by Gina Wilkins
“I know you think—”
Whatever he was going to say was interrupted when they both heard the front door open in the other room and a man’s voice call out, “Hey, Stace? You here?”
Jake’s eyes narrowed.
“My brother,” she told him, turning toward the kitchen doorway, unsure whether she was relieved or frustrated by the interruption. “I forgot he’d said he might drive up this afternoon.”
“Oh.” He glanced at the kitchen doorway as though considering whether he should make a fast escape, but then he followed her toward the living room.
Nick stood in the center of the room, his pleasantly homely face a bit tense around the corners of his mouth. She identified the source of his stress when she saw that Andrew had already thrown himself on the couch and reached for the television remote, his sullen expression telling Stacy that he and his father had been arguing again.
Her brother and nephew looked so much alike, their coloring almost identical. Yet Nick wore his medium brown hair in a professionally short cut that befitted his career as a bank executive. Andrew’s was perpetually long and shaggy, almost hiding his eyes, which were the same blue-gray as his father’s and his aunt’s. Nick dressed in businessman’s casual khakis and polo shirt, while Andrew’s costume of choice was baggy hoodies and ripped jeans.
Shaking his head in annoyance at his son’s sullenness, Nick held out a canvas bag to Stacy. “I see you’ve quit wearing your sling. I guess the arm really is feeling better, as you assured me on the phone? I brought your mail and your newspapers. And you had a package from your…”
He lost his train of thought when he spotted Jake behind her. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t know you had company.”
Setting the bag aside, Stacy said, “Jake, this is my brother, Nick Carter, and my nephew, Andrew. Guys, I’d like you to meet—”
“Oh, my gosh.” Tossing a hank of hair out of his eyes, Andrew lunged to his feet. His mouth hung open as he gaped at Jake, making him look somewhat less intelligent than he really was, Stacy thought ruefully. “You’re…you’re…”
Both Stacy and Nick stared at the boy, perplexed by his uncharacteristic behavior.
“Andrew, what on earth—?” Nick began, only to be interrupted again when Jake stepped toward Andrew with his right hand extended.
“Nice to meet you, Andrew. I’m Jake.”
“Jake Hinson,” Andrew breathed, making the name sound almost sacred.
“Yes. Jake Hinson.”
STACY TURNED to Nick, expecting him to still be as bewildered as she was. But now he, too, was looking at Jake with a startled expression. “You’re Jake Hinson? The Jake Hinson?”
“Nice to meet you, Nick,” Jake said, offering his hand again.
“What are you doing in Arkansas, Jake?” Andrew demanded, crowding closer. “How come you aren’t there?”
“You know why he isn’t there,” Nick chided his son. “You knew about his accident—we talked about it. We were real sorry to hear about that, Jake. I hope you’re doing well.”
Stacy couldn’t stand it any longer. “How on earth do you know about Jake’s accident?” she asked them both. “And where is ‘there’?”
Nick and Andrew stared at her now, disbelief written on their eerily similar faces.
“There,” Andrew repeated, motioning toward the television. “The race.”
“Everybody who follows NASCAR even casually heard about Jake’s accident,” Nick added. “I’d have thought even you would have heard.”
“I don’t follow NASCAR even casually,” she reminded them slowly. And all of a sudden so much of what Jake had told her made perfect sense.
“You’re a driver,” she said, turning to him.
Apology in his eyes, he nodded. “I told you I was.”
And he had known all along that she had misunderstood what that meant.
“So you hang out with Scott Rivers, right?” Andrew asked, brushing off his aunt’s incomprehensible ignorance. “What’s he like?”
Jake smiled wryly. “He’s as crazy as you think he is. Great kid. Almost as good behind the wheel as I am.”
Andrew laughed. He actually laughed, Stacy thought in shock. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d heard her nephew laugh right out loud. “You’re good,” he conceded. “But Rivers is seriously cool.”
“Last time I saw Scott he was putting a rubber mouse in Mike Overstreet’s motor home. Overstreet’s got a real thing about mice. Freaks out every time he sees one.”
Andrew laughed again. “That sounds like the wild Scott Rivers I see on TV. What did Overstreet do when he saw the mouse?”
“He freaked,” Jake replied, grinning. “Screamed like a little girl. His fiancée had to prove to him that the mouse was rubber before he’d go back in the RV. Overstreet’s an iron man on the track, but when it comes to furry rodents, he’s a real wuss.”
“Did he ever find out it was Scott who put it there?”
“Oh, yeah. He found out. Last I heard, he was still plotting the perfect revenge.”
“Sounds like you guys have a great time,” Andrew said wistfully.
“Yeah,” Jake answered simply. “We do.”
Realizing that they were still standing in the middle of the living room, Stacy roused from her shock long enough to say, “Maybe we should all sit down. Andrew, do you want a soda and some cookies?”
The teen didn’t even glance her way. “Yeah, thanks. You want to watch the race, Jake?”
Giving Stacy a quick, rueful glance, Jake shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
“I’ll help you get the drinks, sis,” Nick offered as Jake and Andrew sat on the couch.
Knowing she was in for questions, Stacy nodded and accompanied her brother to the kitchen.
WATCHING THE RACE with the unabashed fan of another driver was an…interesting experience, Jake decided a while later. Andrew Carter seemed to have no doubt that “his” driver was the real star of NASCAR, even though Scott Rivers was only finishing his first year in the NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Series. Of course, it had been a fairly successful first year. The rookie had two wins and eight top-five finishes under his belt. He was pretty much a shoo-in for rookie of the year.
At least Andrew’s hero was on the Woodrow Racing team, he thought. Could have been worse. Andrew could be cheering on one of Jake’s fiercest rivals.
After being in the kitchen for a significant time, during which he imagined Nick grilled Stacy about her acquaintance with Jake, the brother and sister joined him and Andrew to watch the rest of the race. They brought sodas, cookies and popcorn with them, and Andrew dug in, his eyes never leaving the screen. Oscar bounced from person to person, begging for attention and treats, receiving more of the former than the latter, at Stacy’s insistence.
It was obvious that Stacy had never watched a race before. She confessed that, other than knowing that the first car over the line at the end was the winner, she knew absolutely nothing about the sport.
Seemingly embarrassed by her ignorance in front of a racing insider—and maybe showing off his own knowledge a little—Andrew gruffly tried to educate her.
Jake assumed that Stacy had explained as best she could to her brother about how she and Jake had become friendly. Nick studied him with curiosity and some wariness, as Jake might have expected from a protective older brother. Andrew seemed to simply accept Jake’s presence, excited to meet his racing hero’s teammate, and thrilled to be viewing a race with someone who could tell him interesting behind-the-scenes anecdotes.
Jake couldn’t help watching Stacy during the race. He couldn’t really read her expression when she happened to glance his way. Was she angry? Hurt? Disappointed? Impressed? No, not that. Whatever emotions her bland smiles were hiding, being starstruck was not one of them.
“That’s my teammate in the lead,” he told her when Andrew gave him a chance to speak. “Ronnie Short. Great guy. He and his wife, Katie, are expecting their first child soon.”
“Y
our teammate?” she asked, obviously uncertain what that entailed.
He nodded. “We both drive for the same owner, Woodrow Racing. Woody runs four cars in the NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Series. Ronnie, me, Mike Overstreet and the rookie, your nephew’s favorite, Scott Rivers. Look, there’s my car on the screen now. The purple-and-silver Number 82?”
Focusing on the car he’d pointed out, she nodded. “I see it. Who’s driving it today?”
“Pete Sloan. He’s just a kid, but he’s been doing real well in the NASCAR Busch Series. He’s had some trouble since he’s been filling in for me, mostly because he just wasn’t quite ready to move up to the top level of racing. He needed another year or two in the Busch Series. But he’s good—he’ll get another chance to prove himself.”
“They drive so close together,” she fretted at one point. Sitting in a chair with Oscar in her lap, she frowned at the screen. “How can they possibly keep up with where everyone else is around them?”
“That’s what the spotter’s for,” Andrew said before Jake could speak. “The spotter talks to the driver all the time through his headset and tells him where the other cars are. Isn’t that right, Jake?”
He nodded. “Arnie, my spotter, has been with me since the beginning. I trust him completely. Trust is crucial between drivers and spotters, because our peripheral vision is so limited in the cars that the only way we know how to avoid a crash sometimes is by having our spotters tell us.”
As if on cue, someone hit the wall, then slid down the track right into a tightly grouped pack of cars. Tires smoked, brakes squealed and cars went spinning across the track, into the grass, into each other. Jake winced as Scott Rivers slammed into another car, having nowhere else to go.
“Oh, crap!” Andrew exclaimed in dismay. “That Number 56 car just took out all those other guys from nothing but pure stupidity. He should have known there wasn’t room for him to pass on the outside in Turn 3.”
“You’re right, it was a reckless move,” Jake agreed, assessing the situation on-screen. “He got too impatient. The rookies are bad at that. For that matter, some of the veterans make pretty stupid mistakes at times. I’ve made a few myself.”
“I bet Scott’s pissed.”
“Quite likely.”
“Watch your mouth, Andrew,” Nick said wearily, as though he’d said it entirely too many times before.
“Are they all right?” Stacy asked, looking at the wreckage in consternation.
“Everyone’s fine,” Jake assured her. “It wasn’t that bad a wreck.”
“Not that bad?” she asked, staring at him as though he were crazy. “Look at those cars.”
“Those cars are made to absorb the impact and protect the driver, who’s strapped into a seat built specifically for him. NASCAR has dedicated a great deal of time and resources toward ensuring driver safety, and their efforts have paid off. See how all the drivers involved have put their window nets down? That’s a signal that they’re okay. Look, most of them are either driving toward the pits or getting out of their cars on their own. It just takes a couple of minutes to unfasten all the safety equipment they’re required to wear.”
“But there’s an ambulance.”
“They’ll take a couple of them to the infield care center just to make sure they’re okay, but it’s only a formality. See, everyone’s out now. No one’s hurt, but a few are mad—including the guy that caused the wreck in the first place.”
“His own fault,” Andrew insisted, still disgruntled that Rivers’s car was so badly damaged that he’d be lucky to get back out on the track in it at all.
“Yeah. He’ll either apologize for being stupid—or he’ll find someone else to blame,” Jake predicted with a slight smile. “Just wait until the trackside reporter gets to him to ask him what happened.”
“Aren’t you ever afraid out there?” Stacy asked, still looking as if she couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to participate in such a sport.
“No,” he answered simply, and with complete sincerity. “I’m always too focused on doing my job. I trust my team to give me a good car, and my spotter to keep me aware of what’s going on around me on the track. For the most part, I trust the other drivers, though there’s always someone who gets excited and makes a bonehead move during a race. I’ve been taken out more often than I like to remember by someone else’s mistake—just like Scott was this time.”
“That must be frustrating.”
“Oh, yeah. Somebody just about always ends a race mad at somebody.”
“What happens then?”
He smiled and shrugged. “You get over it. Next week, you might be the one to do something stupid and ruin someone’s day.”
She shook her head and looked back at the screen.
With the race under caution, the network took advantage of the opportunity to go to commercials. And shouldn’t he have expected, he thought in resignation, that the first one up was one of his own?
His smiling face came on-screen as he assured the viewers that he trusted nothing but Vaughan Tools in his own garage. Pulling back, the camera revealed that he wore his splashy purple-and-silver uniform, his helmet tucked beneath one arm, a large wrench in his other hand. He tossed the wrench aside, put on his helmet, snapped down the smoked face shield—and then the camera pulled back farther to reveal him climbing onto a kid’s-style bicycle, which he proceeded to pedal out of the garage set in which the ad had been filmed.
It was supposed to have been funny. Now he wondered if it was just sort of silly.
Trying not to grimace, he glanced at his companions. Andrew grinned at him in awe, while Nick studied him rather cautiously. Once again, Stacy’s expression was hard to read, but she didn’t look particularly happy.
Four hours later Jake was genuinely pleased when Ronnie won the race. He smiled when the camera panned to an elated Katie, so pregnant and proud of her soul mate.
Even Andrew seemed satisfied with the race’s end. “Short’s an okay guy,” he said. “If Rivers couldn’t win, I guess it’s okay that Short did.”
“Yeah, well, it would have been even better if I’d won,” Jake grumbled, only half joking.
“You’ll be back, man,” Andrew said, displaying his new loyalty. “No doubt.”
Jake smiled. “Thanks, kid.”
“So, Jake,” Nick said, turning off the TV, “how long do you plan to be here in the state?”
He’d obviously been biding his time until the race ended. Feeling a bit as though he were facing a suspicious father, Jake replied lightly, “I have a doctor’s appointment early next week. If he gives me the clearance I’m expecting, I’ll be back in the car for the Saturday-night race in Charlotte the following weekend.”
Stacy gave him another sharp look.
Andrew immediately jumped back into the conversation with another spate of questions. While they were talking, Stacy got up quietly and went into the kitchen to prepare a simple early dinner of spaghetti, breadsticks and salad.
Racing, and Jake’s role in it, continued to be the main topic of conversation while they ate, even though he tried a few times to change the subject by asking questions about Nick’s work and Andrew’s school. Andrew was having none of it. He wanted to talk racing, and since his older relatives seemed pleased that he was talking at all, Jake cooperated patiently.
As soon as they had finished eating, Nick brought the interlude to an end. “We’d better get on the road, Andy. You’ve got school in the morning.”
The boy’s expression took on a rebellious cast that Jake suspected his family recognized all too well. “I’m not ready to go yet.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t want to come in the first place, remember? I told you we were just making a quick trip to check on your aunt, and we’ve been here long enough.”
“So I’ll skip school tomorrow. Big deal.”
“You aren’t skipping school.” Nick sounded weary.
“It’s not like it matters.” Andrew looked to Jake for supp
ort. “All he talks about is school and homework and going to college and stuff like that. How it’s important that I’m in ninth grade so I need to keep my grades up for college so I’ll get a good job. If I wanted to work on a pit crew or in a race shop or something, I wouldn’t even have to go to college, right? You and Scott didn’t, I bet.”
“No,” Jake admitted. “I didn’t go to college. Scott went for a couple of years, but then he dropped out to pursue driving full-time. I can’t speak for him, but I can tell you that I’ll always feel like I missed out on something there.
“As for the other team members, more and more of them are obtaining degrees these days. Engineering, automotive technology, marketing—there are a lot of degrees represented in the sport. NASCAR is a big business, you know, filled with qualified professionals. If you’re really interested in a career there, you’d do well to keep your grades up and get as much training as you can to give yourself an edge against all the others who want in on the action.”
Andrew’s frown said he wasn’t happy with Jake’s answer, but Nick seemed to approve. “See? It isn’t just me. Now, give your aunt a hug and let’s get on the road.”
Andrew grudgingly climbed to his feet without further argument, skinny shoulders slumping.
Taking pity on the kid, Jake offered, “How about if I send you some stuff when I get back home? You know, T-shirts. Hats. That sort of thing. I’m sure Scott will sign some stuff for you if I twist his arm.”
Since he had already promised a package to the kid at the drive-in, he figured one more delivery wouldn’t be so difficult to arrange.
Andrew brightened. “Really?”
“I promise.”
“And you can tell your friends at school tomorrow about spending time with Jake today,” Stacy reminded him. “That will be fun, won’t it?”
He started to nod, then frowned. “They won’t believe me.”
“They will if you have pictures.” Nick took his cell phone out of its holder. “I just happen to have a camera here. We’ll print one on Stacy’s printer, and Jake can sign it for you before we leave. If that’s okay with you, Jake.”