by Lacey Black
I continue to stare at the flag, ignoring the camera that moves directly in front of us. I don’t react, as if it’s completely natural to have a television camera shoved in my face. I mean, sure it was natural way back when, but it’s been years since I’ve been anywhere near one.
Until now.
As she hits the final high notes and belts out the closing lines, the crowd erupts as the fighter jets fly over our heads. I know what comes next. I see the other drivers turn and kiss their significant others before getting ready to be strapped in. My heart starts to skip a beat as Mack turns beside me, our arms brushing against each other. Longing and desire sweep in, and all I can think about is him wrapping his arms around my back and kissing me before he climbs in. It’s like the media is waiting too. They stand right beside us, ready to capture it for the entire world to see.
He doesn’t fulfill their ratings-gold dreams, or mine.
Mack bends down and kisses his son’s head, whispering something only he can hear. I feel his fingers dance on my side, and it almost startles me. He doesn’t say a word, but I know it’s his way of communicating with me, of telling me to stay safe, and to watch his boy. When he glances up, he offers me a small smile.
I want to wish him luck, but he doesn’t need it. He has natural talent and drive, and frankly, it doesn’t seem fitting to say. So, I go with my gut instead. “Kick ass, Mack.”
A flash of something crosses his features. Remembrance, maybe? A touch of nostalgia, even? I know he catches the meaning, appreciates the sentiment, and replies exactly how I expect him to. “Taking names, baby,” he says with a cocky grin and a wink.
Just like he used to before every race in Brenton.
Only this time, there is no panty-melting kiss before he climbs behind the wheel. But do you know what? That doesn’t matter really. He caught what I was doing, saying the exact same thing I’d say before every race back home. And he responded in the same smug way he used to.
It’s fitting.
It’s us.
He squeezes my arm before turning his attention to his car. That’s when I’m whisked away behind the wall and escorted to our pit booth. I’ve watched dozens—maybe even hundreds—of races from a booth, but never with a baby strapped to my chest. Coop is there to help me up and hands me a different set of headphones. I know what these are. They’re the ones connected to Mack’s communication system.
I slide them on and relax instantly hearing his voice. He receives the command to fire his engine from Coop, and suddenly, this is real. I’m about to watch Mack drive in an IndyCar race. I tried once before, on television, but it hurt too much. My dad even went to a few races, but I never asked for details. I needed a clean break, and for the most part, I got one.
Now, I’m right back in the thick of the action, ready to cheer him on as he races. The cars take off, lining up, and heading to the track. A quick glance down lets me know Oliver is none the wiser to what’s happening around him. Maybe he’s the lucky one.
My heart starts to pound as they finally make their way back to the start/finish line. Since it’s a road course, it takes a little more time to reach where they start than a normal oval track race. I scour the field and find the car I’m looking for, the blue and gold one not quite halfway back. I start to get antsy because I know this next time around, the green flag will be waving. I swear I’m barely breathing as I watch the monitors in front of me showing several different places on the track.
Fish is talking, reminding Mack of where everyone is in the lineup, including his teammate. Colton Donavan comes on next, wishing the team a good and safe race. I’ve seen Colton around the track, and it looks like he and his family are currently in the other pit booth, waiting for the start.
“All right, buddy, be careful and bring us home a win,” Coop says in the headset, just as the cars come into view around the final turn.
“Ten-four,” Mack answers.
The cars approach the start/finish line as the flag waves, and they’re off. My eyes are glued to that blue number seventy-three car as he dives down to take the car in front of him on the inside. He makes an easy pass before he’s out of our sight. I watch the monitors and listen to Fish. Hell, I’m glued to those headphones, hanging on every word that’s spoken. Before too long, the cars are rounding the last turn and completing the first lap.
Mack’s up three places.
I watch and listen for a while, loving the feel of adrenaline and excitement flowing through my veins. It’s amazing, watching him drive. Why I haven’t done it before now is beyond me. No, that’s not true. I know exactly why I couldn’t watch him race, but now that I am, I’m reminded of a time when I used to sit beside my dad, listening to everything he said in those headsets. And after that part of my life was complete, I used to watch from different vantage points at our track in Brenton, taking in the race and photographing it.
Now, I’m wishing I wouldn’t have left my camera back at the hotel, but I didn’t want to be carrying it around, itching to take photos, when my job here is Oliver.
After about eight laps, Oliver starts to wiggle. I know he’s about ready to eat, and I’m also pretty damn sure in need of a diaper change. I slip off my headphones and tap Coop on the shoulder. He turns and takes them, offering me a small smile when I point down. He’s already standing up, ready to help me, but I wave him off. He has a job to do.
Carefully, I slip down the ladder, grateful when my feet hit the concrete below. I keep my gaze down as I make my way through the crowd, heading in the direction of the motorhome. When the cars race by, the noise is almost too much, so I slip back on the earmuffs I had earlier and keep going. I have my credentials badge out as I approach a grumpy old man in a track official uniform, thankful when he just waves me by.
Oliver is fully awake now and very unhappy, even with the gentle rocking motion of me walking, so I pick up the pace. I’m in the hauler and motorhome area quick enough and see the one I’m looking for. Tyson is standing outside and throws me a wave.
When I’m half a dozen haulers away from Mack’s team, a woman steps out in front of me, blocking my path. “So you’re the new flavor of the month,” she says, a snide smirk on her face.
“Excuse me?” I ask, taking off the headphones and wondering what the hell this woman is talking about. Oliver is really starting to get pissed, so I step to the left to walk around her, only to have her block my way once more. “Can I help you? As you can see, I need to take care of the baby,” I state, trying to remain calm.
The woman crosses her arms over her chest, pressing her very large breasts practically out of the top of her tight tank top. Her long, dark hair has that beach wave vibe, all perfectly placed big, natural curls, and her makeup is dark, yet striking. She’s a beautiful woman, that’s for sure, but I have no idea why she’s messing with me.
“So that’s the little one, huh?” she asks, leaning forward to get a look at Oliver. I take a step back, blocking her view with my hand. She huffs out a breath and places her hands on her hips. It’s the first time I get a look at the name and number on her tank top.
Mack’s.
“Is there something you need?” I ask, getting pretty damn irritated. I notice Tyson glance my way, a concerned look on his face. He starts to head in our direction, a little quicker than I anticipated.
“He’ll dump you in a month, tops. He always does. Uses you until he’s had his fill and moves on to the next one in line, and let me tell you something, sweetheart, there’s always another one in line. Trust me on that,” she replies, a spiteful smirk crossing her dolled-up face.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell her, taking another step to the side. By this point, Tyson is almost to us, and I’m suddenly very relieved by his help.
“You will, sweetheart,” she says, glancing over her shoulder and seeing Tyson. “Believe me, you will.”
And then she’s gone, moving between two haulers and disappearing around the front of one semi.<
br />
“Are you okay?” Tyson asks, breathing a little heavy as he looks in the direction the woman just went.
“Yes, thank you. I’m not sure what that was,” I tell him honestly, trying to shake it off.
He gives me a look I can’t decipher before his attention goes to Oliver. “Let’s get this one inside. I bet he’s hungry.”
Just like that, I’m escorted the rest of the way to my destination. Even as I climb inside the motorhome and busy myself changing Oliver’s diaper and preparing his bottle, my mind keeps flashing back to the woman. The beautiful one I have no idea of who she was, yet she seemed to know exactly who I was.
An unsettling feeling slides down my spine, but I push it away. Now’s not the time to wonder and question. Now’s the time to take care of Oliver. I can fret about who she was or exactly what she meant by another woman in line waiting.
Besides, that’s not really my business, now is it?
I’m just the nanny.
The help.
I have no claim to him.
I gave that up three years ago when I let him walk out the door to chase his dream.
When I told him goodbye.
Chapter Eight
Mack
“One lap, Mack. Hertz is coming up strong on your right rear. He’ll make his move between turn six and seven, so be ready. Hold your line,” Fish says calmly through the earpiece.
“Your last lap was your fastest yet. We’re fine on fuel. It’s go time,” Coop adds, giving the cue I’ve been waiting for.
I gun the gas, flying through the gears like a man possessed, all while trying to keep Hertz from overtaking me. We move through the first few turns, but my focus isn’t on who’s behind me. It’s what stands in front of me.
“You’re in sixth, only three tenths of a second behind Kahn,” Fish relays. “Hertz just off your right shoulder. Watch your wheels.”
I keep my attention forward, working my way toward Kahn. By the time we get to turn six, I’m right on his tail and ready to make my move. He tries to block me by going high, but I’m already anticipating his move, so the moment I see my chance, I dive down hard. He doesn’t give up the position easily. We’re neck and neck as we head through the back half of the course, inching our way toward the checkered.
“Two turns,” Fish tells me. “You’re battling for fifth.”
By the time we round the last turn and the finish line is in sight, I’m giving it everything I have behind the wheel. I’m pushing my engine, but I don’t care. I want this spot, so I drive it in deep. When I see the checkered flag waving above the track, I’ve inched ahead of Kahn and taken the position.
“Yeah!” Fish cheers in my ear. “That’s a top five!”
I let out a whoop as I slow down the car, throwing a wave of congrats to the winner as I go by.
“Great job, Cruz. First top five of the season,” Coop boosts. I can hear the smile in his voice, which makes me grin from ear to ear.
We slowly make our way around the track one last time and pull onto pit road. The moment I stop in front of my stall, my guys are there, helping me remove my safety and communications devices. When I’m clear of everything, I hop out and glance toward my team. They’re all wearing big grins, their hands extended out. I make sure to high-five everyone, taking the towel from Jones and wiping off my sweaty face. Chief is next with a cold Gatorade, which I manage to chug about half of before I see the camera crews headed my way. I’d much rather find Lena and Oliver, but this is part of the job. Not only for the sponsors, but the fans as well.
“Mack, great race out there. You were a competitor all day,” Gail says into the microphone before shoving it in my face.
“Thanks, my team and I had a good day,” I reply, smiling my best on-camera smile.
“You’ve been noticeably absent from the top five all season. Is this finish a sign of what’s to come?” she asks.
“We’ve been competitive all season. We’d have a great handling car, but tire issues would set us back or a pit road violation would put a kink in the plan. Every race, we’re doing our best to find the right chemistry between driver and team and car so we can get the best finish possible for the fans.”
“Well, it seems you’ve found a bit of your groove today,” she adds. I can tell by the way she’s glancing around she’s ready to move on.
“We did. Happy with our finish. Proud of the guys and my team.” Glancing just over Gail’s shoulder, I see Lena working her way toward me, Oliver in her arms. I’m smiling the moment I spy them in the crowd.
Gail catches my grin and quickly glances over her shoulder. When she finds the reason for my beam, she can’t help but ask one last question. “Could the reason you’ve found your rhythm have anything to do with the major announcement you made after yesterday’s qualifying?”
I shrug. “We gave it our all today. I’m excited to see what this team does next Sunday,” I reply, refusing to give her any more to speculate about.
“Thank you, Mack Cruz, a fifth-place finish today at Mid-Ohio,” she wraps up before heading on to the next driver.
The moment she moves on, my feet carry me toward a smiling Lena. She turns to the side so I can see a wide-eyed Oliver checking everything out. My grin is instantaneous, and when I reach her side, I almost take her in my arms. And kiss her. Almost. The urge is strong as hell, but I tamp it down. “Hey, little man,” I say, reaching down and taking him from her arms. “You’re happy,” I comment before placing a kiss on the crown of his head.
“He just watched his daddy get a top five. Of course he’s happy,” Lena says, rubbing a hand down the back of Oliver’s shirt. When I adjust my own hand, my fingers brush against hers. I swear you can hear the sizzle of heat, see the sparks of electricity from that slight touch. She clears her throat. “Great race.”
“Thank you,” I reply, moving Oliver to my arm so he’s facing forward. The moment I do, Lena leans down and smiles, tapping the tip of his nose. “Was he good?”
She laughs. “Once he got his butt changed and some chicken in his belly, he was fine.”
My eyebrows pitch upward. “Chicken?”
She giggles. “Sorry, you called it steak and potatoes once, and it stuck. Besides, chicken sounds yummy. You know, so he’ll think he’s getting the good stuff too.”
I find myself just staring at her, smiling. She’s cute as hell, especially when it involves my son. It’s crazy how fast I can feel so completely comfortable and at ease with someone, especially Lena. We didn’t part on bad terms, but it was painful for both of us, and it feels damn good to smile again as easily and naturally as I always did with her.
“Cruz,” Coop hollers, worming his way through the crowd with Colton behind him.
“Great race,” Colton says, extending his hand my way.
I go to shake it, but realize I have Oliver tucked in my right arm, so it’s awkward as fuck to shake his hand. “Sorry.”
He waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve been there,” he says, looking down at Oliver, who’s taking in everyone around us. “It takes some getting used to.”
“That’s for sure,” I tell my boss.
As the guys pack up our equipment and get ready to take the car back to the hauler, Coop goes over the race details with Colton listening on. He throws out the occasional comment, but lets Coop do all the talking. We usually do a quick rundown of the major race particulars, but the big team meeting will be Tuesday morning. As a group, we’ll go over everything from today’s race and prepare for the next one.
“We’ll see you at the hotel lobby. Wheels up at seven,” he adds before they go off to help make sure our equipment is loaded up. Some races will have sponsor promotions or meetings mixed in, but not this one. I’m grateful not to have whatever activities PR feels are relevant this weekend, and we can get home quicker.
And hopefully, not think about how damn badly I wanted to kiss Lena after the race.
***
The guys are getting
everything loaded up and making sure their campsite is clean. I spy Tyson hanging around and realize I haven’t had a chance to thank him for watching out for Lena and Oliver earlier. Not that I expected any trouble, but I knew the only way I was going to be able to focus was to make sure the two people I care about the most were taken care of.
“Hey, Tyson,” I say as I approach. He’s an older gentleman in his sixties, recently widowed with grown adult children.
“Mack, good race,” he says as I reach his side.
“Thank you. Also, I just wanted to say thanks for keeping Lena company earlier.”
I can tell something’s up by the look that crosses his face. “We had a thing happen.”
My eyebrows draw together. “What kinda thing?”
“A Lindsay thing.”
I exhale. Of course, Lindsay would cause problems. She’s pretty much done just that since I met her more than a year ago. “What happened?”
“Lena and the baby were walking toward me when Lindsay cut her off. I’m not sure what all she said to her, but by the time I realized what was going on and took off toward them, Lindsay was pretty much gone. Lena looked a little shaken up at first, but insisted she was fine. I kept an eye on her, and we never saw Lindsay again.”
Sighing, I run my hand through my hair. “Thanks, Tyson. I owe ya.”
“Don’t worry about it, kid. I’m happy to do it. You and these yahoos are family to me.”
I give him a friendly slap on the back then head over to where the guys are packing the rest of their stuff in the hauler. Oliver fell back sleep watching the action, and as much as I insisted we put him in the motorhome to sleep, Lena argued that she enjoyed holding him while he slept. They’re sitting together in the last remaining folding chair to be put away.