by Jim Cangany
“No. Now is when we find out if hiring her was the right decision.” Brad keyed his mic as Gabrielle’s threesome flashed by a few seconds behind the lead five cars. “Four to go.”
No response. Good. She was focused on the task at hand.
The laps counted down. Three. Two. The white flag flew. She was holding onto sixth, but the other two drivers were throwing everything at her. “One to go.”
Blood pounded in Brad’s ears as he kept one ear on race control and the other on Gabrielle. Come on. Bring it home. The leaders were heading into the final turn when the yellow safety lights flashed on.
A crash in the final turn.
He stood to get a better look at the scene of the accident. Two cars came into view and motored toward the finish line.
“You with us, Gabrielle?” Brad’s heart sank as another car came through.
“I’m here.” The fourteen car appeared. It was missing part of a front wing but appeared to be otherwise unscathed. She rolled under the waving checkered and yellow flags for a fourth place finish. “How’d I do, boss?”
“Outstanding. You and the team performed beyond expectations. Dinner is on me tonight.” The moment Barbara removed her headphones, she gave Brad a hug. “Well done, Brad. I think we have our driver.”
• • •
An air of jubilation filled the room as the team celebrated their exceptional finish. Barbara had spared no expense on the surf-and-turf spread, and the beer and wine flowed freely. The day couldn’t have gone better if the team owner had written a script beforehand. The fact that Gabrielle had dashed off somewhere the moment she got out of the car left Brad scratching his head, but the odd move was forgotten in the celebration.
An hour or so later, Brad was reviewing the race with Gabrielle when his parents joined them.
“Mr. and Mrs. Thomas, I didn’t know you were here.” She gave them each hugs.
“We couldn’t miss the team’s first race, especially when we found out you were filling in. How are you, dear?” Brad’s mother, Helen, had always maintained a soft spot for Gabrielle and told him countless times he needed to make amends for the awful way he treated her after the crash.
“I’m going to be okay. My head’s still spinning from the weekend. The only bad thing is now I need to find a place to stay close to team headquarters.” Before Brad could stop her, Gabrielle told his parents about the plan for her to replace Chas permanently.
“That’s wonderful news, dear.” Helen snapped her fingers. “I know. Why don’t you stay in the guest room at the farm until you get settled?”
“Oh, I couldn’t—”
“Nonsense. Bradley’s staying in a converted apartment above the old carriage house. This way, it will make working together easier until you find something long term. The team has a new facility in Fleetwood, so the drive to work will be easy.” Helen hugged them both. “I can’t believe this. We’re going to have the two of you back together again. This is perfect.”
Brad forced a smile. When his dear mother made up her mind, the issue was settled. He glanced at Gabrielle. With her long, dark hair and her million-dollar smile, she’d have the whole team charmed in no time.
Gabrielle wasn’t the cute little girl he used to know. Even Brad could see how much she’d changed. But she hadn’t been forced to endure an extended hospital stay and months of rehab, either. Yet here she was, and he was going to have to deal with it.
It sure had the potential to fill the upcoming season with fireworks. He said a silent prayer they weren’t the destructive kind.
Chapter Four
Brad turned off the highway, and the sprawling Thomas family homestead came into view. Gabrielle was overcome with memories as they rumbled down the gravel lane—racing Brad and J.P. in go-karts, eating late-night dinners under a star-filled sky, and running like the wind in fear the first time she saw a groundhog up close and personal.
The farmhouse had a new coat of paint. Instead of the bland white with black shutters she remembered, Brad’s parents’ home was now sunflower yellow with green shutters. The wraparound porch had the same four Adirondack chairs, though. The chairs Helen bought so Brad and “his friends” could have a place to themselves.
As the car came to a stop, a gray cat shot out from under the porch and dashed around the corner of the house and out of sight.
“Oh my God, that wasn’t Lightning, was it?”
“The very same.” Brad chuckled as he shut off the engine. “Haven’t seen her move like that in a while.”
“And Thunder?”
“We lost him three years ago.”
“I’m so sorry.” She put a hand on Brad’s elbow. The golden retriever had been Brad’s best friend and the fourth member of their little group before . . . all of their lives were destroyed. “He was special. I know he meant a lot to you.”
“Thanks. We had thirteen good years together.” He started to say something else but instead clamped his jaw shut. “Come on. Let’s get you settled in.”
As they unloaded Gabrielle’s bags, Helen bustled out the front door with Edward a few steps behind her. “Welcome home, Gabby. I mean Gabrielle.” With the enthusiasm of a child at Christmas, she took Gabrielle in her arms and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Bradley, please set the dining room table. Edward, would you move her things into the guest room? Come with me, young lady. We have so much catching up to do.”
Overwhelmed with the warm welcome, a speechless Gabrielle followed Helen into the house for the first time in a decade. The hallway was still adorned with framed photos of the Thomas children.
Something new brought her to a stop. A sketch was hanging next to a group portrait of Brad, his older brothers Greg and Patrick, and his younger sister, Bridget. While the piece was a mile away from being art-museum material, the subject of the sketch was unmistakable. It was Thunder.
“Who drew this?” Gabrielle ran her index finger along the dog’s spine, his low-pitched woof echoing in her mind as she recalled playing fetch with the big puppy. A tennis ball, a stick, one of Brad’s shoes, the prop didn’t matter, Thunder loved to play with them all.
“That, my dear,” Helen put a hand on Gabrielle’s shoulder, “was done by none other than your team director.”
“No way. I didn’t know Brad could draw.”
“It’s a newly acquired talent. He started sketching . . . ” Helen looked away and nodded toward the stairs. “I’ll tell you more while I get you settled in.”
Helen helped Gabrielle become accustomed to her new accommodations while she talked about how Brad had taken an art therapy class while rehabbing from his injuries. At first he’d only done it to get his mother off his back, but after a while, he couldn’t get enough of the medium, and over the years it had become a second passion, after racing, of course.
“Let me show you something.” Helen stepped out of the bedroom and returned a moment later with a stack of papers. “This is some of Bradley’s earlier work. He’d kill me if he knew I was showing them to someone, but what’s a mother to do?”
They sat on the edge of the queen-size bed and flipped through the sketches. It was like stepping into Brad’s past and getting a peek at a side of the man she never knew existed. Granted, she’d kept tabs on him over the years, but it wasn’t like she’d stalked him. It was more of an attempt to reassure herself he’d been able to put his life back together after the accident and things had turned out okay.
Near the bottom of the group, she froze. What stopped her was a drawing of the car J.P. drove during what ended up being his final season. Brad had placed a cloud in the upper right-hand corner of the page and in the center of the cloud written three letters.
R.I.P.
Her eyes got watery as she pushed the pages of Brad’s artwork toward his mother. She would never be able to escape J.P.’s ghost.
“I should unpack.” She went to her suitcase, which she’d placed under a window, and stared at the Thomas family’s front yard. Spring had
yet to arrive in Central Indiana, so the trees were still bare, but the tips of the branches were fuzzy with buds. A squirrel dashed across the lawn and disappeared behind one of the trees. Despite her pain, the cute little guy made her smile.
She turned her attention from the window to her suitcase. Somehow, someway, she had to make this work.
“I hope you’re still not blaming yourself. Racing’s something that gets into our blood. The speed, the sounds, there’s nothing more intoxicating. And nothing more terrifying, too.” Helen unzipped the suitcase and laid things out on the bed. “As painful as loss is, it’s what brings us together as a community. We look out for each other. We take care of each other, too.”
Gabrielle took in a long breath to keep the tears at bay. “I’m so sorry I hurt your son. He was more . . . ” Than just a friend.
Helen took her hand. “Put it out of your mind, dear. You’re not to blame. Between you and me, as Bradley’s mother, I sleep a lot better knowing he’s behind a pit wall instead of behind a steering wheel.”
“I tried to talk to him, back then, to apologize. I felt so guilty. Like I robbed him of his dream. I never wanted to hurt anyone, especially him and J.P. I wanted to tell him I was sorry.”
“He was hurting, in more ways than one. That was a long time ago, though. A lot has changed since then, for both of you.” She put the sketches on a nightstand by the bed. “In case you want to look at the rest sometime. I’m going to make dinner.”
Once she was alone, Gabrielle lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling fan above her. The blades rotated at a languid, hypnotic pace. She slowed her breathing to match the speed of the fan and let the memory-induced tension and anxiety slip away, like water down a drain.
The pain from the memories made one thing crystal clear. She still hadn’t gotten over her feelings for Brad. And while people said time healed all wounds, her chilly reception in Florida made Gabrielle think Brad’s wounds needed more time to heal, regardless of what Helen said.
As the fan blades spun her off to sleep, she made a vow to do everything in her power to repair their friendship. And the little part of her heart that wanted more? She’d ask it to be patient. She couldn’t make it any promises, but she wouldn’t lock it away in a dark corner to be forgotten, either.
• • •
“Ninety-eight . . . ninety-nine . . . one hundred.” Brad eased the weights on the leg-lift machine down and blew out a long breath. He wiped sweat from his eyes and was about to go for another round when there was a knock on the door.
Greg came in and pulled up a chair next to him. “Dude, Mom and Patrick are making a massive feast. What’s the occasion?”
If Helen and Patrick were cooking together, it could only mean one thing. She was in full-on holiday-style celebration mode. That also meant the entire family would be in attendance.
“I take it you haven’t heard about the drama this weekend.”
“If by drama you mean replacing that little twerp with Gabby, yeah, I heard about it. Bridget’s got her cornered up at the house as we speak.”
Good God, things were getting more complicated by the minute. At two years Brad’s junior, his sister Bridget had idolized Gabrielle. The hero worship ran so deep that Bridget wouldn’t to speak to him for six months when word got out he’d refused to talk to Gabrielle after the accident.
“So we’ve got a full house, huh?”
“Yeah.” Greg scratched at his salt-and-pepper goatee. “So, ah, how was it, working with her after all this time?”
How had had it been? “It was good. She’s a good driver. Even better than I remembered.”
“Uh huh, that’s not what I meant.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what I meant. I better hit the shower. Don’t want to look like a slob at dinner.” He tossed his towel in Greg’s face and headed upstairs.
The time in the shower gave him a chance to think about his brother’s question. How the hell was he supposed to tell his brother how he felt about his reunion with Gabrielle when, on a personal level, he still didn’t know?
He could work with her, no problem. But having her back here, where the two of them and J.P. had spent so much time together, hurt way more than any crash ever could. While his physical injuries had healed long ago, he couldn’t deny his emotional ones still needed work. He still missed J.P., and he didn’t see that changing. Ever.
Wearing an ironed yellow oxford, blue jeans, and loafers, Brad stepped out of the security of the carriage house. The two-story structure, which had originally housed farm implements, had been renovated for Brad’s convalescence and now served as his home. The bottom floor consisted of a gym and garage. An elevator took him to the second floor, which made up Brad’s living quarters. It was quiet and secluded, and his parents left him in peace out here. It was the perfect getaway for recharging his batteries after an intense weekend of racing. And avoiding his siblings during loud and boisterous family dinners.
A survey of the tree line along the west end of the property confirmed there were no fires, tornadoes, or alien invasions to preempt his appearance at dinner. Lousy, rotten luck. He blew on his hands to combat the evening chill and marched toward the mouth of the lion’s den.
Once inside, a wall of noise hit him the same instant as the mouthwatering aroma of fresh baked bread. He had to hand it to his brother: The man knew his way around a kitchen. It was no wonder his catering and food-truck business was in constant demand throughout Central Indiana.
“Uncle Brad!” Brad’s niece Amy hit him like a rocket and wrapped her arms around him. “Gabrielle’s so cool. Come on.”
She led him by the hand downstairs to the family room. The adults were clustered around the wooden bar, their attention focused on Gabrielle as she recounted the race. Brad’s three nephews were on the other side of the room, wrapped up in a video game on a sixty-inch flat screen.
Greg handed Brad a beer as Amy scrambled onto a stool between Gabrielle and Edward. “One place off the podium in your team’s debut. Not bad, little brother.”
“It was a total team effort.” Brad took a gulp from the bottle. The wheat beer had a smooth texture with a touch of bitterness to it. Kind of like his life. Well, the bitter part, at least.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Don’t tell us that everyone gave one hundred percent and all those other clichés.” Bridget, who was stationed behind the bar, poured sparkling water into a plastic cup and handed it to Amy. “We want the real scoop.”
Brad’s gaze shifted from his sister to the photograph over her shoulder. It was a shot of Brad standing atop the tallest podium step after his first win on the junior circuit. His arms were raised in celebration, and he was smiling from ear to ear, but the young man two steps lower on the podium held his attention.
It was J.P.
That first year racing against each other, they’d been a racing version of the Yankees and Red Sox. Their icy relationship borne of on-track competition melted like a spring thaw one day, though, when J.P. complimented Brad on a Mario Kart button on his backpack. The following evening, they were going wheel to wheel in front of a video game and laughing their heads off as they spun each other out and lobbed bombs at each other.
They maintained their rivalry on the track, but it became one of mutual respect. Off the track, they became best buddies until . . .
He took another drink. “What can I say? The guys killed themselves after Chas put the car in the wall, and Gabrielle performed beyond expectations on the track.”
Amy tugged on Gabrielle’s sleeve. “What’s beyond expectations mean?”
“I think it means I did better than your uncle thought I would.” She popped a pretzel into her mouth and chewed. “The crew busted their tails to give me a good car. The least I could do was give it a good drive.”
“So what are your plans now that you’re back in the States?” Bridget asked.
“If things go well, I plan on winning a lot of races.”
“Awesome. Who are you
driving for?”
Gabrielle gave Brad a look and then took a drink. Well, it was the basement, and what happened in the basement, stayed in the basement.
“Me. Over the weekend, Barbara and I decided to replace Chas with Gabrielle.”
The sudden silence at the bar made the electronic music emanating from the video game seem deafening. Though he tried to hide it, Greg glanced at the photo behind the bar. Bridget’s eyes were wide.
“Does that mean you and Uncle Brad are going to be teammates?” Amy’s focus was directed at Gabrielle.
“It does. If that’s okay with you.”
“Yeah. Can I be your number-one fan? I’ve never met a real race-car driver before.”
With a laugh, Gabrielle hugged the little girl. At the same time, Patrick hollered that dinner was ready.
While Bridget shooed the kids upstairs, Greg made his way to Brad’s side. “Didn’t see that bombshell coming.”
“Keep it under your hat. Barbara’s making the announcement after she’s had a chance to tell Chas and his grandfather.”
Greg took the lead as they climbed the stairs. Halfway up, he stopped until they were alone. “You okay with this? I mean, given . . . everything?”
“Time heals all wounds, right? Now get moving before all of Patrick’s lasagna gets eaten.” He gave his brother a push, and by the time they were seated at the dinner table, Brad was giving Greg a lap-by-lap recount of the final portion of the race.
As he and Greg sat, Gabrielle’s laugh caught his attention. Something had both her and Amy in stitches. It was good to see Gabrielle fitting in again, but still . . .
A lump formed in his throat as the scene reminded him that no matter what, his other old friend would never be able to join them at the table. Time might heal some wounds, but it sure didn’t heal all of them.
Chapter Five
With beads of sweat trickling down the back of her neck, Gabrielle worked to keep her smile from faltering. Her boss was speaking from a podium to the half-dozen reporters assembled for the press conference. Brad was seated next to her. She tried to focus on Barbara’s words, but in such close proximity, Brad’s spicy aftershave made it almost impossible.