by Eden Connor
“I’m not asking you to stop buying NASCAR merchandise while we wait. But I am asking you not to buy any NASCAR-licensed hat. To remind the powers that be in our sport to put his thinking cap on and find a way to give us back our heroes.”
The crowd was unnervingly quiet. I stumbled on, giving the grim details of Dale’s injury and prognosis. “And thank you so much for coming out in support of our hero, Dale Hannah.” Every muscle in my body trembled, but I forced out the words. “I will take questions.”
“Shelby, will your family sue NASCAR?” one reporter shouted.
“The question’s premature, but I don’t think the situation is going in that direction.”
“Did that race Hannah rigged between you and Kolby lead to this fight?”
This is it. I straightened my spine and lifted my chin. “You’ll have to get that answer elsewhere. I was two hours away when the fight started. I can only tell you that I don’t have an NHRA card. I’m not a professional driver. But, when Kolby refused to let go of his dare that he and I race, Dale took him up on the challenge. Despite my lack of experience, I listened to my crew chief and Team Hannah scored the win.”
I shrugged. “It could’ve gone either way. That’s racin’. As far as any allegation that Dale set out to humiliate his driver, I can tell you that none of the Hannahs called ESPN to cover that race, so draw your own conclusions as to who might’ve done so. And what their motives were.”
“Did you use nitrous?”
“Did you see the video?” I snapped. “I think it shows my hands at all times. One on the wheel, one on the gear shift. How would I deploy the nitrous?”
The reporter pulled the mic to his mouth. “Knee switch? Maybe Hannah rigged up a continuous spray to the carburetor?”
My temper flared. “And maybe somewhere, pigs fly. What father in his right mind would add nitrous to an engine cranking out seven-hundred and fifty horsepower, and then put someone with my limited experience behind the wheel? I’ve said this before and I’ll repeat it now. Make up your minds. Either I shouldn’t have won because I have no experience, or I can pilot a rocket, but it cannot be both.”
To my shock, no more questions came. I waited, but several reporters began to shoulder their way through the crowd. “If that’s all, Caine and I haven’t seen Dale yet. I’ll update you on his condition on Wednesday.”
Before I could step away from the podium, something flew over my head, low enough to stir my hair.
The crowd erupted in cheers. I wrenched around. While I stood frozen, the Ridenhour crew, one after another, hurled their hats into the crowd with the aplomb of rock stars.
David Northern stepped forward, hand extended. Stunned, I let go of the podium and slipped my damp palm into his paw. He leaned close, squeezing my shoulder with his free hand. My brothers strode closer, grinning.
“I’d say old George feels a little bit like white trash boy pussy along about now, wouldn’t you, Colt?” The crewman gave Colt the once-over, then peered over his shoulder at Jonny. David turned back to me with a grin. “You’re a class act, honey. Purple and silver, huh? Damn, we gonna look fine as frog hair come next season.”
The other guy, the one who’d made the remark about the R8, stepped up to shake my hand with a smile. “You got your daddy’s balls, little girl. I dunno if we got us any heroes like you’re talkin’ ‘bout, but George was bettin’ you’d stumble, and that ain’t happened. Dale’s gonna die laughin’ when he sees this.”
“Will Kolby compete in the All-Star race?”
I darted a glance around for George. He stood at the front door with Richard and Doris, head down, typing on his phone. He must’ve felt my stare because he lifted his head. We locked gazes. His smile made the hair on my arms stand up. My heart sank. I’d swung... and missed.
“Penalties are announced on Tuesday, as y’all know.” He tapped the screen again before tucking the phone away and striding inside the hospital.
Doris hustled after him. After a moment’s hesitation, so did Rick.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Hero? You think Hannah’s a hero? What kind of hero cheats his own teammate out of a quarter-million-dollar car?”
My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. I spun toward the familiar voice in time to see the camera lights split into two lines, as if the operators faced off to square dance. The crowd contracted on both sides, drawing away from the center of the walkway.
“Fuck you, Barnes!” a voice cried.
“Team Hannah!” cried a few more.
“Ban Barnes! There’s your damn hashtag!”
My pulse thudded in my ears. At first, all I made out were the colorful patches on a red-and-black racing suit. When Kolby sauntered past the closest camera, his face came into view. He drew to a halt in front of the podium.
“Someday, Shelby, you should get your brothers to explain exactly what Dale does for a living, because I think you might not understand.”
“Want some more Hannah, asshole? You came to the right place.” Colt sprang to my side. Shouts rang out behind me. Hands and beefy arms came out of nowhere, wrestling Colt against the exterior wall of the hospital.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Multiple shouts rang out. “Kick his ass, Colt!” and “He brought the fight to you, finish it!”
Panic ripped through me. Barnes’ build was too slight to be intimidating, but the man haunted my dreams.
Barnes continued like he’d never been interrupted. Reporters crowded close, but at this back, shoving their mics over his shoulders.
“But nobody in this business gets the big bucks to keep their hands clean. Maybe Dale played you, too. Maybe he let you in on the secret, but we both know, it ain’t heroic to steal a car. Much less to try to steal four million bucks.”
“Let. Go!” Colt yelled, throwing an elbow that caught the man holding him in the jaw.
Kolby held up his hands. “If I get attacked, Colt, I fight back.” He scowled. “’Bout damn time my crew had my back. Where were y’all this afternoon?” His harsh laugh sent a shiver down my spine. “Oh, that’s right. Makin’ movies. Hard to believe I got arrested for somethin’ that happens every damn week at the track. But, I want to say, I didn’t see that damn tool box. After Dale coldcocked me, I could barely see a’tall. I was just defendin’ myself.”
“Tell that to a judge,” I snapped. Shadows cast by the lights veiled Barnes’ eyes, making it impossible to gauge whether he spoke the truth. If his lips are moving, he’s probably lying.
Hands landed on my shoulders, spinning me, then jerking me forward. My nose was buried in a swath of purple silk. “Time to get the hell up out of here.”
“Dammit, Jonny, get your hands off me!”
“If I was you, Barnes, I’d go on home.” Caine’s voice rang out, silencing the buzzing crowd. “Pete, let me fuckin’ go!”
“Oh, two on one? Again?” Kolby laughed. “See, Shelby? Now, I gotta ask, how heroic is that?”
I was over this asshole’s taunts and lies. Drawing my arms close to my chest, I threw them sideways, breaking Jonny’s grasp. When I spun, I spied Caroline. A tear raced down her cheek. Jonny grabbed my wrists.
Enough with the fucking crying, too. This jerk had everyone I loved in tears. The bastard wasn’t going to crash my press conference and call us out like we were the criminals. I twisted in Jonny’s arms, bringing my boot down hard on his instep. “Let go of me!”
“Ow!” Jonny barked. His grip loosened. I broke free.
Dashing to the podium, I demanded, “Why come here? What do you want?”
Barnes cocked his head. A hush fell over the crowd, but goddammit, nothing I’d said generated the excitement that now lit every face.
“I want a shot at gettin’ my car back. I custom-ordered that car. Had it a week before Dale stole it right out from under me.”
“Shouldn’t bet what you can’t afford to lose.” I had to grip the podium, but adrenaline, not fear, caused my tremors.
�
�So, after your big speech about sportsmanship, you’re tellin’ me,”—he swept a hand toward the crowd, like he loved the attention—“that you won’t give me a fair shot at winnin’ my car back? What’s wrong, Shelby?” He raised his hands and dropped them, fluttering his fingers. “Can’t win without Dale makin’ magic?”
“That’s not true!”
He cocked his head. “I been thinkin’ and thinkin’ on that race. Real convenient, your brakes goin’ out. I mean, it almost makes a man wonder why your daddy didn’t check those brake lines before the big race, don’t it? I hate to think what mighta happened if you hadn’t been able to turn out into the grass. But, they do say, if you ain’t cheatin’, you ain’t tryin’, right?” He turned toward the crowd like he thought they’d agree.
Not now! Spinning colors flashed behind my eyes. The red, white, and blue bunting on the whitewashed stadium walls blended into a purple streak as I wrested the wheel hard to the left—inside my battered skull. The panic I’d felt when the brake pedal hit the floor, but the ‘Cuda hadn’t slowed, surged through my body like fast-acting poison. I blinked away the image. Everywhere I glanced, reporters scribbled avidly, or gestured in my direction, urging their cameramen to zoom in on me.
“Hell, no!” Caine barked. “She ain’t racin’ you again.”
No. She’s not. I forced my eyes open. Sweat trickled down my sides.
Several people exchanged glances. What did we have to hide? I could almost hear the unvoiced question buzzing through the crowd.
“Fuck you,” Colt yelled. “She turned her fastest time before the brakes went out, asshole. Name the day, Barnes. When you want her to kick your ass again?”
Kolby twisted from side to side, mugging for the cameras. I ached to punch that those bouncing eyebrows right off his face. Didn’t the jackass know how many nights I’d suffered, reliving that wreck?
“Anytime, anywhere, asshole.” Colt surged to my side, nearly breaking free of David’s grasp. “That loss is eatin’ you alive, ain’t it? You throw away chances to win like they’re garbage, but this one loss is stuck in your craw? Hilarious. What’s another shot at her worth to you, jackass?”
Before I could open my mouth, Caine barked, “Shut up, Colt. I said, she ain’t racin’ him again. How many damn concussions can one man give this family before someone realizes he ain’t fit to get behind the wheel?”
I lifted my brows. Lovers or not, I sure as hell didn’t need Caine’s permission to do a damn thing.
“We can go to the same track, if you like.” Barnes took another step closer, smiling at me as if neither Colt nor Caine had spoken. Wagging a forefinger, he added, “But no Hannahs. They can’t even come through the gate. Neutral pit crews on both sides. I want pre-and post-race inspections, because it keeps grindin’ on me that you swung that helmet and took my mind off askin’ for your car to be inspected for nitrous. Agree to race on those terms and I’ll put that four million back on the table.”
Now he was accusing me of being complicit in some plot to steal his goddamn car? I didn’t even want the stupid Audi. I’d give anything to have the ‘Cuda back.
With four million, Dale won’t need Jesse’s money.
Ernie dropped one eyelid inside my mind. Be smart, girl. You done won that four million, right?
Right. Thanks, Ernie.
Squaring my shoulders, I blew out a breath and stood as tall as I could. “That money’s already mine. It might be in your checking account, but it belongs to me.” I had no idea where my cool tone came from. Maybe from the way Caroline clasped her hands under her chin. Her hair swung over her face.
The exchange we’d had a week ago on her front porch silenced my last doubt. This was my chance to make everything—literally everything, except Mom—right.
“You think so, huh? Well now, if you won’t race for cash....” Kolby stroked his chin. The huge crowd fell so quiet, I heard the traffic rush by out on Kenilworth Avenue, two blocks away. “Oh, I know.” He snapped his fingers. “I bet you’d race for ‘Cuda convertible number six thousand.”
That was the last thing I expected to hear. “You know where the 6k ‘Cuda is?”
He smirked. “Sure I do. Want it? All you gotta do is beat me fair and square and it’s yours.”
“No!” Caine roared. “Not a snowball’s chance in hell, Barnes.” He tried to break free, but other crewmen came to David’s aid, pinning Caine to the hospital façade beside Colt. My outrage soared to see my brothers held down like they were the criminals.
“Put up the four million she already won alongside that ‘Cuda, and you got yourself a race,” Colt urged, darting me a glance. “If she beats you twice, you gotta admit, it was her money all along.”
“Yeah!” The cry came from the crowd. “That’s fair,” another voice rang out.
For four million and the 6k ‘Cuda, I’d race the devil, barefoot and naked, down a gravel road.
Walking away was impossible anyway. If I refused to race, Kolby would forever swear Dale cheated him and even Dale’s staunchest fans would have a doubt in their minds. How could we start a new team under a cloud like that? No corporate sponsor would risk associating their brand with a name synonymous with cheating.
I knew to my bones, Barnes wouldn’t let this go. He’d keep the media whipped into a frenzy. He had them eating out of the palm of his hand, the same day he’d been charged with felony assault.
The fans didn’t want justice. They wanted vengeance. Street-style.
“Horsepower not hashtags. Am I right?” Kolby laughed, but worse, the crowd started clapping. “That’s how a racin’ family settles things, Shelby. But, I know you only been a Hannah for about five minutes. No, wait. Not one yet, are you?”
I’ll show you who’s a Hannah, goddammit.
“Don’t get much sweeter than beating a man with his own car,” I snapped.
Before I could speak, a man in a polo shirt and dark slacks stepped up beside Kolby.
I blinked. Holy shit. Is the entire world in Charlotte tonight?
“I offer my team as the neutral crew. I assume NHRA Pro Street rules will apply?”
Caine demanded, “Who the hell are you?”
“Niles Jaeger.” The German reached into his shirt pocket, then extended a business card. Marley Taggert snatched it from him and thrust it toward Caine. “Director of Racing for Audi. While we’re waiting to hear Mr. England’s decision on whether we can join you on the track next year, we might as well make ourselves useful.”
“Yes. Fine. It’s a bet.” A red haze fell over my vision. I’d had a gutful of being accused of something we hadn’t done. “Leave the southern boy at home, Niles. I don’t know his name, but he used to run with my brothers. If they can’t come inside the stadium, I don’t want him there, either. I’m fed up with being called a cheater.”
“Wait a goddamn minute—”
I slammed a hand against Caine’s chest. Kolby’s hated face was all I could see. “You show up with a clone, or cry that you couldn’t get your hands on the 6k ‘Cuda—you welch again on any part of this bet, Barnes—and I’ll release the entire tape of the first race to the ESPN reporter who’s asking for it. You know, the part that shows you making deliberate contact after we’d both crossed the finish line like a petulant child? It goes without saying that, if you crash the Audi, you make yourself out a liar, after all this crying about how you only had it a week.” Have I left anything out?
He didn’t bat an eyelash. “Well, then, it’s a race. How about Thursday? Dial ins at five?”
Caine spun me to face him. “Wait a goddamn minute. I got somethin’ invested in that car. So does Caroline. We all do. Besides, what if you’re—”
I slapped a hand over the microphone. “Don’t you dare. You say that out loud and it’s all anyone will ever remember about me.”
He started to open his mouth, but I cut him off. “Please. I’m trying so hard not to be my mother. Don’t turn me into yours. I have to do this. I want to do this
.”
Turning toward Barnes, I unclasped the mic. “I have exams this week. I graduate Sunday at two p.m., but I can make it to the racetrack by nine Sunday night. To recap, ‘Cuda convertible number six thousand will be there. No pics, no promises. I better see the car itself, or the race is off.”
Kolby frowned. “I reckon she thinks I’ll be on vacation Sunday, fellas? She might be right, but just in case I ain’t, let’s say midnight. Give my fans time to make it over from the Speedway. Dial-ins at eleven?”
“Fine.” My first race had been at midnight.
“Don’t you want to know what he’s driving?” Niles asked.
A red haze licked the edges of my vision. “I don’t care if he shows up driving the space shuttle. Right lane, left lane, early start, late start—none of it matters. I kicked his ass once and I’ll do it again.” I sucked down a breath, jabbing a finger toward Barnes. “But. When I take your money and the ‘Cuda, you will retract every accusation you’ve made about any Hannah to date. Got it?”
The German coughed into his fist. “Well, well, she might be more than a party girl after all. See you Sunday. Drop off your cars for inspection by nine p.m. the evening of the race. Ladies first. Shelby will run her time trials at ten p.m. Your dial-in begins at eleven, Barnes. Any DQ equals an automatic loss and all wagers will be paid. Ladies and gentlemen, see you on Sunday.”
The German turned away, melting into the crowd. Most of the camera lights winked out. Some reporters raced toward the waiting vans. Others buttonholed fans, looking for crowd reactions.
The crewmen scattered like ants in a rainstorm. About half the Ridenhour team entered the hospital. Others bounded down the stairs and jogged toward the clutch of drivers, several of whom were now giving interviews.
All of them, except Marley Taggert. She held her spot, eyes fixed on me—or Colt.
“Hell, yeah!” Colt crowed, bringing his hand down on Caine’s shoulder. “You’ve wanted that ‘Cuda all your life. Nice of Barnes to buy it for us.” He slung one arm around me.
Caine gave Colt a look that could peel paint off a cement block wall. “Will you please get your head out from up your ass? You think I give a fuck about that car?” Jerking free, he stalked toward the front door. Gripping the handle, he cast a dark at me look over his shoulder. “You comin’ with me to see Dad, or what?”