Racing Hearts

by Davida Lynn

  “No. I’ll give you a choice. Break up with him, or I turn you in. It’s pretty simple, really. And lucky you, it doesn’t involve me at all. I just don’t want to see you waste your time on that asshole.”

  He turned without another word and walked away.

  Heather’s hand was across her heart, processing what had just happened and trying to calm herself down. Despite the huge crowd out for the last day of qualifying, Heather felt desperately and deeply alone. She looked around at all the strangers paying her no mind, and she felt isolated and terrified.

  The last thing Heather wanted to do was run to Chance. She wasn’t stupid. For whatever reason, Chance didn’t want her near his team. She figured it was because things were brand new, and they could just as easily break off. No sense in introducing people when it might not last through the end of the month.

  That was painfully evident, but Heather had nowhere else to turn. She had already talked to Murphy, and it hadn’t gotten her anywhere with Rob. He was still stalking her, and Heather couldn’t do anything about it.

  She only had one choice. She had to go to Chance, even if he didn’t like it.

  She wandered through Gasoline Alley, looking at the signs above each garage. Chance’s name wasn’t up there, but she recognized the driver that he replaced; Billy Moore. There were a few mechanics inside, furiously pouring over the IndyCar. For a few moments, she stood silent, hoping someone would look up and see her. No one did.

  “Um, I’m looking for Chance.” She sounded so small. Heather hated how Rob made her feel.

  A smaller man looked up at her, one eyebrow cocked. “Ok. And who are you?”

  “I’m Heather.” She realized from his look that Chance hadn’t mentioned her. That stung, but it had only been a day. “Is Chance around?”

  Maybe the worry in her voice was enough to strike a chord with the man. “He’s with the team owner going over some financial stuff. Is it urgent?”

  She hated that it had come to this. With a nod, Heather fought back the tears and the fear that was choking her up. It made her feel so weak, and Heather hated that feeling. Rob had done a number on her. She had let him do a number on her.

  “Wait here. If you want to, of course.”

  She stepped into the garage, careful not to lay a foot near any of the parts scattered along the floor. She had seen one car with the body panels off, but it was nothing like the car in the garage before her. There were thousands of tiny components scattered round the garage. Heather marveled that it all fit together, and the mechanics knew how each part went back together. She had once tried to fix her hair dryer, and that endeavor ended with a kitchen table littered with little plastic parts that didn’t mean anything to her. Heather swept them all into the trash and bought a new one.

  The man walked through a door at the back of the garage. Heather, hands crossed over her chest, leaned against the wall. There was a sense of comfort in the small space, even surrounded by the unknown. She hated that the unknown was less scary than Rob.

  Closing her eyes, Heather tried something that had never occurred to her; she tried to find a happy place. She tried the beach, but all she could think about was sand getting everywhere. That was no good. The woods came to her mind’s eye. Before she could find peace, Heather was imagining the mosquitoes swarming around her looking for a meal.

  The deep chill of the Rocky Mountains came to her. A light breeze iced over her skin, pulling the hair on her shoulders back. Clouds were clinging to the peaks of snow-capped mountains. The best part? Heather couldn’t see any sign of civilization beyond a small log cabin with wisps of smoke rising from a chimney.

  “Hey, Heather.” Chance’s voice yanked her from the daydream, which had done its job, calming her.

  Heather opened her eyes to see a concerned Chance standing before her, a tight, white t-shirt covered in grease and god-knows what else. He looked so different from the man in the driver’s suit. He looked like a country boy working on his truck. She had to smile. Her imagination was running wild.

  “Sorry, but I didn’t know who else to come to.” Any calm that had come to her was gone. “Rob is threatening to get me fired.”

  Heather saw Chance go from concern to anger. The transition was quick. His face flushed red, like it had the night before in the throes of passion. “God damnit. We’re not playing this game. He had a chance to back down, and he didn’t take it. We’re done with that. Heather, I’m sorry you have to deal with this guy, but not much longer.”

  Her heart raced. The last thing Heather wanted to do was make waves. “Look, I never expected any of this when I started this job. I just needed something to get me through the summer. I grew up on two hundred acres in Texas, and I had a horse named Willy. I wasn’t allowed to go riding by myself, but one day I did. I loved riding, but before I knew it, I was lost, and it was getting dark. I was maybe six or seven. The later it got, the more I was panicking trying to find some familiar landmark. Finally, I let go of the reigns, and Willy turned and headed home. He led me straight back to the house.”

  “I bet your parents were relieved.”

  Heather smiled, but shook her head. “I don’t remember relief. I remember anger, more than anything. I feel like I’m six, again, Chance. I’m lost.”

  Chance took her hand in his, clasping it tight to his chest. “None of this is your fault. Seriously. You didn’t know Rob was a psycho. Why don’t you hang out here for the rest of the day? I’ll clear it with the team.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  Her brow furrowed. “Because it’s my job, Chance. I need to work. I have bills to pay. I have an apartment, I have student loans, I have responsibilities.”

  She hadn’t meant for the words to cut so deep into Chance, but she knew instantly that they did. Chance had his own responsibilities and problems. Heather made it sound like he was living on easy street, when she knew that he was flat broke, spending everything he had on one last shot at his dream.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “No. Don’t be sorry.”

  “I don’t know why I came to you. This is my problem, not yours. You have enough to worry about. I have no idea how you’re going to make this thing a running car by tonight. All I’m doing is adding more to your plate, and maybe that’s a bad thing.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Heather didn’t know what she was saying. Her mind was racing, nowhere near that secluded winter cabin where she had found a temporary peace. “I think you and I should cool it until things are a little more stable.”

  Before he could try and change her mind, Heather left the garage and disappeared into the flow of race fans flowing through Gasoline Alley.

  Chance knew that DJ didn’t owe him anything. Despite that, he was going to ask a favor. A favor he didn’t deserve, and a favor he didn’t think he’d get. Still, his life was about risk. Maybe Chance was more than just a name. Maybe it was prophetic in some way. His life was about chance, and doing nothing considerably lowered the chance of success.

  Stepping from the garage, Chance was met by yet another unfriendly face. Jack Savage stood in Chance’s way, a cocky little grin on his Aussie face. It took all of Chance’s strength not to shove past the champion. There was enough on Chance’s plate, though. He didn’t need to report to the principal’s office before the race even began.

  “Can I help you, Savage?”

  The Aussie, a minuscule five foot four with all the makings of a Napoleon, shrugged. “Heard you’re gonna try and glue this hunk of junk back together. Admirable. A waste, but admirable, nonetheless. Looks like you’ve got your crew stretched to the limit, too. If you need an extra hand, I’ve got a crew member that is soon to be out of a job.”

  Chance’s heart stopped. The man that had swiped the master cylinder. How many people were going to get hurt because of him? How many would go down along with Chance.

  The Aussie’s accent seemed to grow mor
e menacing as he spoke. “As soon as I find out which one of them helped you, they are shit-canned. I know everyone loves to help your pathetic little team, but I hope you’re prepared to stay in last place. If you see me in the mirror, you’d better move the hell aside.”

  Jack shook his head, staring at Chance like he was an annoying insect. He turned, chuckling to himself.

  “Hey Jack, enjoy Isla before she gets bored and moves on to the next big thing.”

  “The hell are you on about?”

  “Ever wonder how Isla celebrates her man when he finishes second?”

  Chance saw the other man freeze in place. He waited for Jack to say something. He was ready. He had some pent up stress that he was just begging to unleash on that snotty little shit.

  Jack, fists clenched, walked back into the swarm of people, a crowd growing around him as soon as people started to recognize who he was. No one recognized Chance, and he was fine with it. Shrugging off yet another poisonous interaction with Jack Savage, Chance headed back toward the haulers.

  DJ had his legs up over the front of the golf cart, his worn cowboy boots almost glowing in the sunshine. His trucker cap was pulled down over his face, the large man’s chest rising and falling in a slow and steady rhythm.

  Great, I have to wake him to ask. The odds just went down.

  With a sigh, Chance kicked the golf cart, snapping DJ from his nap.

  “The hell?” DJ’s hat fell down onto his chest as he dragged himself from the hunched position. “What’s wrong?”

  In spite of his age and weight, DJ was wide awake in a flash. His life had depended on catching a few minutes of shut eye whenever and wherever possible.

  “You’re not gonna like this.”

  “Tell me we can get that car fired up tomorrow morning. Chance, you tell me.” He was pointing his fingers right at Chance’s heart, ready to tear it out if the answer was anything less than satisfactory.

  Putting his hands up to surrender, Chance said, “The car is fine. She’ll be ready.”

  “Then I don’t give a fuck. We’ve got one thing to worry about between now and Memorial Day.”

  “I need a favor,” Chance said with a sigh.

  “Do I look like the Godfather?”

  Chance looked DJ up and down. He couldn’t resist. “Towards the end, yeah, a little bit.”

  DJ pulled himself upright from the golf cart, but it took a little bit more effort than the older man would have liked. “Watch it, punk. Just watch it.”

  “Now, that I’ve got you in a good mood,” Chance put an arm around DJ. “I need you to hire someone as my physical trainer.”

  DJ froze before breaking into a hearty laugh. He grabbed onto Chance as he bent over. “Oh, fuck. I needed that. You didn’t have to wake me up for it, but boy, did I need a good laugh.”

  “I’m serious, DJ.”

  “Kid, what in the hell do you need a trainer for? The race is in a week and a half. I seriously doubt you’ve got time to get in any better shape. Unless…unless there’s something else going on, here.”

  Chance sighed. “Yeah, maybe there’s something else going on, here.”

  “Mhm, and what’s her name? Tell me you ain’t back with that Spanish she-devil.” DJ heaved himself up into the hauler and pulled open the fridge.

  Chance rolled his eyes. “No, not Isla. She’s a yellow-shirt, and she’s got a bit of a problematic ex, who is also a yellow-shirt. If you can put her on the payroll now, I’ll gladly pay you back out of my winnings.”

  DJ chuckled as he closed the fridge, handing Chance one of the two waters he had snagged. “Ever heard a song called ‘Sixteen Tons?’ No? Look it up. Chance, you know we’re scrappin’ by as is.”

  “I know, I know. It would be one paycheck between now and the race, and you’d be making a big difference in someone’s life.”

  DJ closed his eyes, taking a long breath. Chance waited. He wanted this for Heather. She didn’t deserve to live and work looking over her shoulder. Even if nothing happened between them again, Chance wanted Heather to feel safe.

  “Make a big difference in someone’s life,” DJ mumbled. “You know what would make a big difference in my life? If people stopped trying to get me to do favors for them. DJ do this, DJ do that. How about DJ runs his race team?”

  The words may have been harsh, but Chance knew there was a big softie deep inside. DJ would do anything for someone he considered family. The question was whether DJ considered Chance family or not.

  “A week and a half?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  DJ was thinking hard. Chance didn’t know if it was a good or bad sign.

  “Two conditions.” He put a hand up before Chance could open his mouth. “Condition one. She better not interfere with things. She better not interfere with your things, if you catch my drift. Condition two. She’s not gonna make a dime more than she would as a yellow-shirt.”

  “You’ve got a deal.” Chance was beaming.

  “Condition three.”

  Chance lowered his brow. “You said two conditions.”

  “That’s the thing about being the boss. I can do whatever the hell I please.” DJ paused. “Condition three. She’s gonna work. This ain’t some charity thing where she can sit in the hauler. We need a good gopher.”

  “You’ve got it.” Chance shook DJ’s hand before he could add anything else to his demands. He still had to sell the idea to Heather.

  DJ turned back to the golf cart. “Alright, ‘Let’s Make A Deal’ is over. Get your ass back to the garage and get Annabelle running, or all of this is for nothing.”

  “Thank you, DJ.”

  “Go, god damnit, go.” He shooed Chance away.

  Kiwi elbowed Chance. “What’s her name? Eh?”

  “Don’t you have a transmission to reassemble?”

  The mechanic looked over at the scattering of parts and shrugged. “I could put it all back together with my eyes closed. Now, onto the far more interesting subject matter. Who’s the girl?”

  Chance considered keeping up the stall tactics, but Kiwi was persistent and right about the car. Kiwi was a savant with anything mechanical. He could lie, but that could easily blow up in Chance’s face.

  With a sigh, Chance spilled the beans. “Her name is Heather. She’s a yellow-shirt.”

  “And you’re a white knight. Is this a good idea?”

  Kiwi wasn’t usually so serious, but everyone understood what was on the line. “I don’t, as a matter of fact. She needed a helping hand, and so do we. That sounds mutually beneficial to me. It’s not gonna effect my race, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  Kiwi set down the socket wrench. “This is my only gig of the season. I’m talking with a NASCAR team, but they pay shit, and I don’t want to work 70 hours a week straight through to November. Forgive me for having some skin in the game, here. If we pull off a top fifteen, I can get picked up by one of the other teams around here. I’ll do everything I can for you, but don’t go throwing All-American under the bus because of some one month fling.”

  “One month fling?” Chance’s chest puffed out.

  Kiwi rolled his eyes. “Come on. Are you gonna settle down? You gonna call it quits and get a job as an insurance adjuster? No, Chance, no. Blood doesn’t run through your veins. That’s high octane racing fuel. Don’t get confused. Don’t think lust burns hotter than that.”

  Everything was against them. Time, money, even the other teams. Chance didn't think they would get Annabel put back together in a week, let alone overnight. Somehow, the boys had done it. It was just after midnight before the last clips locked the body panels back into place.

  Annabelle might as well have been Frankenstein’s monster. None of the panels matched, and some of them were simply bare carbon fiber where the Fisher’s sponsorship used to rest. She didn't look pretty, but Chance had driven uglier cars to Victory Lane.

  The noise ordinance kicked in at ten, so the team would have to wait until the next morning to
try and start her up. There was no doubt in Chance’s mind that she would start, sounding just as sweet as she had on qualification day. Chance was exhausted, but with his car back together, his thoughts traveled to Heather.

  The phone rang twice before she picked up, and she sounded groggy. “Hello? Chance?”

  “Damnit. You were sleeping. I know I'm late, so if you don't want to get together, I understand.”

  He heard Heather take a long breath. “Is the car fixed?”

  He thought she was so sweet. Even with everything going on in her life, she really did care. That alone made the tireless day worth it.

  Chance said, “I think so. We can’t try to start her up until tomorrow morning, but the computer isn’t seeing any errors. Technology is a wonderful thing.”

  “That’s great.” He could still hear the sleep in her voice, but she was coming around.

  He didn’t think Heather would be up for a night on the town. In fact, he didn't think she would be up for anything. Still, Chance wanted to offer her the job in person.

  "I know it's late, and that's on me, but can we still get together? I want to ask you something."

  "Chance…"

  He heard the hesitation. Heather probably had to be up before dawn for work. So did he, but adrenaline would prevent him from sleeping, anyway.

  He made things easier for her. “We don't have to do anything. Let me come over for just a few. I promise."

  “Maybe that's not such a good idea." Heather was a tough sell

  “Just listen to my offer. If you hear me out and immediately say no, that will be it. That will be the end of it, For better or worse."

  "Fine." Heather was fully awake now, probably more out of annoyance than anything. Just come over quickly."

  Chance did just that. Borrowing yet another car from a friend, he headed for Heather's apartment.

  When she opened the door, Chance was amazed at how beautiful she still looked. Heather had one hell of a pull on him. She wore a over-sized t-shirt and shorts, her hair was back in a messy ponytail, and he thought she was gorgeous.