, it’d make me feel better if Shelby rode back to the dorm with us.”

  “Why?” Robert burst out. “I only had four glasses of wine. It’s less than two miles.”

  Dale gave him the grin that wasn’t remotely jovial. “My family’s priceless to me, son. My womenfolk are the crown jewels in that treasure box. I got no control over what Shelby does when I ain’t lookin’, but—”

  “See you later.” I tried to smile at Senior, but the huff of amusement he gave pissed me off, so, I stalked to the truck, praying his own Mercedes ran over the arrogant ass.

  As soon as Dale pulled to a halt in front of the campus’s main building, I slung the rear door open. Ignoring the tears in her eyes, I leaned over the seat to give her a perfunctory hug.

  “I cannot take one more scene. My head hurts all the damn time as it is. Love you. Happy Valentine’s Day. Have fun this week. Bye.”

  “I’ll, uh, just walk Shelby to her dorm, Macy.” Dale hopped out of the truck.

  Relieved she didn’t insist on coming inside for a drawn out good-bye, like she was headed for Dubai rather than Daytona, I stalked toward the dorm. Dale’s long legs caught up to me easily.

  “Listen, kiddo. Have you seen the neurologist again?”

  “Yes.” I slowed with a sigh. “I even told him that I swing from moody to bitchy like I’m stuck on a trapeze. He said sudden shifts in mood were normal for someone who’d had a concussion. All he offered me was another prescription for pain meds. I’m already struggling to study. The drugs make it harder to concentrate, so I turned him down.”

  “Just gonna tough it out, huh?” He stopped in front of the stairs leading to the back door of my dorm. I skipped up the step and paused to say goodnight.

  “Yep. To be honest, if the headaches would go away, I’d be cool with the rest of my symptoms. It’s kind of hilarious to see people’s expressions whenever I say the stuff I’ve been thinking for years.”

  Standing one step up, I had a good view of his troubled expression, but I put my arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for playing along with my bitchery at dinner. I wish you’d told that old bastard off, though.”

  “Cale Yarborough’s a good ol’ boy from South Carolina. Ernie ever tell you about him?”

  “Uh, I think so. Wasn’t he one of only two NASCAR drivers to win back to back championships three different times?”

  “Yep. He once said, ‘Don’t ever wrestle with a pig. You’ll both get dirty, but the pig will enjoy it. I figured I could substitute ‘lawyer’ for ‘pig’, so....” He lifted his palms and grinned.

  That made me chuckle, but I still felt wound too tight. “I really like Robert, but our families are just different. He’s different when his dad’s around. I like our family, Dale. I know I used my injury as an excuse to be rude. But, at least I had a damn excuse. I know when someone’s being an asshole because they think they’re superior.”

  Out of all that babble, he seized on, “You like him?” His piercing look made my heart falter. Before I could cover my mistake, he barked, “Listen up.”

  The stern tone kept me from interrupting.

  “Some folks would say I messed up big time, because my young’uns ain’t born nine months apart and they got different mamas. Hell, until recently, I agreed with ‘em.” He reached up to adjust his absent baseball cap, grimacing before dropping his hand with a sigh.

  “But since me and you had that talk about Colt, I been paying attention to... to their fight for equal marriage and the like. People I used to respect are sayin’ some really stupid shit. Exactly the kind of stupid shit they said to me about some of my choices. Then, I realized, if we applied their thinkin’ to transportation, we’d all still be ridin’ jackasses.”

  I burst out laughing.

  He stuck one foot on the step where I stood and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his slacks. “Just because there’s so many of ‘em thinking the same way, don’t make ‘em fuckin’ right, but I didn’t see that till now. So, you taught me somethin’. Let me return the favor. Don’t settle for someone you just like. Find someone who stands you on your damn hea—”

  He bit off the words. From the distress in his eyes, I knew he realized that, after a miserable ninety minutes spent gleefully kicking other peoples’ land mines, he’d landed squarely on mine. His jaw worked as he scanned the dorm’s brick façade.

  “I’m an idiot. Everything you done makes sense now. I’m so sorry, Shelby. I forget sometimes that what they done to Robyn was a thousand times worse than anything they said to me.”

  And they drove Jill to kill herself.

  Pain took my breath, but the porch lamps showed the suffering in his eyes. I had to make him feel better.

  “Dale, I—I do love Robert. He’s smart and he’s a lot like me. He admires his dad so much, he just has to show off whenever he’s around the man.”

  I drilled a finger into his abdomen, hitting solid muscle. “You famous dudes set the bar pretty high, you know. Me and Robert? Two peas in a pod. Whenever we act out, we’re really saying that we’re terrified we won’t measure up.”

  He ruffled my hair like a kid. His intent eyes belied the easy smile. “Listen, other folks’ expectations are like hand-me-down clothes. Even if they’re your size, the patches on the knees never hit you in the right spot. Measurin’ up ain’t nothin’ you gotta
worry about. You done that and then some, just by walkin’ through this gate. Listen, honey, I know you can’t work, so—”

  I held up a hand, unnerved by the unexpected twists in the conversation. “Kolby Barnes is paying my bills.”

  “Huh?” His shocked expression washed away my annoyance with Mom and well, everyone who wasn’t Dale.

  “The video from the race has had over six million views. That translates into big ad share bucks from Google.”

  “Oh?” Now, his eyes twinkled again. “Okie dokie. Far as I’m concerned, you’ve earned the right to run your life as you see fit. So, if you don’t think you need rehab, don’t go to fuckin’ rehab.”

  I threw my arms around him again. “Give ‘em hell in Daytona.”

  He squeezed the breath out of me, then dropped his arms and jogged backwards across the patio, grinning so wide, I had to laugh. “That’s the job and I do it well.” He turned. I watched until he disappeared around the corner of Pell Hall.

  I stepped inside the dorm. Heaving a huge sigh of relief now that the stressful evening was over, I trudged to the elevator. As soon as I stepped off on the fifth floor and my signal came back, my phone buzzed.

  What an ass. Hell, I thought everybody in NASCAR guzzled Pabst Blue Ribbon.

  I missed using two thumbs to type.

  You wish you were half the man Dale Hannah is. Fuck off. Go find the cardboard cutout you deserve and leave me the hell alone. We’re done.

  Chapter Five

  The spinning saw blade didn’t touch my skin, but a tingling line crawled along my arm as the technician moved the tool. I winced when the device neared my elbow, but the unsettling sensation didn’t get stronger. It took effort to sit still while the tech laid the saw down and picked up a tool that looked like a huge set of pliers. Jamming the blunt jaws into the crack, he forced the edges of the plaster apart.

  I blew out a deep breath when he cracked the hated cast open like a lobster shell. I wanted to hurl the pieces into the trashcan, but he laid them on the counter beside a tiny aluminum sink on the far side of the room.

  “The doctor will be in to see you in just a few minutes.”

  I raked my nails along the itchy skin and kicked my feet after he left, bored out of my skull. To kill the time, I decided to check and see if Caine had added anything to the website.

  The badly-organized landing page was still garish, still black and red, and still badly organized. There wasn’t a hit meter, but I was bored, so I checked all four pages.

  One change had been made, on the last page.

  Dale Hannah, CEO, Engineer.

  Caine Hannah, CFO, Engineer.

  Colt Hannah, Engineer, Test Driver.

  Jonny Jet Hyunh, Engineer, Test Driver.

  Shelby Roberts-Hannah, Graphic Artist.

  They kicked me out of their little side business. Well, demoted me. But my fall from grace had been a long one, from second-in-command to, ‘Hey, think you could throw some stripes on this for us, sis?’

  If I’m the graphic artist, why didn’t they ask me to build this site?

  Or, was this Mom’s doing?

  It’s not like I wanted to go back to Concord after graduation, for God’s sake. This is a hobby, anyway. How many engines can they build in the eight-or nine-week off season? This little business is just an excuse to hang out in the garage, so Dale doesn’t have to take Mom shopping.

  I was an idiot for letting this lick the candy coating off my red-letter day.

  The door to the tiny room opened. I’d been to this office twice now, but had never actually seen the orthopedic surgeon. I judged him to be mid-to-late thirties. Sharp indents from male pattern baldness left gleaming spots on his temples. He bustled in wearing a smile.

  “Hello, Shelby.” He tugged a stool across the room with his toe.

  “Hi, doc.”

  “Any tenderness?” He asked several times, twisting and bending my arm.

  I could honestly say no until he pressed his fingers beneath my arm and pushed my elbow above my shoulder. “Ow!”

  “Uh oh.” Those two tiny words kicked my heart to the floor. He lowered my arm. “That means you have to sleep in the sling for a couple more weeks. The collarbone’s still tender, so don’t go lifting any cars just yet. Nothing over, say, five pounds, for at least two more weeks. Then, if the pain persists, call the office and I’ll refer you for occupational therapy.”

  “I’m a waitress. My boss will give my arm a free workout every time he loads up my tray. I could use the other kind of occupational therapy, though.”

  “That’ll work, too.” He tugged on his lower lip, like Becca did when she was thinking, then nodded. “I still haven’t decided what I want to be when I grow up. I was going to ask if you’d recommend race car driver as a career choice.”

  I blinked. “How do you know that?”

  “It’s in the file my colleague sent down from North Carolina.” He dug his heels into the gleaming floor tile and pushed with both feet. The stool shot across the room to the counter, where he grabbed one piece of the purple carcass. He used his heel to dig his way back to my side.

  “And, I might’ve seen the clip of your drag race on Sports Center. Mind signing this for my dad? I wanted to be Jesse Hancock when I grew up, but my father’s Team Ridenhour to the bone. He’s always been a Roark fan, but he’s got no use a’tall for your buddy Barnes.” He waggled one half of the cast with a wide grin. “To me, dirty driving’s the exciting part of the sport, but my old man says Barnes is an idiot.”

  To my astonishment, the doctor whipped a Sharpie marker out of his pocket. “I can hear him now, down at VFW, bragging that his son took the cast off the young woman who clocked Kolby Barnes in the baby makers.” His eyes twinkled as I gaped. He held out the marker. “Please? This might make up for what it cost him to put me through med school.”

  The news van’s footage had run on ESPN. It lived on at You Tube, where my video footage of the drag race had now surpassed seven million hits.

  But, who knew NASCAR had orthopedic surgeons for fans?

  “You’re just hoping I won’t do the same to you for making me sleep in that damn sling for two more weeks.” I took the cap off the marker with my teeth—a new habit I needed to break—and scrawled my name atop the plaster shell.

  A half second later, my phone dinged. I read the text message with a squeal.

  “Good news?” the doctor asked.

  “The best. My dad’s bringing that Audi I won off Barnes today!” I jumped off the table and spun.

  “If it was mine, I’d get a license tag holder that said, ‘Kolby Barnes is my bitch.” He barked with laughter. “Damn. I was hoping it was in the parking lot, so I could get a peek inside. Well, I guess I’ll look for it on The Cuda Confessions.” I blinked. “Love that site.” He nodded, standing and kicking the stool. It sailed into a corner with a bang. “Always wanted a ‘Cuda convertible.”

  “Just between us, doc, I bet you make enough money to buy one.”

  “Just between us, Shelby, my wife says otherwise.”

  I tap danced through the waiting room door, waving my left arm like a windshield wiper. Ernie got to his feet. “I know you’re glad to be rid of that boat anchor.”

  “I feel like I lost fifty pounds,” I confessed. Ernie pushed the door open and we angled across the lot toward his big Dodge truck. Without the cast to weigh me down, I skipped like a kid, pausing to rub the top of the sculpted ram’s head on his hood. For luck.

  “Where to?” Ernie shoved in the clutch and reached for the ignition. I didn’t respond, listening to the roar of the motor when it caught.

  I sighed. “That just sounds badass. I never expected to miss the ‘Cuda so much.”

  “Sounds badass because it is.” Ernie waggled the long shifter, found reverse, and punched the gas. “That’s a three-hundred-horsepower Cummins Turbo Diesel under the hood. This thing would tow a house.”

  I almost asked why he’d want to tow a house,
but Ernie bought and sold all sorts of things. A story about a house held no interest.

  I twisted in the seat to glance over my shoulder. “I like the little rounded windows.” Straightening, I pointed through the windshield. “And I hereby name the badass little sheep on the hood ‘Bully’.”

  He barked with laughter, no doubt because I wanted to babble about stylistic details, rather than launch into a debate about some other engine rumored to be better than his. Like Dale and my brothers would’ve done.

  Damn collarbone sent a twinge deep into my chest. I rubbed the spot over my heart. Get over it.

  “The dorm, please. Dale’s bringing my car today.” I leaned forward to turn down the tape—an actual cassette tape—of Willie Nelson singing Always on my Mind.

  “Oh, yeah? Maybe we can all go to dinner? Or is he heading to Atlanta tonight?”

  My phone dinged again. I read the text—which wasn’t from Dale—with a scowl.

  “I’ll ask. His text said he had to run to Concord to load up some parts or something, then he’s going to Atlanta.” But, dammit. I’d spent a huge chunk of change on a surprise for Dale, and now, after a month of excuses, my gift was on its way to being delivered—when he was out of town.

  Shitty Roberts’ luck.

  “Speaking of badass.” Ernie dove under the yellow light and turned right, speeding past the front of the hospital, only to tromp the brakes a half a block later and turn right again. I drove my nails into the padded arm rest on the door. Dropping my gaze to my lap, I tugged the loose end of the seat belt until the strap bit into my tummy.

  “I checked out that Brock Ingram dude. Remember him?”

  I tried to wet my tongue enough to lick my lips. “The only person on the planet, apparently, who wants to hire a girl with a freshly-minted liberal arts degree in English and Applied Art, but who didn’t have the sense to get her teaching certificate.” Francine’s opinion was that I should’ve gotten my teaching certificate. Just in case. I doubted I’d make it one day as a teacher. I pictured small children wetting their pants when I lost my temper.

  “Did you know he’s the new CEO of Ryder Industries?”