by Lacey Black
“Yeah, we’ll make sure he’s safe,” one of the guys adds, but I’m not really paying much attention. At this point, my eyes are on her, watching her eat, watching the way she interacts with my crew. She’s at complete ease in the setting, which makes me grateful. I’m not sure what I’d do if my personal life clashed with my professional one.
Not that she’s my personal life, but you know what I mean.
You want her to be…
And I do.
I’m just not sure if she’s ready.
***
The next morning, the track is buzzing. Excitement, anticipation, and adrenaline are coursing through my veins and that of every person here. Mid-Ohio is one of my favorite tracks, and one of my two wins last year. I’d love to take home another victory, and that starts with a good qualifying run.
This is a road course, which, coming from a country boy like me who raced on oval dirt tracks his whole life, took some getting used to. Mid-Ohio has thirteen turns, some elevation changes, high-speed and tight corners, and a damn challenging entry to pit lane. That’s probably my favorite part. I love a good challenge.
We’re in the garage, my team getting ready for this morning’s inspection. My fire suit is on, but only to my waist, so all I have to do is slip my arms inside, zip it up, and I’m ready to go. I’m getting into my zone, channeling my energy into what’s about to come, yet I can’t help but think about the two people hanging back at our hauler site. The motorhome is there with Oliver and Lena inside. They’re going to head this way to watch me qualify. I’m pretty pumped. It’s not the first time I’ve had someone from my past come support me, but I could count on one hand how many times it’s happened. The only person to ever come watch me race was Jim Stanley.
Lena’s dad.
Now his daughter is here for the first time, and I’m not sure what I’m more excited about: the race or her attendance.
As my time draws near, we get ready to head to the track. Coop is with the car and will meet me there along with the rest of the guys. I head to the motorhome and smile the moment I see Lena. She has this weird wrap thing strapped to her chest, and she’s swaying to music coming from her phone. It’s a country song I’ve heard a bunch on the radio, but I’ve never heard it quite like this—slightly off-key and pitchy.
When she turns, that’s when I see Oliver. He’s snug against her abdomen, his head nestled on her chest. I’ll admit, I’m a little jealous of my son right now. What I wouldn’t give to have my head stuffed between her tits, maybe while we’re both wearing less clothes.
“Oh!” Lena holds her hand up to her mouth.
“Sorry, but I didn’t want to interrupt the concert,” I tell her, smirking as I lean against the motorhome door.
Lena rolls her eyes. “Oliver likes to dance,” she tells me with a smile. “Is it time?”
“It is. You ready?”
She heads over to the table and grabs two sets of headphones. One for her, and the smallest pair I’ve ever seen for Oliver. “Can you help me?” she asks, handing me the little blue headphones. They’ll swim on my little man, but at least his ears will be protected.
I take the headphones, pulling apart the earpieces as she tries to hold up Oliver’s head. He’s still sawing logs, content as he can possibly be in her weird wrap. “This is different,” I tell her, trying to maneuver the ear protection down in the wrap. My hand brushes against her boobs, and like a fourteen-year-old boy, a jolt of excitement sweeps through me. “Sorry,” I stammer, trying to hide a smile.
Lena just gives me a look, like she’s not buying it for a second. “Are you done?” she asks, humor lacing the words.
I slide the protection over my son’s ears and smile a big cheesy grin. “Yep. Done.”
She raises an eyebrow and heads for the door. Outside, the sun is high as she slides a pair of sunglasses over her eyes. She stays close, walking right beside me as we head for the track. The familiar scent of gasoline and burnt rubber fills the air, the sound of a car on the track growing louder the closer we get.
Lena slips her headphones on as we move through the crowd. Competitors and opposing crew members offer a quick hello. When we reach pit road, I find my car and my team. She stops beside me, glancing around and taking in the sights and sounds. Even behind sunglasses, I can see the excitement in her wide eyes.
I move toward her, placing my hand on her upper arm. Her scent engulfs me, sweet and familiar, and my cock takes notice. That’s something new. Can’t say I’ve ever started to sport wood right before a race. She doesn’t pull back, something else I notice, as I lean in and say, “You can go over and stand with Coop. He’ll make sure you’re out of the way,” I holler, moving her ear protection just enough to help her hear me.
She nods but doesn’t move. In fact, I swear she leans in. My lips tingle, half a second away from moving to claim hers, but somehow, I refrain. Instead, I bend down and kiss Oliver’s forehead. He flinches, his lips mimicking a sucking motion as if he’s eating in his sleep. I can’t help but smile.
“See you in a bit,” I add, dropping my hand from her arm.
“Good luck,” she tells me with a grin before turning and heading over to Coop.
He gives me a thumbs-up, letting me know he’s got them, as I slip into the arms of my fire suit and zip up. Fish helps me get my earpieces in and cues up the mic, connecting me with my crew chief. “You there, man?”
“Here and ready to roll,” I confirm, heading over to my car.
He gives me a few last-minute instructions, sharing details about the previous few qualifiers, as I secure myself into my car, letting the rush of anticipation run through me. I’m strapped in, my steering wheel secured into place. Coop continues to give me directions, including the command to fire my engine. It’s loud, and I love it.
I sit there idling, my mind focused, waiting for the cue.
This is what I do.
I’m ready to get to work.
Chapter Seven
Lena
There’s a buzz at the track as they prepare for the race. It’s been so long since I truly felt this feeling. The anticipation. The excitement. The thrill of fast cars and hot drivers. It all comes back to me. Sure, I’ve felt something similar at the dirt track my dad owns, but nothing compares to an IndyCar race. To be honest, I’ve missed this.
I’ve missed Mack.
I ignore that subconscious comment and focus on what’s in front of me. The car passed inspection and is waiting on the track, the crew preparing for battle. They’re stretching together, their blue and gold fire suits gleaming under the perfect summer sun. Mack is with them, preparing for the race. I’ve been hanging back, but not too far. There’s a gaggle of reporters ready to pounce the moment I give them the opportunity.
After qualifying yesterday, Mack and Peter from PR conducted an interview. He gave an abbreviated version of what happened with Oliver, leaving out the gory details of how he came to be. The reporters went nuts, throwing out questions, even after they asked for privacy. One specifically asked about me, even though I wasn’t at the conference. I was at the hauler with the guys, and Oliver. It wasn’t like my attendance at qualifying went unnoticed. They didn’t have my name, but they knew I was there, and they demanded to know more.
Mack stayed professional, telling the reporters I was a friend helping him during this surprise situation. He confirmed I was not the baby’s mother, but that didn’t appease them much. It was like waving a bone in their face, but not letting them actually have it. The press wanted that bone, and I’m certain they won’t stop until they get it.
I watch as Mack heads over to the fence, pastes on a bright smile, and signs some autographs. He’s photographed selfie-style dozens of times and doesn’t seem to notice when the women sidle up much closer than the men and kids. He takes it all in stride, spending more time with the kids than the adults. When he’s done, they still holler for his attention, but he’s already moving back to his garage bay.
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sp; Camera crews are nearby, capturing prerace moments for television. Mack seems to ignore them and comes over to where I stand. Oliver is awake right now, his wide eyes gazing up at me. When his dad appears in his line of sight, he seems to move a little more. “Hey, little dude,” Mack says softly, reaching down and running the outside of his finger over his soft skin. “Look at you all bright-eyed.” He smiles down at his son, which makes my heart flutter.
“He’s been awake for a good twenty minutes or so. We’ve been walking around and people-watching,” I say, slowly rocking my hips back and forth. One thing I’ve learned is Oliver loves to move.
“Just be careful,” he says, those dark chocolate eyes meeting mine, drawing me in and refusing to let go. “I don’t want you guys to go off too far. The press is still gunning for you.”
My throat is thick, so I give him a quick nod in reply. I’m well aware I’m already viral on social media. Not me, per se, but Mack and Oliver. I’m just along for the ride. “We’ll be careful.”
He seems to visibly relax. “Okay, good. I mean, I know you will, but, I don’t know,” he starts, running his hands through his hair and looking down at his son. “I guess I just feel the need to remind you.”
“That’s fatherhood for you,” I reply with a giggle, recalling how my dad used to do the exact same thing when I was younger and wanting to freely walk around the garage and pit areas.
“No, not fatherhood,” he replies, his voice low. When he looks back up, I feel the force of his concern like a sledgehammer to the chest. “That’s what you do when you care about someone.”
My breath catches in my throat and I almost choke.
What does that mean?
His intense gaze softens a little as he steps even closer. “I’ll always care about you, Lean. Always.”
I can’t swallow over the lump suddenly forming in my throat. I open my mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. In my mind, however, everything is swirling and flying like a tornado. What is he saying, exactly, and why does the prospect of him still caring about me make me want to weep for joy? I’m leaving in a month, and he’ll still be here, living his life. Yet, I can’t stop thinking about…what if?
Fortunately, I’m saved from having to come up with any sort of reply. Fish hollers, ending our alone time. “Cruz, we’re ready to head to the track.”
The moment has passed.
“Walk with me?” he asks, bending down and kissing Oliver’s head.
I turn and grab my bag, which contains both pairs of headphones and an emergency bottle and diaper for Oliver. The guys walk together, their game faces on and ready. Mack brings up the rear of the group, with me walking beside him.
“You know, I haven’t seen a race since my dad retired,” I confess, feeling the need to say something.
“No? Not even on TV?” he asks as the crowd starts to get thicker.
“Nope. I guess I just needed to cut the cord, so to speak. If you know what I mean,” I add quickly.
He looks my way and gives me a small, sad smile. “I know what you mean. I asked Jim about you a few times, but I could tell it put him in an awkward position.”
I clear my throat of the emotions suddenly choking me. “Yeah, I knew he talked to you occasionally and went to see a few races, but he pretty much kept it all to himself.”
“I hope I didn’t cause problems between you two,” he whispers, as a few people wave as we go by.
“No, not at all. He enjoyed seeing you, and I could always tell when he’d talk to you on the phone. He was…happy.”
We reach the car and both stop. He turns those hypnotic eyes on me and says, “I’m glad you’re here, Lean.”
Automatically, I smile. “I’m glad I’m here too, Mack.”
The moment is broken as more spectators gather around. A few shake Mack’s hand and offer him good luck. A couple snap pictures from a distance, while others are more up-front with their quest to get a photo with their cell phone camera.
“You’re going to head to the motorhome, right?” he asks.
“Yeah, we’ll stay for your first few laps, and then we’ll head to watch the race over by the hauler,” I confirm.
We discussed today’s game plan last night before bed. Mack wanted us there for support, but was worried about the length of the race. We decided I’d stay to see him off, and then I’d head out so Oliver could get some decent rest. The late morning sun is high in the sky and getting hotter by the second. It’ll be good to get him in the cooler motorhome and stretched out a bit. I’m sure it’s not fun being balled up in the Moby Wrap. Plus, my back could use a little break.
“Okay, good. Tyson will be there waiting,” Mack reminds me. Tyson is the driver of the hauler, and another part of their away crew, as I’ve learned this weekend.
I offer him a reassuring smile. “I know, Mack.”
He exhales and stops. We’ve made it to the edge of the track, people standing everywhere and walking past. I pay them no attention, though. I’m too lost in the sea of warm chocolate eyes, his worry and concern written clearly on his face.
I step forward, into his personal space. I can smell his soap mixed with a little sweat, and I would never admit this aloud, but it turns me on something fierce. It reminds me of way back when, when we would get naked just about anywhere, anytime we could steal away a quick fifteen or twenty minutes.
But now isn’t the time to relive quickies from our past. Now is the time to reassure him we’ll be fine. He has a race in less than a half hour, and the last thing he needs to worry about is Oliver. Or me.
My hand touches his face before I can even think about what I’m doing. “Hey, we’re going to be okay. We’ll be safe at the hauler, inside the motorhome. Tyson won’t let anyone near us.”
He swallows. “I know, it’s just… I don’t want to worry, yet I am.”
“Please don’t. You’re about to race, and you need to focus. This is what you do, who you are. You need to channel everything into your race car, into your driving.”
“I will, I promise,” he insists, slightly turning his cheek into my hand. “I trust you.”
The corner of my mouth turns upward. “Good. Now, let’s get you in your race car so Oliver can witness his first big Indy race.” I glance down and find the baby sound asleep.
Mack snorts. “He’s thrilled, I can tell.”
We start to walk again, Mack waving a friendly hello to those around us. “You know, it won’t be long and he’s going to be right beside you in the thick of this. He’ll have racing dreams of his own and probably drive you crazy with questions.”
Mack snorts. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,” he says with a boyish grin, glancing around at the growing crowd. I’ve noticed we’re being followed by photographers and cameras, but if he’s noticed, he hasn’t let on.
When we reach his pit, we stop. “He’ll have the best teacher,” I tell him, believing that with my whole heart.
He turns, ignoring someone who hollers his name, his eyes focused solely on me. “Well, I did learn from the best.”
My chest tightens as I think back to that time, when my dad took a young boy under his wing and taught him everything he could about racing. Mack had been a sponge, soaking up every detail, every word my dad ever spoke. My dad always said Mack had more talent than half the professional racers out there and was sure his time was coming.
And it did come.
Our time ended, and his new life began.
Mack does a quick prerace interview with the network. I stand as far away from the camera line of sight as possible. The guys move around in determination. They make sure everything is ready: their tools, the tires, and the full gas can. I can see the focus on their faces, in their eyes. This is what they do, and they’re ready.
Once the camera crew moves on, Coop steps in. Fish comes by and shakes his best friend’s hand, whispering in his ear and making him laugh. With a slap on the back, Fish turns to make his way to the grandsta
nds, to where the spotters congregate high above the track. Before he gets too far away, he jogs toward me, that big dopey grin on his face. “Thought I’d come over and get a quick good luck kiss,” he announces a little too loudly, drawing attention. I’m pretty sure I even hear a growl.
But when he steps forward, his lips aren’t angled at me. No, they’re turned downward and go straight to Oliver’s bald head. “I know you’re wanting to give me a kiss, Lena, but I don’t think ol’ Cruz would like that too much,” he says, grinning from ear to ear. He throws me a wink, reaches down and takes Oliver’s little fist, gives it a tiny little bump, and darts off to get into position.
I look over at Mack, his face a weird combination of anger, surprise, and humor, all rolled into one. When our eyes meet, he just shakes his head and goes back to his conversation. Moments later the entire place is buzzing as the countdown to the green flag is on. We gather by the car, his team lining up in a single-file line across pit row. Mack waves me closer as the announcer asks everyone to rise and remove their hats for the playing of our national anthem.
Stepping beside him, I feel the heat of his body wrap around me like a warm caress. A sudden energy sweeps through the pit area; it’s alive and vibrating. Hell, that might be coming from Mack, too. Standing this close, I can sense the eagerness, the anticipation. He’s in a zone, as if he’s preparing for battle. Even though he looks calm and loose on the outside, I can feel what he’s going through on the inside.
He reaches down and pulls the headphones from his side and slips them over Oliver’s ears. The baby barely stirs. I barely stir, even as he brushes his hand over my breasts, just like earlier. This time, he doesn’t make eye contact. He just finishes the job, positions himself shoulder to shoulder beside me, and stands at attention.
That’s when he reaches over and slips his finger inside of Oliver little fist, as if holding his hand, as a young fourteen-year-old girl starts to belt out the words to the one song that gives me goosebumps every time I hear it. Having a baby strapped to my chest makes this part difficult, so I just hold my hand over my heart as best I can. Mack’s eyes are on the flag flying high in the infield, but he keeps his hand nestled with his son’s. And I’ll be honest, it’s brushing against me too. I try not to pay it any attention, but it’s difficult when it’s his hand, and it’s resting against my chest.