by Abby Gaines
Gaby took a step back in alarm.
Zack didn’t answer the door.
“That brother of mine needs to face facts,” Trent said, minus his usual lighthearted demeanor.
“What’s going on?” Gaby asked.
“Ah, hell, I guess I have to tell you, too,” Trent said, disgusted. “Come back to my place.”
“I don’t have time, I have to find Zack.”
“There’s something you need to know,” Trent said.
In Trent’s state-of-the-art motor home, Gaby sat on a leather couch, Kelly curled up beside her. Trent took a seat on the other side of the living area. He leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. “I’ll tell you exactly what I told Zack last night.”
By the time he finished, Gaby was trembling with shock and anger. “All these years,” she accused, “you let him carry the responsibility for the breakdown of your relationship.”
“I’m sorry,” Trent said.
Kelly patted Gaby’s hand sympathetically; she’d obviously heard this before. Or maybe, being a psychologist, she was unshockable.
“I know Zack’s a jerk sometimes,” Trent concluded. Runs in the family, Gaby thought, eyeing his handsome face. “But maybe he has a good reason.”
It couldn’t have been easy for Trent to confess to Zack, she realized.
“What are you going to do?” Kelly asked her. “There’s a lot at stake.”
She meant more than Zack’s sponsorship, Gaby knew. And in that moment, Gaby realized there was more than her promotion at stake, too. She loved Zack—nothing he said or did could change that.
She thought about Sandra’s and Getaway’s threats. If Zack’s declaration of love had been an attempt to manipulate her, what had Sandra and Getaway been doing, if not manipulation of their own?
There was no escaping that other people would try and use her for their own purposes and benefit. She had to decide whether or not to let them.
“If anyone’s going to manipulate me,” she said, “I want it to be Zack.”
Trent looked charmingly confused, but Kelly nodded.
“He likes to insist he’s single-minded about his racing,” Gaby continued, “but if you knew how much time he spends thinking about you guys, and Brady, and Chad…”
“Family matters to him,” Trent admitted. “No doubt about it.”
“He’s misguided,” she said, mainly to herself. “And he screws up—heck, does he ever screw up. But at heart, he’s a tender, loving guy.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Trent said. Kelly threw a balled-up piece of paper at him but he dodged it.
Gaby stood. She headed for the door of the motor home.
“Where are you going?” Trent asked.
“Zack’s heart needs protecting,” she said, “and I’m the woman for the job.”
THE GARAGE AT RICHMOND was the usual hive of activity the day before the race, so Zack figured it was just him who felt as if everything was happening on mute, at a distance. It was as if he was in a vacuum—standing outside the hauler all alone, while around him, people went about their business. He hadn’t seen Gaby since she’d rejected his declaration of love, he wasn’t calm enough to talk to Trent, and Chad and Brady were occupied with their own concerns.
If Zack made the Chase, it would be all on his own efforts. At least he wasn’t doing those damn bachelor events. He should feel relieved. More confident about the race. But he didn’t. He ached all over. Not the physical ache from racing that grew more pronounced the older you got—this ache was an awareness of a whole lot of things missing from his life. A knowledge that he’d screwed up.
Most of all, it was an I-miss-Gaby ache.
He tipped his head back, let the sun fall on his face. Sounds penetrated the cocoon he’d built around himself. Dave calling to the jackman. The hiss of an air gun as a tire was inflated. Two mechanics conferring loudly near the No. 548 car.
Beyond the garage, the buzz of fans had grown steadily in the last hour. On the infield, RVs maneuvered into position, the yells of frustrated dads mingling with the shrieks of overexcited kids.
Behind him, two fans high-fived each other as they snagged Kent Grosso’s autograph.
Zack absorbed it all—the sights, the sounds, the smells—and let the spirit of the race track seep into him. He looked around for someone who was as alone as he was…and didn’t find anyone. The fans, the teams, everyone was part of a group that gave them a sense of identity. Each group had a goal for the weekend, whether it was enjoying the race together, or teaming up to produce a winning race car.
In a blaze of clarity, the truth hit Zack. No way had he gotten here all on his own efforts. NASCAR wasn’t a solitary sport—it couldn’t be. Winning races was about being a team.
He might not be seeing eye to eye with many people right now, but his team was building the No. 548 car for the race at Richmond with all the dedication as if he was a hot contender for the Chase. They deserved victory—and if Zack didn’t make it, it wouldn’t be their fault.
It would be Zack’s. Because he’d cut himself off. From his family, who loved him in their screwed-up way. Today, from the fans who would not only vote for him in the bachelor contest, but who also gave him encouragement that any driver needed out on the track. From Gaby, the woman he loved.
He’d asked her to take an enormous leap of faith—to risk her promotion, her future, for his decidedly shaky racing—and offered her nothing in return. Sure, he’d muttered something about love, as surprised to hear himself say it as she was. But beyond that…
His poor sweetheart. He groaned, drawing attention from a passing mechanic. Zack gave the guy a thumbs-up. He knew how wary Gaby was, how scared she was that a man would use her only to leave her again. He’d done nothing to reassure her. How could he demand that she prove her love for him, when he wasn’t willing to do the same?
I’m a jerk. Zack ran a hand through his hair and faced the facts.
He could afford to lose the race. He couldn’t afford to lose Gaby.
RYAN SPENT MOST OF the NASCAR Nationwide Series race at Richmond fuming about Amber’s unreasonable attitude, the way she’d decided he was a sleaze when she was the one who’d said she didn’t want a serious relationship.
After that disastrous last date, he’d talked to his father and grandfather about Billy Blake, so he had some idea of where she was coming from. But it wasn’t as if he’d tried to deceive her or pretend he was anything he wasn’t.
Next time he saw her, he thought as he passed last year’s NASCAR Nationwide Series champion, he wasn’t going to let her get away with all that yelling. Nope, if anyone around here had a right to yell, it was him. She was out of line.
He wished she was here. He floored it past two more cars, almost pinging the wall.
Amber had been right about one thing. Ryan did love to race, but recently he’d been racing for his dad and granddad, for the Thorne tradition. It hadn’t been about his passion, as it should be. And when he really thought about what he might say when he saw her again, he didn’t want to yell at her at all. He wanted, of all things, to look after her.
How soon could he get out of this car and tell her so?
“How many laps to go, Dad?” he said into his headset.
His dad made a choking sound. Then, in what had to be the most surreal moment of his life, Ryan saw the checkered flag ahead. Huh? How did that come up so fast? Who had passed it already?
No one, he realized, as he sped over the line to claim his first ever win in the series.
In Victory Lane, he hauled himself out of his car, hugged his father and grandfather, winced under Brady’s hearty slap on the back, gave the obligatory interviews and smiles for the cameras. Everything passed in such a blur that he couldn’t take it all in. Finally, they headed for the motor home.
“That was better than the race I won at Nashville,” his grandfather said, a gleam of reminiscence in his eyes.
“This is it, son,” his father said.
“You’re on your way.”
Ryan felt oddly lighthearted. “I’m on my way,” he agreed. “I’m on my way,” he amended, knowing the change of emphasis was lost on his seniors.
He wasn’t going anywhere without Amber.
“Dad, Grandpa, I know you guys are excited and you want to celebrate,” he said, “but can I meet you back in the motor home in a half hour? There’s something I need to do.”
He left the older men and headed for Brady’s motor home. He wasn’t sure Amber would have watched the race, but when she opened the door to him, she said a cool, “Congratulations.”
“You need to come with me,” he said, so seriously that she blanched.
“Why? Is something wrong?”
“Kind of, it concerns your mom,” Ryan said. Because there was something wrong with Julie-Anne—she had a crappy relationship with her daughter. Besides, he wasn’t sure he’d get Amber out the door if he told her what he really wanted.
When they arrived at his parents’ motor home, she balked. “What’s this about?”
“There’s someone waiting to talk to you in here. About your mom…and other things.”
The look she gave him was deeply suspicious, but she followed him inside.
She’d met his mother before; the two women exchanged greetings. Then Ryan introduced Amber to his dad, Jeff, and grandfather.
“Dad, Grandad,” Ryan said, “I want you to tell Amber about her father.”
Amber stiffened. “What is this?”
Ryan grabbed her hand. “Before you go accusing me, or anyone else, of being like Billy Blake, I want you to know how he fit in around here, what other people thought of him.”
Amber tried to pull away, but he held on to her. “Please, Amber,” he said. “Do it for us.”
Her eyes widened, but she said, “You still trying to get me into bed?”
He might have known she wouldn’t hold back just because his family was there. His mom gave a shocked gasp. Ryan felt himself color, but he held her gaze. “I’m trying to get you into my life.”
Heck, that wasn’t a fraction of what he needed to say to her, but the rest was private. He just needed to keep her here long enough so he got the chance to say it.
Some of the tension left her fingers. She gave a jerky nod. Ryan steered her to the couch and sat next to her. He still held her hand, in case she got any ideas about running away again.
“Billy Blake,” his grandfather said, “was the meanest man I ever met.”
Amber started, but Granddad continued, “You might not want to hear this, little lady, but I tell it like I see it.”
“That’s fine,” she said.
“He had a way with the ladies,” Granddad said. “He made the most of it.”
“He wasn’t a bad driver,” Jeff said.
“When he didn’t have a hangover or a grudge,” Granddad conceded. “But there’s a hell of a lot more to making it as a NASCAR driver than how well you put the car around the oval. Attitude,” he said sagely. “And Billy Blake was one big bundle of bad attitude.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
AMBER KNEW THAT. BUT hearing it from someone on the inside of the sport was a new experience.
“You know your dad got fired shortly before the accident?” Jeff asked.
Amber nodded.
“We drivers were surprised it had taken so long. We all knew Billy Blake would never make it in NASCAR. It was just a matter of how soon his flashy veneer would fall apart in front of the wrong person.”
“When you heard him kissing up to a team owner you had to smile,” Ryan’s grandpa said. “It was a polished performance, all right.”
“My mom…” she began, not sure what she wanted to say.
“Your mother was the main reason anyone spoke to Billy at all,” Granddad said. “She was a brave little thing. She had to know Billy was cheating on her—he didn’t bother to hide his flings from anyone except his boss—but she’d show up every weekend, you in tow.”
“A good woman, that Julie-Anne,” Jeff agreed. “Always a kind word, always ready to help out.”
“She did everything she could to help your dad,” Grandpa said. “And the rest of us did what we could. But some folk are beyond helping.”
“Someone helped him by bringing him whisky,” Amber said.
“So-called friends,” Jeff said dismissively. “Your daddy had a bunch of hangers-on who were never going to get any closer to anyone famous. Giving him booze was their passport to his fame.” He shook his head. “I tried talking sense to one of them myself once, told him to cut it out. He couldn’t see what the problem was.”
“After the accident—” Amber’s voice sounded rusty “—Mom sent me away. She stayed with him.”
She couldn’t believe she’d said that, to a room full of near strangers. Then Ryan laced his fingers through hers. For a guy who wanted nothing more than a casual fling, he sure was making an effort. Amber squeezed back and felt the simultaneous clenching of her stomach muscles.
“Just about killed her, that did,” Granddad said.
Amber stared. “What makes you say that?”
“She had this edge to her,” Jeff said. “Like she was on the brink. No one expected her to stick with Billy very long. But then he had the accident. Then he got the cancer. Damn shame, if you ask me, that he lasted longer than the few months the doctors said.”
He leaned back against the wall. “Julie-Anne was heartbroken.” He nodded to Amber. “We all knew it was about you being gone, not about your dad’s illness.” He sighed. “That’s it, really. The whole thing was a damn shame.”
It was more than that, Amber wanted to say. It was the end of my childhood. Yet how much worse must it have been for her mom? Tears threatened.
“When I think about what NASCAR means to our family,” Jeff said, “I would say your mom felt like that about our sport, but your dad didn’t. Doesn’t make much sense, I know, given he was the driver. But for him, racing NASCAR was a means to an end. Fame and fortune.”
“Whereas for us, it’s about passion,” Granddad said.
Amber could see that. These men were like Brady, like her stepbrothers.
“Dad, Grandad,” Ryan said, “you’ve been great.” The dismissal in his voice was unmistakable.
“He wins one race and he thinks he can order us around,” his father joked. But he stood up anyway.
“Actually,” Ryan said, “I wasn’t asking you to leave, just changing the subject.”
His father sat down again.
“What you just said, about what NASCAR means to our family,” Ryan began. “I couldn’t have put it better.”
“Thanks, son.”
“I realized recently that I’ve lost sight of that,” Ryan said. “When I first started in NASCAR, every race was a high. The days in between races were truly frustrating.”
His grandfather chuckled.
“But I lost that,” Ryan said. “Somewhere along the way, I let go of my dream and started living yours, and I haven’t enjoyed myself since.”
It was as if he’d switched to Swahili—the two faces opposite him blanked. Amber held her breath.
“I want to race NASCAR, make no mistake,” Ryan reassured his dad and grandfather. “But I need to do it for me. I’ll always need your support, I’ll always get a kick out of your racing stories—the first time I hear them, at least.” He grinned, removing the sting. “But what I want is to race for me.”
Amber stared. Had Ryan come to these conclusions because of what she’d said? Had he taken the words she’d uttered in anger, and considered the underlying truth? Every time she thought he was a shallow jerk, he displayed a level of insight that floored her.
His father removed his spectacles, began to polish them. He said slowly, “You have to be your own man, Ryan. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
It was a big concession, Amber knew. One that showed Jeff truly loved his son.
It seemed Ryan was intent on pushing that l
ove to its limits. He drew a breath and said, “Thanks, Dad, I appreciate that. But I have to tell you, it seems…it seems there’s something I want more than I want to race NASCAR.”
Identical expressions of dismay stole over his father’s and grandfather’s faces, replacing their cautious relief.
Ryan took Amber’s hands in his, looked deep into her eyes.
Me? He wants me? Her heart leapt.
“If Amber doesn’t want me to race NASCAR—if, because of her father, she has difficulties with that,” Ryan said, scarcely glancing at his audience, “then I’ll figure out something else to do.”
Ryan would give up his NASCAR dream? She shook her head; he nodded, his mouth widening into the cocky grin she loved. Loved? Oh, yes, she was falling for this man like it was going out of fashion.
He hadn’t said he loved her—he probably thought she’d say it was too soon. But he’d made more of a commitment to her in that one sentence than anyone else had, ever.
Except, maybe, her mom. In her heart, Amber knew Julie-Anne had never stopped loving her, missing her. That she’d been in a situation where doing the right thing was torture, and so would have been doing the wrong thing.
She noticed Ryan’s parents and grandfather were slipping out the door. The silence that fell was heavy with anticipation.
“You meant that,” Amber said, “about giving up racing.”
Ryan sighed. “Yep. I know it’s crazy—you’re the biggest pain in the butt I ever failed to date.”
She laughed.
“But I need you,” he said. “With you around, stuff matters.”
“Stuff?”
“It’s hard to explain,” he said, endearingly sheepish. “Can you just accept that I know what I want, and it starts and ends with you?”
“Yeah, I guess I can.” Amber leaned forward and kissed him. She meant it to be just a swift kiss, but it turned into something sweet and tender, then hotly passionate.
His hands roamed over her, seeking a familiarity, an intimacy, that would bind them. Yes, Amber thought. She’d never felt like this before.