by Jim Cangany
As the field, led by his driver, motored through turn four and down the front straight, Brad keyed his mic.
“Green flag next time around. Remember to hold your line on the inside of the track. That should get you the lead coming out of turn one. After that, you know what to do. Have fun and show ‘em what you’ve got. Onward and Upward.”
“At two hundred miles per hour.” Gabrielle’s voice was neutral, like she was commenting on a TV show, not about to lead a pack of cars to the start of the most important race of the year.
Brad reminded himself that a quiet Gabrielle was a happy Gabrielle, so he kept his mouth shut and let her do her job. The moment the starter waved the green flag, the AES machine accelerated and led the pack through the first turn in a display of first-class driving.
He eyed his monitor. By the time the cars were on the back stretch, Gabrielle had a two car-lengths lead. Twenty seconds later, she flashed across the white painted finish line. The spectators, still on their feet from the race’s start, cheered their approval.
“Congratulations, Gabrielle. You’ve led your first lap of the year.” Brad couldn’t help himself. It was a big moment for the entire team, and he wanted to mark it in some way.
“Not a bad place to do it. Now leave me alone and let me drive.”
His cheeks warmed at the reprimand, but a glance at a chuckling Barbara confirmed the team owner didn’t mind the celebratory banter. Now it was time to set the fun aside and focus on his job.
At one hundred miles, the race was short compared with the five hundred miles the International Series drivers would race the following day. Since there were only forty laps, the initial goal was to make it past lap twenty before refueling. If a team managed to do that, a second stop wouldn’t be needed.
At lap twenty-three, Brad told Gabrielle to pit next time around. She’d dropped from first to second on lap sixteen but was less than a second behind the leader.
“Let’s make this a good one, people.”
The crew was flawless in the pit, but a front wing adjustment Gabrielle requested delayed the stop long enough that she returned to the race with Chas right on her tail.
The wing adjustment paid off, as Gabrielle regained the lead on lap thirty with a white-knuckle pass entering turn three. The downside to the move was that Chas stayed glued to her rear wing during the move.
They swapped the lead two laps later, which prompted Barbara to tap Brad on the shoulder.
“Is there a problem? Should you check in with her?” The team owner, who had made countless athletes sweat during interviews, was sweating a little herself. The finger drumming had picked up to an almost supersonic pace, and she was now chewing on the corner of her lip.
“The car’s fine. She’s putting pressure on Chas. Give her a couple of laps. She’ll force him into a mistake.”
On lap thirty-eight, Gabrielle made her move. As Chas approached turn four, he drifted toward the outside retaining wall. She cut to the inside and pulled alongside her rival.
It was a drag race down the front straightaway, the drivers in a virtual dead heat as they flashed under the white flag to signal one lap to go. Gabrielle held her position on the inside as Chas pulled ahead by a nose. Halfway through turn one, Chas let his car drift to the inside.
They touched tires, which sent Gabrielle off the inside apron of the track and into the grass. She tried to right her machine, but it lost grip before she could get all four wheels back on the asphalt tarmac.
Brad was utterly helpless as Gabrielle spun and hammered the retaining wall in a cloud of smoke. Barbara grabbed his hand as they watched the screen, waiting for movement from the cockpit.
“Still with us, Gabrielle? Please acknowledge.” Despite his roiling insides, Brad kept an even voice. As team director, there was no more important time for him to be a leader.
“I’m here. Still in one piece.”
As Brad let out a long sigh of relief, Gabrielle let out an impressive string of curse words directed at Chas.
He put his hand over his mic and looked at Barbara. “She’s okay.”
The safety crew arrived as Gabrielle’s black-and-green helmet began to move. Someone behind Brad heaved a sigh of relief as she was assisted from her destroyed machine. A cheer rippled through the stands when she waved to the crowd.
At the same time, the remaining cars in the field rumbled across the finish line. On point was the pace car, followed by the number ninety-nine blue and white Thornton Industries machine. The yellow flag was accompanied by the checkered flag as the procession went past.
Chas had won the Crossroads One Hundred.
Bile rose in Brad’s throat as red fury roiled his stomach. He ripped his communications headset off and dropped it in his seat.
“I need to check on my driver. Scott, please make sure everything gets back to the garage. Barbara, I’ll let you know something as soon as possible.” He turned on his heel, pushed a crew member out of the way and marched to the infield medical center.
A reporter came alongside him and stuck a microphone in his face.
He batted it away. “Not now.”
A round of applause echoed throughout the facility a couple of minutes later. Its significance turned the red-hot anger white-hot. Just enough time had passed for Chas to complete a victory lap. Somebody was going to pay.
The medical center attendant stepped aside as Brad approached the room where Gabrielle was being treated. The woman’s eyes were wide at his approach. He came to a stop, took a breath, and offered her his best smile, given the circumstances.
“Any word on her condition?” If he was ever going to live down his hot-head reputation, situations like this were where he needed to start.
“Not yet. She came in under her own power, though, so that’s encouraging.” The woman returned his smile. “You can go in.”
Gabrielle was sitting on an exam table, staring at the doctor’s penlight. When the door clicked shut, both of them looked his way.
“How are you feeling?” He put his hand on her shoulder.
Her eyes were misty.
“There’s no evidence of a concussion and no broken bones, but I still have a few tests to run. She took a pretty big pop, so we need to be careful. We should be finished in ten or fifteen minutes.” The doctor put away his penlight and started an exam of her jaw and neck.
“Sorry. I thought I had him.” The despair in Gabrielle’s words filled the room.
“You did. He squeezed you and gave you no place to go. I’ll see you outside.”
Brad emerged from the medical center to find a trio of reporters waiting, recording devices already out and ready for use. The relief at the news Gabrielle hadn’t suffered any serious injuries was replaced with fury at Chas for causing the accident.
A reporter asked a question, and all of a sudden the scene shifted. It was ten years ago. Brad was behind the wheel, a cloud of white smoke obscuring his vision. With only milliseconds to guess which way Gabrielle’s car was headed, he turned the wheel to the left. A moment later, something big slammed into the right side of his car with the force of a rampaging rhino. The acrid stench of burning rubber filled his nostrils as the crunching of destroyed carbon fiber filled his ears, and he blacked out.
He blinked away the flashback. It was the first one in years and left him disoriented. “I’m sorry, what was the question, again?”
“How’s your driver?”
“She’ll be okay.” The rage returned. “You know what’s not okay? What’s not okay is the only reason Chas Thornton won that race is because he cut Gabrielle off on purpose. He caused the crash.”
Once the tirade got going, it became a tidal wave. He didn’t stop until the door behind him opened.
Gabrielle winced with each step she took, but, other than that, she appeared to be unscathed. She responded to a few questions with one- and two-word answers.
Brad needed to get her out of there. He put his arm around her and directed her away
from the reporters, the ferocity of a mother bear filling him.
“Will you have a conversation with Chas?”
The reporter’s question brought Brad to a halt. He returned to the group. “Yes, I’ll have a conversation with him. I’ll also have a conversation with the race stewards and the series governing body. The fact is Chas Thornton has no regard for anyone but himself. With a menace like that on the track, no driver is safe. He needs to be held accountable.”
“If you think he’s so dangerous, why did you hire him in the first place?” someone asked.
After biting his lip while he counted to ten, Brad looked the reporter in the eye. “That was a big mistake on my part. I shouldn’t have hired him. Today proves it.”
Brad and Gabrielle were halfway back to the team transporter before he spoke. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’ll be sore for a few days, but yeah.”
“Good. Why don’t you get out of this heat and try to relax? I have a stop to make.”
Gabrielle grabbed his hand. With her race-car-driver’s strength, there was no getting out of it. “Don’t confront him. He’s not worth it.”
“What do you mean? How do you even know where I’m headed?”
“I just know.” She shook her head. “Picking a fight with Chas isn’t the answer. It’s like putting a bandage on a broken arm.”
Her words were eerily similar to one of the counselor’s comments. And that left him speechless.
“We need to talk. Woman to man. Old friend to old friend. But not here and not now.” She rubbed her forehead. “Tomorrow, after a good night’s sleep.”
He followed her to the transporter, a walking ball of confusion. How did she know he was planning on having it out with Chas? How had two people managed to say practically the same thing to him about the exact same thing? What did she want to say to him? What would he say to her?
He’d find out in the morning. At the moment, a heavy blanket of exhaustion overcame him. He was learning one thing, though. He couldn’t keep putting a bandage on the broken arm of his soul.
• • •
Brad yawned while he waited for the coffee to brew. He’d gotten hooked on the rocket fuel when he was getting back into racing after the accident. A friend of his dad’s had basically taken pity on him and hired him as shop gofer for an International Series team. The hours were insanely long, thus the caffeine addiction, and the pay was lousy, but the experience was worth more than all the gold in Fort Knox.
He took the experience gained over those two years and used them as the bedrock of his steady climb through the ranks. From gofer, he moved to tire transporter, which was grueling work, especially with his artificial hip, hauling tires on a two-wheel handcart between the garage and the pits during testing and races. His next promotion moved him to tire changer, and then to assistant crew chief, and most recently crew chief.
His only regret about his climb was that he’d never broken himself free from his coffee addiction. Ah, well, there were worse things to which he could be addicted.
He filled a travel mug, added some sweetener, and made his way to the farmhouse. Before he’d fallen asleep the night before, he’d come to the conclusion Gabrielle was right. They needed to talk, and the conversation they needed to have was way overdue. Ten years was a long time, after all.
After a stop in the kitchen to swipe a piece of bacon, he found her in the basement. His heart stopped, and he almost dropped his coffee when he laid eyes on her. Wearing only a form-fitting tank top and leggings, she was doing a yoga routine.
And looked hotter than the tarmac of the Crossroads Motor Speedway in July.
With her eyes closed and soothing Caribbean music coming from her computer, she hadn’t noticed him. But, boy, he couldn’t help but notice her. Now that he was finally able to look at her without the veil of the past clouding his eyes, he wondered what she’d done in her spare time over the years. One thing was beyond doubt, though. Those curves hadn’t existed a decade ago.
To avoid being caught ogling her like some demented stalker, he flipped the light off and then back on. She looked up at him and gave him a smile that stopped his heart.
Good God, she even has dimples. Why didn’t I notice her dimples before?
“So, uh, I was thinking.” In an attempt to look casual, he took a step down and completely missed the landing, spilling some of his coffee on his Gale Force Racing shirt.
“That you shouldn’t try to walk and chew gum at the same time?” In a flash, her smile changed to a frown. “Is it your hip? Are you okay?” She came to the bottom of the stairs and held out a hand.
“I’m fine. Just need to pay closer attention.” Since she offered, he took her hand until he was on a level surface.
Many drivers had calluses on their palms from gripping a steering wheel for hours at a time, making left- and right-hand turns. Her hand was soft, and it sent a little charge through Brad while he held it.
Her shoulders relaxed as she blew out a breath. Yeah, they still had a long way to go to repair old wounds. Hopefully, today would be a big step forward.
“There’s something I want to show you today. It ties into what we were talking about yesterday,” Brad said.
“Breakfast is ready, Gabrielle,” Helen called from upstairs.
“Be right there.” She slipped a long-sleeve T-shirt over her tank top and started up the stairs.
“Wait a minute. My mom made breakfast for you?” He followed her to the kitchen. “She hasn’t done that for me in years.”
“Maybe if you weren’t such a grump in the morning, I’d be inclined to make breakfast for you, too.” Helen placed a glass of orange juice at Gabrielle’s spot at the table. “If you can behave yourself, you may join us. I made a quiche, and we have sliced melon to go with the bacon you didn’t swipe.”
His mom’s cooking or the toaster waffles he had back at the apartment? He took a seat.
After breakfast, Brad hung out with Helen while Gabrielle got changed. His mom was the happiest he’d seen her in years, and he wanted to know why.
“It’s been good to have someone in the house to look after again. And Gabrielle is such a treasure. You’d better be treating her well. Do you hear me?”
Brad laughed. “I promise. She’s my coworker, though, not my girlfriend.”
“Well, maybe you should do something about that. She’s a million times better than some of those tarts you’ve dated.” Helen gave him a little humph and left the kitchen.
Tarts, huh? Okay, fine, he’d admit to hanging out with a couple podium girls who were known more for their long legs than their college degrees. When you spent the better part of six months on the road, it was hard to develop a lasting relationship with someone.
At the very least, it was a ready-made excuse for keeping people at arm’s length. Doing that made it harder to get hurt, too. He was carrying enough pain and heartache around. Why add to the load?
Gabrielle glided into the room without making a sound. Brad recalled she’d taken dance lessons until she caught the racing bug at eleven. She hadn’t lost an iota of the gracefulness dance had taught her.
“So what do you want to show me?” She’d traded the workout clothes for a short-sleeve purple top and Capri pants. With her hair down and sparkly earrings in, she was breathtaking.
“Something I should have shown you already.” He refilled his coffee. “Remember the not-quite-world-famous Thomas Motor Speedway?”
The sky was a shade of blue you’d see in an advertisement, and a breeze from the northwest kept the late-May humidity at bay. Gabrielle’s eyes were wide, taking in sights like the hay barn and the old tire swing she hadn’t seen in years.
Apparently content in reacquainting herself with the surroundings, she walked in silence beside him along a dirt path. Brad was quiet, too, trying to figure out how to say what he wanted to say to her. What he needed to say to her.
They went down a ravine and arrived at the quarter-mile oval
dirt track where Brad first caught the racing bug. The football-size infield portion of the track, where the Thomas kids and friends used to park their go-karts between races, was overgrown with weeds. The track itself was free of debris, thanks to a week’s worth of sweaty labor in his spare time.
Gabrielle came to a stop at the part of the track they called turn two. “I remember the time I passed both you and J.P. at the same time. Right here.” She made a swooping motion with her arm. “You guys were so busy fighting each other, I swept by both of you on the outside. As I recall, I won that race by a quarter of a lap.”
Brad laughed as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I remember that one. You literally left us in the dust. J.P. said after pulling off a move like that, you were destined to win the Crossroads Five Hundred one day.”
“I never knew that.” Her eyes grew watery. “I wish I’d known. I would have thanked him for the nice words and for being so kind to me.”
Intentional or not, Gabrielle’s words were an indictment of Brad and how he’d chosen to behave after the crash. It was time to deliver his long overdue apology.
“After the crash, I was hurting and mourning the loss of my friend. It was no excuse for being such a jerk to you, though.”
“He was my friend, too.” Her voice was uneven.
“I know. And I know now I shouldn’t have shut you out.” He took a ragged breath. This was proving to be harder than he thought. “I’m sorry.”
“So you bring me down here to say you’re sorry? And then what?” A tear ran down her cheek.
“I thought maybe we could talk things over. I want to make it up to you.”
“Ten years is a long time to wait to say you’re sorry.”
Okay, this wasn’t going like he’d planned, but he was getting what he deserved. “We were good friends who shared some great memories. All three of us. J.P. wouldn’t want what happened to destroy that friendship. The wreck was a freak accident. It wasn’t your fault and nobody could have anticipated what happened to J.P.” He went to her. “If I had a time machine, I’d go back and tell that dummy with the God-awful hair to get over himself and be a friend to someone else in pain.”