“I know you were.” The corner of her mouth rises.
“I’ve never been to a family dinner. You gotta remember, I didn’t have a family. I barely had a mother, let alone anyone else. We never sat at a table, talking and eating, just enjoying being around everyone. It was overwhelming for me.”
She blinks slowly and relaxes. “I’m sorry,” she says, but I don’t know what she has to be sorry about. I was the one who acted like a complete tool and shut her out.
“Earlier in the day, when your father invited me to dinner, he called me son.” I pause when my nose starts to tingle. “Son,” I repeat with wide eyes, and her eyebrows shoot up in recognition. “My own mother never even called me that.”
Her bottom lip trembles. “I’m sorry,” she says again.
“That wasn’t just a dinner at your family’s house. Your dad made me feel like I belong, and there’s nothing I want more in the world than to be part of something bigger and better than just me. I never thought I cared much for having a family. I told myself I didn’t care. I lied to myself, Faith. I want everything I never thought I could have.”
“Of course you can have a family.”
I shake my head. She isn’t getting what I’m saying, but I haven’t done the best job explaining the enormity of what I’m saying. “I don’t want just any family. I want to be a part of yours.”
“Oh,” she squeaks.
Leaning my head forward, I rest my forehead against hers and peer through my lashes. “I want you so badly I ache, Faith. Staying away from you has been torture, and you shutting me out completely cut me to the core. But last night, surrounded by your family, I knew I couldn’t spend another day without you.”
“But…”
“No. Let me finish.”
She nods.
“I want you. I want the Ridleys. I want everything. We can’t sneak around anymore.”
“Brooks.” She flattens her palms against my chest but doesn’t push me away.
“I can’t keep lying to your dad, because being away from you is too much. If he kicks me off the team after this weekend, then so be it.”
Her eyes grow as big as saucers and she gasps.
“You’re worth risking everything.”
This isn’t just about her and me. This is the entire package. The family. The racing. The dynasty. Every little thing that has fallen into my lap recently makes me realize I want more. I want more than a racing title.
She pulls her face out of my grip and backs away, gawking at me. “Don’t do something so foolish.”
Her words are like a punch to the gut.
I step toward her, and she steps back. “It’s not foolish. I can’t stand the thought of having to pretend we’re nothing for the entire season.”
“Yesterday you could barely touch my hand, and today you’re what…professing your love?”
“I wouldn’t say love, princess, but I’m definitely addicted.”
I’ve never been drawn to a person like I am her. Women came and went, just like my mother, and I never gave them another thought. But Faith…she’s in my face, circling around every aspect of my life, and no matter how hard I try, resisting her hasn’t been easy.
“You can’t throw everything away because you like fucking me.”
I growl. “I’m not throwing anything away because I like fucking you, Faith. I’m willing to give everything up for a chance at something real.”
She squares her shoulder and stiffens. “This isn’t real, Brooks. It was just sex. You were a good lay and nothing more.”
I take another step forward, closing the small amount of space between us, and wrap my hand around her upper arm. I grind my teeth together, trying to tamper down the rage that’s building inside me. She’s lying. I can see it in her eyes. “Take that back. You can’t kiss me like you just did and tell me we’re nothing.”
Her gaze dips to my hand before narrowing. She slowly turns her head and looks me straight in the eyes. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll remove your hand, get dressed, and get your ass to the track.” She lifts her hands and peels my fingers away from her skin. “I’m your boss, Brooks. I was drunk when we had sex.”
“The first time,” I blurt out and can’t stop myself from saying the words.
She pokes me in the chest, stabbing my skin with her fingernail. “Don’t you dare tell my daddy we slept together. He’ll murder you, and if he doesn’t, I will.”
I throw my hands up, knowing I’ll never get her to see the light. “Fine.” I grab a T-shirt out of the cabinet and lift my chin toward the door. “You coming with me?”
“You ready?”
“Yep.” I nod and pull the shirt over my head as she storms out.
Faith can lie all she wants, but we both know the truth.
She wants this as much as I do.
I’m not going to stop until I get her to admit that my feelings aren’t a one-way street.
FAITH
My ears are already ringing, and the race hasn’t even started. The latest country hit is blasting through the speakers and echoing across the infield. I cover my eyes, squinting as I glance around the grandstands. They’re filled earlier than usual, and so many are sporting Ridley Racing yellow and blue, showing support for their hometown team.
“You ready for this?” my dad asks Brooks after Roscoe heads to his car.
Brooks drags his fingers across the hood, unable to tear his eyes away from the shiny blue paint. “I am, sir. I’ve never been more ready for anything in my whole life.”
“Kick some ass out there. I’ll be on the radio along with the crew chief, and we’ll be with you every step of the way. If she doesn’t feel right, let us know right away so we can bring you into pit road.”
Brooks nod and taps his fingers against the hood. “I got it.”
My dad takes a step forward and squeezes Brooks’s shoulder as he stares him straight in the eyes. “Follow your instincts, son. Do your best to qualify for tomorrow’s main event.”
Brooks’s hard stare changes. “I’ll do my best to make you proud.”
My father gives him a chin lift. “Now get your ass in that car and drive like the devil.”
Brooks laughs and grabs his helmet off the tool chest next to him. “Buxton won’t know what hit ’em.” He glances my way and smiles.
My lips tingle as the memory of our earlier kiss comes flooding back. I want to tell him I’m sorry and I didn’t mean a single word I said earlier, but I can’t. My father’s standing next to him, waiting for him to move his ass.
“Good luck,” I say quickly.
Brooks’s smile widens, and he opens his mouth to say something but snaps his lips closed.
My father claps his hands together and ruins whatever moment we were about to have. “The race is going to start without ya, kid.”
“Sorry,” Brooks says before turning back toward his waiting number thirteen.
My entire body tingles as Brooks holds his head high, helmet in one hand, dressed head to toe in Ridley blue and looking every bit a champion. I trace the curve of my lips with my finger as he slides into his car like he’s done the maneuver a thousand times before.
“This is it,” Dad says, slipping his arm across my shoulders and pulling me close. “We have two boys to cheer on today. You ready for this?”
I peer up at him and smile. “I’m always ready for race day, Daddy.”
The one thing I’m not ready for is to admit I’m slowly falling for a race car driver. I swore them off long ago and told myself I’d never get involved. But that was before Brooks, with his sexy grin and sweet Southern charm, started getting under my skin.
“Drivers, start your engines,” the announcer says over the loud speaker.
Dad releases me and fist pumps the air. “It’s race day, baby!” he hollers, and I jump, not expecting him to be so excited.
I grab a set of headphones from the tool chest and weave my way out of the pit area as the engines roar to life
. The ground below me shakes as the crowd rises to their feet and waves their hands in the air. I cover my ears when the sound becomes too much, so I hear nothing but my daddy, the pit chief, Roscoe, and Brooks for the rest of the race.
The pace car comes up on the side of pit road as the drivers rev their engines, and I find a seat next to Mamma. She turns to me and smiles, but we don’t bother with words because we’re both too nervous and can’t hear each other anyway.
My heart’s practically in my throat as Brooks pulls out, following the cars in front of him and heading onto the field. The cars weave side to side, warming their tires before the race.
“Remember, if you’re going to take the bottom line, do it early,” Daddy tells the boys through the headphones. “Brooks, try to get out of traffic as fast as possible and protect Roscoe.”
There’s a grunt, but I don’t know if it’s Brooks not liking what he hears or Roscoe reveling in those very words. My hand tightens on my knee, trying to stop my legs from shaking uncontrollably. I’ve never been this crazy when Roscoe raced, not even the first time, but with Brooks…there’s something different there.
I hold my breath as the cars near the starting line, waiting for the green flag to wave. Brooks’s car jerks to the right, almost crashing into the orange car next to him.
“Son, it’s a long race. Don’t give me a heart attack before the damn thing starts.”
“Just psyching him out, sir.”
“Save it for the race,” Daddy tells him, and I can hear the amusement in his voice.
I can barely breathe as the pace car pulls onto pit road and the green flag waves wildly through the air. My entire body trembles as the cars speed by turn one, right in front of my seat. I jump up and down, screaming for Brooks as he blazes by in a blur. The laps are quick on the short half-mile track. There’s no relaxing or time to settle at Buxton. There’s less than fifteen seconds to each lap and four tight turns with a helluva bank. The drivers lay on the gas in the straight, trying to pull ahead as they peel out of the turn.
I gasp as Brooks bumps the car in front of him as they begin the second lap. My mother grabs my wrist, sharing every bit of my anxiety. I swallow the lump that’s hanging in my throat when he doesn’t spin out of control and give my mother a tight smile.
Shaking my hands, I try to control my breathing, because at this rate, I’ll hyperventilate and pass out before the race is even halfway done.
“How’s she handling?” the crew chief says over the headphones.
“Like a beaut,” Brooks replies.
“She’s handling well,” Roscoe says.
“Find the rhythm.”
“We know,” Roscoe says in an irritated voice. “Let us drive.”
There’s nothing more to say. Not this early in the race. I glance at the jumbotron as I settle back into my seat. Only four hundred and ninety-seven more laps of agony to go.
Chapter Eleven
Brooks
“How many more?” I ask, knowing we’re close to the end.
The wheel jerks back and forth even as I tighten my grip, trying to keep her going where she needs to be headed. So far, the race has gone as planned, and I haven’t managed to demolish my car into a million little pieces like Roscoe had predicted.
“Five. What’s wrong?” Beau asks, and I can hear the panic.
“Just making sure I don’t run out of gas.”
The car feels like a toaster even on this mild spring day because of the engine blowing back heat into the cabin and no air conditioning. Sweat is dripping from every pore of my body, and my muscles ache like I’m running a marathon. I curse under my breath as I whip around turn four and narrowly miss the wall.
“That’s affirmative. You’re good to go,” the pit chief replies.
“Just calm down, son. You’re doing great. Push her harder,” Beau says like I haven’t already been pushing the hell out of the car and keeping my focus on the race.
The car trembles underneath me, almost fighting me at every turn, but I keep control. The track’s covered in rubber, pulling from the tires and increasing the grip of the tires like glue. That’s something I never experienced on a dirt track.
“After the next turn, power by the guy in front of you.”
That’s easy for him to say. I’ve been trying to blow past the guy for the last three laps, but he hasn’t given me an inch. There’s two cars ahead of me. Roscoe’s leading the pack but barely. Number twenty-two is hot on his tail. When I go up, twenty-two follows. When I head down, so does he. When I try to pull in front of him, he comes right at me.
“Bump ’im,” Roscoe says, giving me an open invitation to do what I’ve been wanting to for the last ten minutes.
“Happily.” I lay my foot on the gas, gearing up for the next turn, and hold my breath.
I slide up the bank and twenty-two follows, but at the last second, I cut the wheel, grazing his bumper. He swerves, heading up the bank as I fly past. I glance in my rearview mirror, catching a glimpse as his car spins down, heading toward the infield.
“Yes!” Roscoe cheers as twenty-two is down for the count, leaving Ridley Racing at the top.
“Fucker deserved that,” I say.
The caution lights flash, and the pace car enters the track in front of Roscoe. The last two laps of the race go at a snail’s pace as they clean up the debris from twenty-two’s car that scattered across the track.
“We got this, boys!” Beau yells, almost blasting out my eardrums. “Tomorrow’s going to be a great day.”
“Good race, Brooks.” Roscoe swerves back and forth in front of me, following the pace car over the finish line. The checkered flag waves overhead, and the race is officially over.
Roscoe speeds away, sticking an arm out the window and feeding the frenzy from the grandstand. I take a deep breath, finally filling my lungs with air for the first time since the green flag waved. My muscles relax as relief washes over me, and I know there will never be another race like it. Everything about today was different than being on dirt. There’s a finesse to the asphalt I hadn’t experienced. No amount of practice, even with Roscoe at my side, could’ve prepared me for today.
I wrap my hand around the window frame as I slide out, knowing my knees are going to be like jelly and will try to buckle underneath me.
Mr. Ridley grabs my helmet with both hands, pulling me upright. “You did it. I knew you’d be a beast out there.”
I don’t know what to say. I can’t talk. I’m too overcome with every emotion as the adrenaline starts to wear off. The reality slams into me. I finished my first pro race and came in second to the reigning champion. I only needed a few more laps, and I could’ve beaten Roscoe too. I know that, and I’m sure it’s in the back of his mind as he takes his victory lap, eating up the excitement from the hometown fans.
“This is going to be a damn fine season. Damn fine, I tell ya,” Mr. Ridley says and hugs me tightly.
I lose my breath as tears form in my eyes. The emotion crashes over me in waves, building with each passing second. I don’t pull away, letting him embrace me as if I were the kid in the winner’s circle I’d dreamed so many times of being.
Mr. Ridley releases me and slaps my shoulder, but I keep my balance. “Take that helmet off before you pass out. It’s hotter than a billy goat with a blow torch out here.”
I pull off my helmet and laugh. God, I love Mr. Ridley. I’ll never be able to repay him for taking a chance on me and giving me a shot when probably nobody else would.
“Did the race scramble your brain?”
I peer up at him, squinting as the sun blazes behind his head. “No, sir.”
He gives me a quick nod. “Good. Team meeting after the race to prep for tomorrow. I’m going to find Roscoe. You coming?”
“No, sir. I’m going to write down some notes, and then I’m all yours.”
The racer life isn’t easy. People always assume we drive around in circles and there isn’t much else to the entire thing, b
ut that’s the furthest from the truth. We spend hours prepping, tuning the cars between races, testing out changes to the engine and fittings under the hood, trying to make the car faster and better for the next race. There’s barely any downtime. Thirty-eight weeks on the road, and we hit every major track in the country. I imagine by the time it’s all over, I’m going to feel like a used dishrag, but nothing worth having ever comes easy or without working my ass off.
“Hey,” Faith says behind my back as her father heads toward Roscoe.
I spin around, wanting nothing more than to pull her into my arms and celebrate. Her mother is at her side, but she’s smiling at least. “Hey.” I lift my chin, deciding to keep my hands as close to my body as possible.
“You did wonderful out there, Brooks.” Mrs. Ridley lifts her sunglasses and slides them back into her long auburn hair with a small smile.
“Thank you, ma’am.” I let my gaze drift between Faith and Mrs. Ridley.
They could be twins except for the few lines near Mrs. Ridley’s eyes. The resemblance is uncanny and undeniable. It’s like looking into the future, seeing what Faith will look like in twenty years, and I gotta say…she may be a bigger knockout than she already is.
“The way you hit twenty-two…” Faith’s voice drifts and her eyes widen.
“Pretty damn cool, huh?” I grin, proud of how everything turned out. One wrong move, another inch to the right, and we both could’ve very well been heading into the wall in a cloud of smoke.
“I forgot how to breathe for a moment.”
Her words make my easy grin slide into a full-blown smile. So damn big, my cheeks start to ache because Faith just clued me in on something even if she didn’t mean. She can say we’re nothing and that we only fooled around a few times, but she cares. No one’s going to hold their breath unless they’re scared.
Misadventures with a Speed Demon Page 11