Revolution: A Driven World Novel (The Driven World)

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  “Thanks.” A hint of a smile crossed my face as I took the series of photos from him, all from the shoot the other day.

  It hadn’t been as bad as I was expecting—except for the part where I’d had to deal with G and his aggravating attitude. And the part where he’d stood too close for me to feel anything except the need to be closer.

  I didn’t really have a preference. In my opinion, none of them looked like race car driver, Kacey Snyder, on race day mostly because I wouldn’t be caught wearing makeup that I’d just as soon sweat off under my helmet.

  “I guess any of these three are fine.” I put my preference on top. “For the website?”

  He nodded. “And a few other internal things.”

  “Is that it for today?” I checked my watch. “And did you hear back from Racer about the interview? Just trying to see when I can book a new flight home.”

  He froze.

  “You know we’ve got to install the new safety screen on the car?”

  I hesitated. “Yeah…” After a series of deadly crashes, IndyCar had implemented a new safety feature to be installed on all cars this season.

  He wiped a hand over his mouth before adjusting his glasses—the tic I’d learned meant he was about to ask something more from me… something he knew might be met with resistance.

  “That’s coming in a week or so, last I checked. As soon as G gets it on the car, I know he’ll want you to test it on the track. Wants to see for himself about drag and such. And I’m still lining a few things up as far as interviews and whatnot.” He cleared his throat before dropping the bomb. “So, I’d like you to stay in the area until we head up to Indianapolis at the beginning of May.”

  My breath caught.

  Staying.

  Here.

  I blinked a few times, processing what that meant. Last week, he’d mentioned weeks. A few weeks of PR to hold everyone over until the race. Today—now—those weeks turned into months.

  And I wasn’t prepared to stay here for two more months.

  I didn’t bring clothes. I didn’t bring anything.

  But most concerning was that my rental was supposed to be up today. My host kindly offered to let me stay and pay nightly after the first time my trip was extended, but she had another renter arriving next week.

  “That going to be a problem?”

  My eyes snapped up from where they’d fallen to the floor under the weight of so many unknowns.

  “No.” I shook my head. I needed this. I needed to race. “I just have to figure out housing. The place I rented was only short term because I didn’t realize I’d be here that long—”

  “You can stay upstairs,” he interrupted and waved off the concern.

  “What?” My eyes popped wide. “Upstairs?”

  He rose and walked to the far corner of the shop, expecting me to follow. Veering around two shelving units that held various parts, wires, boxes, and bottles, all meticulously organized in a way that would only make sense to the person who organized them, he stopped in front of a door I hadn’t noticed before.

  My head tipped up. So that was how you got upstairs.

  Renner fumbled for keys in his pocket, unlocking the door to reveal a stairwell up to the second floor above the garage.

  “It’s not much,” he said, gesturing with his hand in a manner to indicate I shouldn’t get my hopes up. “Didn’t think I’d need this part of the space when I rented it. Thought G might need—” He broke off with a swift cough. “There’s a small apartment up here,” he finished as we reached the top of the landing. “No one else is going to be using it, so if you need a place, you’re welcome to stay here.”

  I paused at the top of the stairs, taking in the large studio space with kitchenette, sparsely but cleanly decorated.

  The bed on the far wall was shielded from the rest of the apartment by a make-shift curtained partition. Hanging from what looked like engine clamps welded to the exposed metal beams of the ceiling hung thick tines of rope attached to the wide grommets of white curtains. Made of a heavier fabric, they mostly shielded the bed from view, though its shape was illuminated as the afternoon light shone ardently through the windows.

  In front of the bed, closer to where we stood, was the small living space. A navy velvet couch sat perched between two deep red tufted chairs, a paint-splattered wood coffee table tying the furniture together in the center.

  “What is this place?” I asked, not expecting an answer.

  “The folks I rented it from are traveling artists or some such thing.” He folded his arms. “Think they were using the garage for a studio until they got a bigger place in the city.”

  I hummed, the seemingly inexplicable decor now making some sense.

  “So, bed, living area, kitchen.” He motioned as he spoke, making the tour about as grand as his personality would allow. “And then here’s the bathroom.”

  He turned and my gaze followed him to the door I’d missed when we’d come up.

  My brow crinkled in confusion.

  Along this part of the back wall was all floor to ceiling frosted glass, and when he opened the door, I saw why.

  The entire bathroom was tiled and the shower was completely open.

  As he walked in, I could see his shadow highlighted against the glass, turning him into a moving—living art installation on the wall.

  I couldn’t decide if I thought it was a cool idea or a creepy one, realizing that anyone in the apartment could watch you shower even if only in a vague but artistically intimate kind of way.

  I peeked inside the bathroom, noting the toilet and sink on the far wall.

  Backing out with a nod, I wrapped my arms across my chest and pulled the corner of my lip into my mouth.

  It was a place to stay.

  For free.

  “If you’re sure it’s okay.” I couldn’t pass up free.

  I’d quit my engineering job when Hoyt hired me to race for his team. With the number of NASCAR races during the season, I would’ve been taking off from work more than I would’ve been working. So, rather than waiting for my inevitable firing, I resigned. With my contract, I’d still be in a position to live comfortably in my current apartment with my current expenses. But without that contract, everything was a little strained.

  “I don’t know about okay,” he said, taking my comment literally. “But it’s available and unoccupied, so it’s yours if you want.”

  My nod of confirmation was slow but unwavering.

  I didn’t have many other good choices. Not on such short notice.

  “Why are we staying here?” The question slipped out before I realized the answer didn’t really matter.

  But it was curious how Renner’s face grew shadowed, an expression of (something) crossing a face that rarely showed any emotion.

  “Told you. Have to get the screen installed and tested. Engine tweaks. Interviews.” My eyes narrowed at reasons that didn’t really feel like reasons. “It’ll be easier to get everything ready before heading up there. Indy is a mess this time of year.” He looked around nervously before turning to the stairwell and unclipping the key to the apartment from his keyring, setting it on the flat post of the banister.

  “Only thing is, there is no outside entrance,” he cautioned. “So you’ve got to come in through the shop.”

  My head tipped, curious as to why that would be a problem if I was the only one staying here. Then again, there were certain things Renner made a priority that most wouldn’t even pause at, so I just acknowledged him and bid him goodnight.

  When the door clicked below, I pulled out my cell phone from my back pocket and dialed my dad.

  “Hey there, Speedy.” His warm voice greeted me after two rings.

  “Hey, Dad.” I sighed, some of the tension built up over the day—over the minutes spent in that man’s presence dissipating when faced with my father’s comforting tone.

  “What’s up? Everything okay? You sound tired,” he observed. “Another photo shoo
t today?”

  “No. Thankfully.”

  “I bet they’ll put you on the front of Racer Magazine. If they want any photos from when you were younger, be sure to send them my way.” He chuckled.

  I laughed. “Yeah, I think I’ll pass on that.”

  “You sure? I think your mom still has photos of your first-place ribbon at the science fair.”

  Groaning, I rolled my eyes, wandering over to the windows facing out the front of the building.

  I’d taken first place in my school’s science fair in middle school with my erupting volcano. Truthfully, I think they only gave me the prize because my volcano erupted a little too exuberantly and sent orange goo all over me.

  “Thanks, but still no.”

  I wrinkled my nose, the scent of fresh laundry coming from somewhere nearby. Turning my head, I confirmed there was no laundry room up in the apartment, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a washer and dryer somewhere downstairs off the garage.

  “You’re going to do great, Kace.”

  I smiled a little. My dad could always turn some of my nervousness into excitement.

  “How’s mom?”

  “She’s good.” There was no elaboration, so I read between the lines.

  “She’s upset I’m racing Indy, isn’t she?”

  Another pause of confirmation.

  Amy Snyder wasn’t a fan of racing—and she definitely wasn’t a fan of her daughter being a driver.

  It had nothing to do with the male-dominated sport. It wasn’t that I was a girl, it was that I was her baby girl. And I was actively and eagerly engaged in pursuing a career that could potentially have life-threatening consequences.

  “You know your mom, Kace.” He sighed, and so did I. “Nothing to do with upset, just worried.”

  My mother worried about a lot of things—too many things. And while her concerns had a base in reality, they were built up with irrationalities. It didn’t matter what safety features existed nor how protected I was, all she focused on was that crashes invariably happened and sometimes drivers didn’t walk away from them.

  After what happened in Daytona and my subsequent firing, the happy relief that undermined her expression of sympathy stung. Even though it hurt me to lose everything I’d worked for—everything I’d spent each extra penny of my own money to pursue—all she could see was that I was out of harm’s way.

  “Don’t you worry about your mom,” he went on. “You’re going to race at Indianapolis, and you’re going to show those boys what you can do. You’re right where you belong.”

  Was I? I winced.

  You shouldn’t be here.

  G’s first words to me rolled over me like a freight train. Words that were echoed in almost every action and subsequent conversation with him.

  My mouth firmed.

  I was going to show him this was where I was meant to be.

  I was going to show them all.

  “So, have you met the team?” he asked.

  I shook my head even though no one could see me. “No. And I have a feeling I won’t until we get to Indianapolis… which is actually why I’m calling.” I hugged my free arm over my stomach as I turned back to face my new apartment. “I was wondering if you could keep an eye on my place for the next couple of weeks. I guess Renner wants us… me… to stay in Charlotte until qualifying.”

  “Of course, Speedy. No problem.” He paused. “Are you okay with that? Where are you going to stay?”

  I opened my mouth to answer when I heard my mom in the background, asking my dad what was going on and what we were talking about. I waited a minute while he begged her to let him get all the information.

  “There’s an apartment above the garage that he’s going to let me stay in,” I finally replied. “It’s pretty nice, and it’s free which is never a bad thing.”

  “By yourself?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine, Dad,” I reassured him though he was already relaying the information to my mom.

  “Kacey.”

  “Hi, Mom.” My face scrunched as my name wavered over the worried vibrations of her voice.

  “You’re staying down there? Why?” she demanded with a huff.

  “It’s just for a few weeks for some PR stuff. It’s never too late to try and pick up some sponsors…” Or build the hype over the only woman who’d be racing at Indy.

  “Why aren’t you staying at your rental? Or at a hotel? Or how about with your friend from college?”

  With a sigh, I pushed away from the windowsill and made for the couch, dropping onto the plush cushions that seemed to swallow me right into them.

  “Because the rental is unavailable for the length of time I would need it and a hotel is expensive.” Of course, there were a million other options—options I might still look into—but I needed something for the immediate future, and this was my best bet. “And I haven’t even seen Gwen yet, she’s been working overtime at the hospital. I don’t even know if she’d have room for me to stay with her.”

  The first time Renner told me we’d be in Charlotte for a little longer, I reached out to an old friend from college, Gwen Reynolds. She’d been my closest friend then, but after graduation, with my racing and her decision to pursue nursing, life had just taken us in different directions. But since fate put me in her vicinity, I figured it would be a good opportunity to catch up—and a good use of my time and thoughts rather than letting them continue to linger on the gorgeous grouch working on my race car.

  “But what about—”

  “I’m going to be fine, Mom,” I broke in and told her what she really needed to hear, stopping her protest in her tracks. “This apartment is really nice. It’s close to the racetrack and not right downtown. And there’s a half-million dollar race car downstairs in the garage so there’s plenty of security around the building.”

  It wasn’t a lie. There were locks on the doors, though it certainly wasn’t Fort Knox. And I saw video cameras on the corners of the building, but I wasn’t sure they were connected to anything.

  Still, it would reassure her which was what I needed.

  There was an extended silence before the truth came out.

  “Kacey, you’re racing an open-wheel car. NASCAR was one thing. At least you had a roll cage. But Indy…”

  Even though at times it frustrated me to no end to have to deal with her worries railroading my dream, it was also these moments when I felt lucky to have a mother who cared like she did.

  “I’m going to be fine, Mom,” I promised her. “I love you.”

  I heard in her deep breaths the desire to pushback out of fear, but inevitably, she sighed and replied, “I love you too, Kacey. Here’s your father again.”

  “Sorry about that, Speedy.”

  I knew my dad worried, too. It was impossible not to. But the people in this sport learned not to think about those kinds of things—the really bad things that could happen. Because the day you did was the day your career ended.

  “It’s okay.”

  “So, what else? Tell me about the photo shoot.”

  “Not much to tell.” I sank deeper into the cushions, wondering how hard it was going to be to get out of them. “They did my hair and makeup. Made me look like a girl. You know…”

  “Well, you are a girl.”

  “Right, but I bet Ryan Newman doesn’t get his hair and makeup done before photos,” I retorted.

  “You’d be surprised,” my dad returned, and we both chuckled.

  “I’m sure I would. Then again, out of the three people photographed, I was the only one done up.”

  “Well, you’re the driver. It’s like being the quarterback or the singer in a band. Inevitably, you end up representing the team and being the most recognized,” he continued to rationalize, taking my unease at having special treatment because I was a woman with him. “Who else did they photograph? Voigt, I’m assuming.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “And the chief mechanic.”

  “You didn’t mention you
met the mechanic,” he accused lightly.

  I didn’t mention it because I knew he’d want to talk about it. Being in the shop… working on those cars… those were the kind of details my father relished as an engineer.

  And the thing was, I didn’t want to talk about the mechanic.

  I didn’t want to talk about G.

  Garret.

  “Yeah, the chief mechanic is here,” I replied, my body instinctively reacting with that electrified tension that always seemed to be present at the mention of him even if he physically wasn’t.

  “Who is it? Anyone I know?”

  “I don’t think so,” I replied and then paused, steeling myself because I knew I wasn’t going to get out of this conversation. “His name is Garret Gallagher.”

  I held my breath, waiting for the verdict of recognition.

  My father hummed, and my exhale released in a burst. “It doesn’t ring a bell.”

  The relief I expected to feel—hoped to feel—was completely absent.

  With annoying clarity, I realized parts of me wanted to know more about the enigma that was Garret Gallagher, and those parts were stronger than the stubbornness that insisted I ignore him.

  “He goes by ‘G,’” I blurted, as though it might jog something in his memory.

  “Like the letter?”

  So much for that. “Yeah.”

  “Odd.” My father cleared his throat. “You know, the name Gallagher is familiar, but not Garret. I want to say Dave or Dan…” He trailed off and I could practically see him shaking his head. “It was just after I retired though, so going back a few years.”

  “I can look it up.” I winced, not sure why I even offered.

  I shouldn’t want to know more about the supremely rude and frustrating man who was responsible for both my speed and safety on the track.

  “It might come to me if you give—” He broke off and yelled to my mom that he’d be right there. “Sorry, we’re headed to dinner with the Jansens and your mom’s insisting I change.”

  I didn’t even reply, my heart hammering against the front of my chest. I wanted to know what he remembered. I needed to know.

  “Can’t recall if it was Dave or Dan, but it was definitely a Gallagher. That was definitely the name of the young guy who committed suicide.”