by Audra North
“What’s going on?” Ty tried to keep his voice as calm as possible. The face Dad was showing to him behind the closed office door looked a lot like panic. It wasn’t good for Bobby’s health to be under so much stress, despite the improvements he’d made over the last year after recovering from the lymphoma diagnosis and treatment.
“The board of directors is talking about launching an investigation.” Dad kept his voice pitched low, but Ty could still hear the fear in it. It made him want to rush out the door, find Gilroy again, and this time pummel the smarmy shit into the ground.
Dad sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Len apparently wanted to wait until after Media Day before talking to me about it. He called this morning to let me know that if it doesn’t get contained fast, they’ll have to respond to the public. They don’t want there to be a doubt.” His voice was full of worry.
Len Guthrie was the president of the racing association and a good guy. Ty imagined that he wasn’t happy about having to make a call like that, either.
“Does Len know about what happened when you were with Youngtown?”
Dad shook his head. “I don’t think so. Only three people on the board back then knew, and two of them passed already. The only people left who know are me, Almeida, and Matyzck. Even Calhoun is gone.”
Rick Matyzck was the crew chief who’d taken the bribe to throw the race for his driver, Hank Calhoun. Calhoun had suffered his third heart attack a couple of years ago and hadn’t made it. Almeida had been on the board for decades, retiring only recently and moving down to Florida.
“But that was Youngtown. Are you afraid an investigation of Riggs Racing will actually find anything?”
For a second, Ty didn’t breathe. What if Gilroy had been on to something? What if there really was cheating going on that Ty didn’t know about but had somehow gotten mixed up in simply by association?
Dad shook his head. “Not here. Riggs Racing has never cheated.”
Ty relaxed.
But then Dad shrugged. “But racing is a small business. I don’t believe that all of the people involved were true to their word and took this secret to their grave. Hell. I already told you years ago. Maybe it hasn’t gotten out only because no one saw fit to bring it up before, or maybe only two other people know, or whatever . . . but once you go around interviewing people about something specific, linked to a team—a name like Riggs—others might start remembering from when I was with Youngtown. Even if it’s just the smallest detail they hadn’t thought about in decades . . .”
He trailed off, but Ty didn’t need him to finish. He knew something like that would be the end of Riggs Racing. No sponsor would want to touch them. And for the crew and drivers who worked for the team, there’d always be the cloud of suspicion following them.
It wasn’t just a career killer. This had the power to ruin lives.
“What can I do?” Ty curled his hands into fists, trying to keep them from reaching out and grabbing the closest object at hand and smashing it to bits, just to have somewhere, some way to channel all this frustration.
“Nothing.” Bobby lifted a hand, then dropped it, as if “nothing” meant that he already saw them as defeated.
Goddammit. Not still!
Ty wished he could shake some sense into his dad. What had happened to the guy who’d built a multimillion-dollar team from the ground up? Who swept every race one year and went on to win the championship two years in a row after that? The fight against his lymphoma seemed to have taken the fight out of him in every other way, it seemed. And Ty didn’t have the heart to push his father under those circumstances.
So all he did was give a tight nod in acknowledgment.
Coward.
He wasn’t sure, though, whether he was talking about his father . . . or himself.
Dad cleared his throat. “Mike Belgrave called, too.”
Ty’s gaze snapped back to Bobby’s.
“He told me they put your program on hold. He said they’d already discussed it with you before the race. Why didn’t you tell me?” Dad’s voice was starting to climb in volume and Ty frowned.
He willed himself to keep an even, calm tone. “There’s nothing you could have done. It doesn’t matter anymore. Neither of us can change it. It’s my fault, anyway. I accept that responsibility. If I’d kept my temper I’d still be moving forward with that, and this whole cheating business would never have gotten so big.”
If only I could turn back time . . .
If only Dad would come clean . . .
If only . . .
He forced himself to focus, then reached out and squeezed Dad’s shoulder, trying to diffuse a little of the tension. “Forget about it. It’s done. What do we do now?”
Bobby’s jaw was set as he looked at Ty. “It’s business as usual. They’ll do the song and dance about looking into things, but as long as we do our normal thing, it shouldn’t come to that.”
It took him a moment to get a grip on his anger and control his temper, but finally Ty nodded in agreement. “Okay. Fine. Business as usual.”
But he didn’t agree. Not one bit. What he wanted to do was fight. Not just Gilroy, though he’d welcome a second chance to beat that guy’s ass, but everyone. Every dishonest cretin who was hurting his family and his team and everything he held dear.
And at the same time, he wanted to see Cori again so he could feel reassured that there were still good, courageous people in the world who fought hard for the right thing. When she’d talked about going after a career in journalism because it was her passion, he’d been both impressed and aroused. That kind of drive combined with a focus on what truly mattered appealed to him, especially right now.
But he still didn’t get a chance to catch his breath and give her a call. Instead, he left the office and spent the morning going over changes to the car with the crew. Then he had to do some marketing work before giving a phone interview that consisted mostly of the reporter lobbing overinflated rumors at him and Ty trying not to throw the phone across the room.
Business as usual. Yeah, right.
At nearly seven that evening, he was in the upstairs conference room reviewing footage from Sunday’s race, but he barely registered what he was looking at.
He was thinking about Cori again.
On the screen, his car went round in circles. In his mind, he only saw her, those multishaded eyes wide and begging—
“What are you still doing here?”
Ty nearly jumped out of his chair at the sound of his mother’s voice coming from the doorway to the video room. She must have finished her sessions downtown, where she and another psychologist were partners in a private practice, and swung by on her way home.
He’d barely stood up before she was in front of him, hugging him tightly, the familiar lavender smell of her hair wafting up to his nose. Ever since he’d hit that growth spurt at fourteen, he’d never quite been able to stop thinking how strange it was to be taller than his mom. She had so much presence that she’d always seemed much more imposing to him.
He made a mock-choking sound at the way her arms were squeezing so hard, it felt like she was trying to break his ribs. “Hey now, Mom. No need to cut off my air supply. Unless you’re sick of me and are actually trying to suffocate me to death.”
She hushed him, but her grip loosened somewhat. “Oh, don’t ruin this moment. I haven’t gotten to hug you for too long!”
She had a point. She had called him right after his victory lap the other day, whooping in excitement over the phone. But it wasn’t the same as when she was able to get out to his races and congratulate him in person.
He laughed. “Hey! You saw me just a few days ago! Besides, you know your clothes are gonna get wrinkled if you don’t let me go soon.”
Vonda Riggs was famous in Charlotte for her well-coiffed, elegant style, and he was proud of that fact. Almost as much as he was of the brilliant work she did as a psychologist.
Mom huffed at him, but pulled awa
y smiling. “A few days ago? Hardly. I haven’t seen you for a whole week, Tyler Riggs. A little wrinkle or two is more than worth it.”
Just then, Dad walked in.
“Bobby.” Mom’s greeting was little louder than an exhale. She stepped toward him immediately and Dad wrapped an arm around her waist. She lifted her head up for a kiss, and he obliged with a smile.
“Nothing like a kiss from the woman I love at the end of a hard day.” Then he pulled back and frowned. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
Mom shook her head. “To be honest, I was worried about you two. I’ve had three people today stop me on the street and ask me if it’s true that Ty bribed the race inspectors to pass his car with modifications.”
Dad’s head snapped up and his gaze met Ty’s. The similarity in that accusation was way too close to what Bobby’s former crew chief had done—bribery before a race—to be dismissed.
Good, though. Maybe now, Dad would finally see reason and make a public statement. Maybe now he would understand how important it was to fight to defend the integrity of Riggs Racing by owning up to the mistakes of his past.
But that didn’t happen.
Instead, Dad relaxed his expression, then turned back to wink at Mom. “It’s just idle gossip, is all. It’ll blow over eventually. Don’t worry about it. But if you need something to relieve stress in the meantime, maybe you can pick up a hobby. Like cross-stitching.” Dad’s voice was solicitous, like he really meant what he was saying, but Ty could see the twinkle in his eye. The day Mom took up cross-stitching would probably signal the end of the world. She spent most of her free time reading heavy textbooks and presenting papers at conferences—domestic labor wasn’t really her thing. She laughed.
Ty clenched his fists at his sides and tried not to shout at them both for ignoring what was quickly becoming a very unpleasant reality.
Don’t upset Dad. Don’t upset Dad.
But damn it, he had to get out of there and find a way to let go of this angry energy that was threatening to explode out of him. To relieve some stress.
Hmm. Dad had been joking just now with Mom about relieving stress, but he had a good point. A little distraction might be exactly what Ty needed, too. In fact, it might be the only thing that kept him sane over the next couple of months.
Which was probably why, when they all parted and Ty left the garage to go home, he found himself slipping a hand into his back pocket to clutch at the paper like it was a talisman.
He was going to call Cori the first chance he got.
Chapter 5
That night, Cori walked into her tiny rented cottage just past eight o’clock, feeling like the world’s hottest mess. Somehow, over the last week, her life had gone on a bender and she was still racing to catch up with it.
After her meeting with Alex that morning, she’d rushed to take care of the things that had piled up in her other role while she’d been out of the office—ordering supplies, paying bills, filing expense reports, essentially managing the office the way she always had. But on top of that, she’d had to book travel and get her reporting schedule lined up for the next race, and things had gotten so busy that she hadn’t even had time for lunch.
But by the time she left the office for the long drive home, she was so hungry that she didn’t feel like eating, even though that made no sense. It was like her body had simply given up on any hope of food and had adjusted to running on fumes.
Now that she was home, thank God, she would grab something small to eat, then fall into bed and try to sleep off the intensity of today’s emotional roller coaster. But she’d barely crossed onto the faded linoleum and switched on the light when her phone rang.
Every muscle in her body went tight with anticipation.
She turned around and, despite her exhaustion, practically ran back to where she’d left her bag on the floor, rummaging through it for her phone.
It’s probably just Mom and Dad. It’s probably not Ty. Calm yourself. Don’t get your hopes up. Don’t—
She yanked her phone out and stared at the caller ID. Restricted number. That was usually reserved for people trying to sell her things she didn’t need or want, which was why she was on most no-call lists. So she rarely got calls from restricted numbers.
But now she was getting one the day after giving Ty her number . . .
That still didn’t mean it was him, though.
She swiped the screen and brought the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
She hoped she didn’t sound too eager. If it turned out to be a telemarketer, she’d be so embarrassed. Not that anyone would know. But she’d never been this flustered by a guy before. Least of all such a hot one.
“Cori?”
Her stomach bottomed out.
It was Ty. She’d recognize his voice anywhere.
“Ty?” It came out breathless and excited, and she rolled her eyes at herself for being so obvious.
“Yeah. I’m glad you remembered me.” He laughed, smooth and so full of happiness.
“How could I possibly forget you?” She was teasing him, grinning as she said it, buoyed by the sheer joy in his laugh, but she immediately heard him make a soft sound of pain, almost like she’d gut-punched him.
“Yeah, I’m all over the news, I guess.”
Oh. Damn. She’d heard about the increasingly vocal demands for an investigation of Riggs Racing. She’d even written a brief update on her original piece as soon as it had started trending on social media, but she hadn’t checked to see if any other outlets had written articles on it.
She didn’t want to hear the unpleasant things that were being said about Ty and Riggs Racing.
Then how are you going to write the exposé, if that’s what it comes down to?
“I read your article.” Ty spoke into the silence. The change of subject was abrupt, and felt significant.
She tightened her grip on the phone and tried to sound casual. “Oh?”
But her voice broke, even on that single syllable, and the reality of what she truly cared about for that piece came crashing through. It didn’t matter how many hits it had gotten. It didn’t matter that she’d made a huge career move because of that article. What mattered now was that she wanted him to like it. She’d written it . . . well, she wasn’t completely sure, but she’d wanted to honor him, somehow, the man who was good to his team and liked how he could have freedom on the track, who’d found himself in a terrible situation that he didn’t deserve.
Shit. She truly believed in him. But what if he really had done what some were now accusing him of—bribing race inspectors to overlook deflated tires and holes in the wheel wells, both of which would make his car go faster?
What good could possibly come out of striking up a . . . well, not quite friendship, but some relationship that was more than professional with the son of the man she might end up publicly shaming?
Would you still really go through with it, if that’s what it came down to?
Uncertainty threw her brain into gridlock.
But Ty’s voice pulled her out. “It’s really good. Best thing I’ve ever read.” He sounded sincere.
But she demurred anyway. “Best thing you ever read? I don’t believe that. What about War and Peace?”
He laughed again. “I haven’t read it. But it doesn’t matter. Your article is definitely better.”
For a moment, she wasn’t sure what to say. Technically, she hadn’t read that tome either, but modesty demanded that she argue, anyway, because Tolstoy was famous, while she was a no-name junior reporter.
But the truth was that she didn’t want to argue. She wanted to be able to say to someone, Yes, it’s a great feature, isn’t it?
Before she could come up with a response, though, he changed the subject again. “I promised you an off-the-record conversation.”
Oh. So that’s why he was calling. Not to flirt with her, but to follow up on a promise he’d made. She should have realized he was that kind of guy, just based on h
ow much he praised his team members, and she was glad for it. It made their conversation more professional.
But still . . . she fought the urge to slump her shoulders in disappointment.
She’d wanted to flirt and think about his knee and breathless almost-kisses.
It’s for the best. You have to keep it under control, remember?
But then he added, “Besides, I’d really like to see you again.”
Oh. There it was. The flirting. She could hear the seduction in his voice, and despite whatever logical protests her brain had thrown up about why this was a bad idea, she felt her knees and her will go weak at the sound of that smooth, suggestive sound.
“Me, too,” she sighed. Oh, great. Had she just implied that she wanted to see herself again? She sounded like an idiot. “That is . . . I’d like to see you again.”
He didn’t seem to notice her flub, though. “Good. So what are you doing on Saturday night?”
Her heart started beating faster. “This Saturday?” There was no race this Saturday.
His laugh made her blush. “Yeah. I was thinking I could fly up around six o’clock and we could go somewhere quiet. Maybe grab an early dinner and talk.”
Fly up? Just for dinner? Was that a romantic gesture, or did athletes do this kind of thing all the time?
Goodness, she was out of her element. But she tried to play it cool, and asked playfully, “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
Smooth, Bellowes. She immediately wanted to kick herself for saying such a thing. It was too forward. Too suggestive. But she’d been thinking about his eyes and his lips and his knee and that bed for what felt like years—
“No . . . but I’d like to actually kiss you this time, if that’s what you mean.”
She nearly choked on her own spit. “I, uh . . .”
She needed to stop this right now.
On the other hand . . . it was just dinner. And a kiss. One little kiss wouldn’t hurt anything, right? It wasn’t sex. It wouldn’t go that far.
She took a deep breath and managed to respond with “I’d like that, too.”