by Davida Lynn
Damn right, the past. She struggled to focus on the words from the chain-glasses woman who couldn't seem to speak without sass dripping from every word.
“It’s gonna get cold, so dress appropriately. There’s always someone who thinks they’re a big man or a tough gal, and they end up freezing their tits off and running back here to warm up. You don’t get paid to sit around. That’s my job.” She said it with a wink, but there was nothing but truth in her eyes. Heather didn’t like the woman one bit.
After a few more tips, like drink plenty of water and other painfully obvious ones, the woman ended her speech, and the crowd began to disperse. Heather looked around, still a little unsure about what she needed to do. Everyone around her was chatting in groups, telling stories from previous years. She felt alone in a roomful of people, that heavy feeling of starting somewhere new.
One group stayed behind, and she heard the last of their conversation.
“Never can sleep the night before a race. Gonna throw one hell of a party instead. I figure that’s just as good.”
“Hell, everyone else does it. The noise gets louder than them damn cars on the track.”
The southern Indiana accent was foreign to Heather. She felt it was a bastardization of the true Southern accent. A Texas accent. Her father’s Texas accent that she had grown up with.
The last group broke apart, apparently with differing last names. Heather turned to find herself face-to-face with Rob. A yelp escaped her lips, and she cursed herself for being such a girl.
Looking up at him, Heather cursed the feeling welling within her.
He was even more handsome up close. Not only was he in charge, but he was tall. Heather had to crane her neck to meet his gaze. She always did like that. There was something about a tall man that just exuded confidence, and Heather was a sucker for confidence.
“Looks like you're stuck with me.” His deep voice was soothing like hot tea on a chilly Sunday. Heather would have no problem cozying up with that in a heartbeat.
After a hard swallow, Heather nodded and said, “Looks like it. Go easy on me, though. This is my first year.”
“A rookie?” His voice lightened just a touch. “No, no. First years get all the shit work.” A smile came to his lips, and it made Heather's heart flutter. He knew he was being playful, and she liked it.
“Fine then, go easy on me because I'm a woman?” She could flirt with the best of them, and she didn't mind using her feminine wiles against the rougher sex.
A flash of surprise crossed Rob’s face. “Now that doesn't sound very feminist, does it?”
“Who said I'm a feminist?” Heather had some friends that would beat her senseless if they heard her talking like this, but it was all in fun. Her resolve weakening, her self-control and grand plans aside, if she was going to be directing traffic twelve hours a day for an entire month, she was going to get something besides money out of it.
He tilted his head back toward the door. “Come on, I'll show you the ropes.”
At the mention of ropes, Heather's mind couldn't help but jump to some visuals that would make her mother wince.
God, what was it about this guy? Heather could usually keep her cool. It’s the tattoos, she concluded. There was something about ink on skin that just shut her mind down completely.
The early mornings were still cold, and going full speed on a golf cart only made matters worse. The bitter chill nipped at Heather's cheeks as she rode beside Rob as he drove around the perimeter of the race track. Her sense of direction wasn’t great to begin with, but in the early morning hours, she was dead lost.
Rob drove as if he knew the place like the back of his hand. After more twists and turns than she could count, they pulled off of a gravel road out into an open stretch of field. It looked ragged and unkempt, mowed nearly down to dirt.
“This is where all the action will be in a few weeks.” Rob spoke like Jesus Himself would rise from the spot on Memorial Day. It looked like a whole lot of nothing to Heather.
She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Oh yeah.” Rob shifted in the cart so he was facing her. He was close, and she could almost feel the heat radiating from his body. Heather wanted to lean in. She knew what would happen if she did. Some part of her was thinking she was crazy for being so drawn to this man so fast, but that part was so small, she couldn’t hear the shouts of protest.
Closing her eyes, Heather went for the moment. She was never one to shy away from a chance at fun, and it might turn into something else from there…
Their lips met, electricity radiating outward from them.
The kiss was power. His lips were strong, taking control immediately. She felt Rob’s hands around her, sliding her over in the seat. Heather’s heart thudded in her chest, reminding her that she was alive, more than alive. A sigh escaped her as Heather felt her body melting into his. His body was so warm in the chilly morning air. The two fought for control, Heather enjoying putting up a little resistance. There was something earth-shattering about a man taking over, and fighting him on it only made things better.
The scent of clean laundry flowed from Rob. It was probably their tacky yellow shirts, but Heather wanted to think that was how he smelled, even stripped down to nothing. That was a theory she was eager to test.
For a split second, Heather fantasized that the kiss sped up the sunrise. She felt the warmth, and even with her eyes closed, she could see the brightness bathe her. In reality, the low watercolor clouds sauntered off, revealing the sun. She opened her eyes as the two moved away from each other. He looked satiated. Heather felt anything but.
After a second of silence, Rob turned back to the wheel and let out a low cough. “Anyway, this is where it all goes down.” He was grinning like a kid on Christmas.
Heather had a smile that couldn’t be wiped away. Maybe her long month of pre-dawn work parking cars wouldn’t be so bad, after all. Money, and getting to know Rob a little better? That was what she called a win-win.
Chance wandered the area behind the garages, a sense of pent up urgency in the air. There was a storm brewing on the horizon, and soon that storm would be circling the track at well over two hundred miles an hour. His smile couldn’t be tamed. There was no stopping the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he dreamed of getting behind the wheel again.
Team mechanics, tire reps, and businessmen were heading in all directions. It was a flurry of activity, and there hadn’t even been a single car on the track, yet.
Chance caught the occasional familiar face, but no one from the old Lentz Brothers Racing team. He knew they’d be there. Every race had around twenty entries except the 500. Back in the day, upwards of forty cars would try to qualify for the grid of the traditional thirty three starters. That number dropped over the years, but there had never been an Indy 500 with less than 33 cars starting. That meant anyone who could turn a wrench--and even some who couldn’t-- would be there to support a team. If he could find Derek Snyder, his old engineer, he might be able to find a ride.
Hell, even Frank, Wayne, or Kiwi might be able to get him an in. He was tight with the men who had crewed for him the year before. Chance had seen too many racers with egos so big they could barely fit in the cockpit, and he swore that he’d never get that way. He was no better than someone who wrenched for a living, he just had different talents. Chance had no problem getting his hands dirty when it came to a car, but he had seen men work miracles before his eyes. He was no miracle worker, but Chance knew a thing or two.
From one of the doors came a familiar face. Derek Snyder was easily recognizable, even with the cap and shades. His long and bushy sideburns had become his signature, making Derek a bit of a character in the motor racing world.
Chance’s heart shifted up a gear as he made a beeline for Derek. The two men hadn’t ended the last season on a high note, but any bad blood between them had faded. At least that’s what Chance thought.
Chance didn't think Derek saw him, at fir
st. He raised a hand, but through the myriad of people, it would be easy to miss. Derek turned toward Chance, but there was no recognition on his face. Chance knew he had the right person. Those sideburns were impossible to mistake. He was about to shout out to his old engineer, but he never got the words out.
The punch came faster than lightning, and with just as much force as rolling thunder. Chance didn’t have a second to react before Derek’s fist connected hard with his jaw. Blackness swamped over him as he slumped to the ground.
Stunned, Chance slowly came back to the land of the living. He had a pounding headache, ringing in his ears, and his bottom jaw wasn't quite lining up with the top. He shook away the shock and opened his eyes. Things went from bad to worse.
“I thought my headache was bad before. Isla, what in the hell are you doing here?” he managed through a thick tongue.
She leaned back, her hand over her heart, mocking him with every word. “Chance, I am shocked and appalled. Shocked. And. Appalled.” As Isla dragged out the last three words, Chance pushed himself to a sitting position, his jaw throbbing with every beat of his heart, closing his eyes to brace against the pain. A faint wave of nausea hit him, but passed before it could crest into anything problematic. People walked past shooting him strange looks, but not saying a word.
That accent of hers. It was like a beautiful curse. She was beyond fluent in English, but that fiery Spanish accent always did something to Chance. Yeah, it distracted you. He opened his eyes, and she was still there. Beyond her was Derek, not looking sorry at all.
Chance focused on her emerald green eyes and perfectly tanned caramel skin instead. Her beauty was almost enough to erase the pulsing pain in his head. Almost.
With a shake of his head that only did more harm than good, Chance looked past Isla to the man who had knocked him hard on his ass. “Are we even now, Derek?”
Derek Warner was in his mid-forties, hints of grey splattered his trademark sideburns. His mirrored shades were in his hand, so Chance could see the resentment and anger in Derek’s eyes. He knew Derek had seen many drivers come and go, but none as crass and unwilling to listen as Chance. “Hell no, we’re not even. I’m not saying you cost me my job, but I’m here for the same damn reason as you.”
He was right. The last race of the season was do or die for the Lentz Brothers, and Chance chose the latter. A good finish could have meant sponsors for the fledgling team, but a bad finish left them high and dry.
Thirty-four people were out of work the second that Chance wrecked.
He was fully aware of the weight his choices during that race, but Chance had to risk it all for his career. The crash had torn things apart for the Lentz Brothers team, and Derek's punch was strong enough for every former employee.
"Good god, Derek. Pretty sure you knocked some teeth loose." Chance ran a hand with ginger care over his jaw.
With a roll of his eyes, Derek said, "I wish I'd knocked some sense loose. No, we aren't even. I have a wife and kids. Frank has an ex that he owes monthly. Everyone with the team has obligations. Everyone but you, Chance."
The words hit Chance almost as hard as the hook. Chance had struggled, sure, and ended up selling some of his trophies from wins in lesser championships. That thirty-four men had lost their jobs wasn't a revelation to him, but he hadn't truly considered the people who depended on them.
He didn’t want to stand up. Or more specifically, he couldn’t. Embarrassment held him to the ground with a force greater than any pain or disorientation from that punch. Two people he had once trusted, two people he had let down were leaning over him, not letting him get away with a thing.
“You can’t fault me for what I did,” he stammered, unconvincingly even to himself.
“Yes, I can,” Derek said, extending a hand to Chance.
“If you no longer go for a gap that exists, you’re no longer a racing driver. A very famous driver said that.” Chance’s last words turned into a grunt as he let Derek hoist him to his feet. A hint of dizziness threatened to topple him, but it subsided as he got his bearings. Isla took a step back, her eyes focused on Chance.
Derek sighed, saying, “We rise by lifting others. I don’t know who the hell said that. Maybe if you had won that race, LBR would probably still be around. No way to know for sure. There’s also no way to know if you’d have a ride or not. That’s the reality of the business, sorry to say. Indy is your shot. We both know it.”
Chance took in what his old engineer said, but then something drove him to a halt. Forgetting everything about racing, he turned to Isla. “Please tell me you’re not still dating that bozo from down under. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
Disgusted, Chance threw his hands in the air and turned away from his ex, unable to take the look she’d have on her face. He knew the answer to his question before it ever left his lips.
Jack Savage was the reigning series champion, and a spectacular asshole. Chance couldn’t stand the twenty-five year old Aussie. Only in the sport for three years before winning the title, Jack was as sore a winner as he was a loser. Before racing in IndyCar, Chance had competed with him in lower classes of open-wheel racing. The two had a bit of a history, swapping insults in the pit lane and paint on the track. After he and Isla called it quits, she had been seen running around with Jack less than two weeks later.
“I’m here because I love racing.”
“Bullshit.” Chance shook his head.
Isla broke into a wide smile. “You’re right. Chance, you always could read right through me.”
Staring at her like Isla had a third eye, Chance laughed. “Are you serious? If I had a dollar for every time you said racing was the worst sound you ever heard, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be on a beach in Ibeza.”
“And I could always read through you, too, Chance. Even if you had all the money in the world, you’d still be out there running at the limit. It’s an addiction, and it’s got it’s claws deep into you.”
He had a snappy retort lined up, but before he could throw it her way, Jack Savage walked up to the group. He threw his arms around Isla, his eyes jealous and flashing fire at Chance. She was a prize to him, something he had won from Chance, just another victory Jack could lord over Chance. The idea made him sick to his stomach. Jack was a collector, nothing more than someone looking to scoop up possessions so no one else could have them. Chance and Isla had their issues, but it had been a partnership, a give-and-take between two equals. Jack pulled her close like she was a trophy, and Chance could see the dull acceptance in her exotic eyes.
“Well, well. Chance Pierce, the pride of nowhere.” Jack’s smarmy accent made every word just that much more intolerable.
Chance gave him a wide, false smile. “Jack Savage, twat of the Southern Hemisphere.”
Ignoring the jab, Jack looked around him. “Come to see the show?” A look of mock surprise grabbed the Australian. “Wait. You aren’t here looking for a ride, are you? Oh shit.” He broke into flamboyant laughter. “That is rich, that is so rich. Derek, tell me you’re not here with him. Chance Pierce is an anchor, my friend. Everything he touches turns to shit.”
Isla’s tight expression dipped, but so slightly that only Chance caught it. He fought hard to keep his heart from pushing him to do something stupid. Jack was a media darling, and Chance had to play nice if he wanted a shot at a ride for the big race.
Derek’s eyes dipped to the concrete below, but Chance kept the smile in place. “Best of luck, Jack. If the gods are smiling, we’ll be out there on track together in a few weeks.”
Savage broke into another fit of laughter. He doubled over, tipping Isla off balance. She composed herself, but Jack was bent over, a cackle emanating from him. Chance’s fists balled until he was white-knuckled.
When he could finally speak, Jack’s face was red. “You’ll never set a wheel on this track, Chance. I’ll make damn sure of it. You’re a flash-in-the-pan wanker. That’s a fact, you talentless loser. Stick around, though. It
’s gonna be one hell of a show, and who knows. Maybe there’s a team that’s desperate for someone to change tires.”
Isla broke in, though it was a little late for Chance’s taste. “Don’t you have an autograph session coming up, Jack? I think we should get ready for that.”
“Tough being a star. Thanks, babe. Don’t know what I’d do without you. Later, Chance.”
The cocky young champion walked away, his hand slipping down to the ass of Isla’s jeans, like a last little fuck you to Chance. Turning away from the sight, Chance talked himself down internally. Jack loved to set people off. He could interact with someone for a few minutes and find the chink in their armor. Jack Savage was most definitely a fast driver, but that wasn’t what made him a champion. He was far better at the psychological game than anyone else in the field.
“Fuck that guy.” It was Derek who spoke, acid spitting from his mouth.
The two men looked at each other, and it was Chance who cracked. He laughed, the tension and adrenaline between them fading. The laughter was contagious, and soon the two of them were drawing the attention of those around them, not that they cared.
“I thought you didn’t swear, boss.” Chance had a tear coming from one eye, and he had all but forgotten about the sore jaw.
Derek shrugged. “I swear. You just never saw me mad enough to swear.”
Chance lowered an eyebrow. “I’ve seen you plenty pissed off, almost exclusively at me.” He had defied Derek’s strategy calls on more than one occasion, and it had ultimately cost them both their jobs.
“Jack Savage is something different entirely. You know, I don’t know if I could work for a top team with the likes of him.” Derek shook his head, and for a second, Chance thought the older man might spit in disgust.
“Lucky for you,” Chance said, throwing an arm around his old boss’s shoulder, “You don’t have to worry about working for a top team. I think we’re going to be scraping at the bottom of the barrel for a gig this year.”