Cass toyed with the sheet. Did she want him to come? She couldn’t ask Anderson. He didn’t understand. And she was more terrified of Mandy than she’d been of the meeting with EvacuAir. But Ronan had so much going on.
He sat on the bed next to her and stilled her hand. “I’m coming with, Cass. We’ll leave at noon.”
She nodded, her throat thick with tears.
He kissed the top of her head and got up.
“Just two more races. That’s it,” he said, from the doorway.
She mustered a smile.
And then what? Lather, rinse, repeat next year and the year after? But she didn’t dare ask.
Chapter 16
The three-hour ride to the Dallas suburbs on Wednesday was punctuated by little small talk. The closer it came to race day, the more strung out Ronan became. He hadn’t been this stressed before any of the other races. It must be something to do with the end of the season and how close he was to winning it all. He’d been spending a lot of time with the engineers.
Her level of stress amplified as they approached Dallas. Guilt overwhelmed her. The mutual friend who had given her Mandy’s new address had warned her that the woman was bitter. Apparently, Mandy was job hunting and needed her relatives to help with the kids. Cass’s failure had totally uprooted their lives.
“Next right,” she said tersely, slapping away the blue air freshener that he’d insisted on hanging from the mirror.
For once Ronan hadn’t pulled his driving-too-fast stunt. Too bad. She was itching for an argument. Anything to diffuse some of the tension.
She looked down at the GPS on her phone, and then pointed to a large brick two-story home with an immaculately cared for lawn. “That one.”
Ronan guided the car up to the curb in front.
“Cass?” he said gently, after a minute had passed and she’d made no effort to get out of the car.
“What has you so terrified? That she’ll rage at you?”
“No. That she’ll be broken. That the kids … I don’t know. But my gut is telling me to get the hell out of here.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in all that gut feeling stuff,” he teased.
She ignored it. “I don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
“If your gut is telling you not to do it … best not.”
“I have to.” She grasped the door handle and was out of the car before she could reconsider. There were two cars in the driveway: Steve’s old red, dented crew-cab Ford pickup, and Mandy’s new silver Mazda. The in-law vehicles were nowhere in sight.
Steve and Mandy were one of those couples whose vehicles said a lot about who they were. Mandy was a good mother, a good wife, a good dental hygienist, and a genuinely nice person, but she practically screamed high maintenance with her long, platinum locks, her skinny jeans, knee-high boots, and midriff-baring tops. Not that Steve had talked about her much, but when he had, it’d been with a kind of reverence.
She’d been so lost in thought, she hadn’t noticed Ronan had exited the vehicle.
“Ronan. I’m not doing this with you.”
“Oh yes you are. The work thing, I get that you had to do alone, but not this.”
She relented. She needed whatever support she could get.
“At least the kids won’t be home,” she said as she approached the door.
They climbed the steps. Cass’s finger was poised above the doorbell when she heard the unmistakable shriek of a child.
“Shit.” She backed away. It was one in the afternoon. What the hell were the kids doing home?
The brown door flew open. In the entryway stood Mandy, harried, disheveled, and enraged if the look on her face was anything to go by. Very far from the picture of sleek perfection Cass remembered. Her youngest son was on her hip. A son who looked just like Steve.
Cass felt Ronan’s comforting presence behind her.
“What the fuck?” Mandy said, ignoring her son’s presence. “My lawyer told me you might try this. I told him you didn’t have the guts.”
Cass backed up another step, into Ronan’s body.
He steadied her with his hands.
“He told me not to say anything to you, but I’ve got a few things to get off my chest.”
Cass chewed her lip, looking at the red-eyed, tow-headed kid on her hip. “I’m sorry if this is a bad time.”
“It’s all a bad time now, Cassidy. Every fucking day is bad. Steve is dead.” The child’s eyes were huge now. She needed to leave. If only to prevent the little boy from hearing all of this.
“I’m so sorry. I wanted to let you know … I … how sorry I am. If there’s anything I can do …”
“Really? An apology?” She emitted a sharp crack of humorless sound that could’ve been a laugh.
Cass flinched, and the child started to cry, burying his face in his mother’s neck.
“You are something else,” the woman said wearily, holding her son to her body. “Just get out. You won’t find anything here.”
“If there’s anything I can do …”
“Cassidy, I had to move back home with my parents. My parents. Our Arizona house is a short sale. I can’t keep up with the payments, and God only knows when EvacuAir’s insurance policy will come through. I lost my job because someone needs to take care of these kids and Steve’s not around to help me.”
“I’ll do whatever I can. I’d be happy to give you—”
Mandy’s mouth curled. “You won’t give me anything. But I’ll take everything I can from you. Everything. And it still won’t matter.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Because you took the only thing that mattered from me. Now get the fuck off our property before I call the police.”
The boy looked up at her words, shocked but eager, searching the street.
Mandy slammed the door.
Ronan tried to put an arm around her, but she shrugged it off. “Please, just … just leave me alone.”
The tears started before they’d even reached the car—once inside, she pressed a shaking fist to her mouth to contain the sobs.
“Cass,” he started.
“Just … don’t. I can’t—” her voice broke as all the guilt and self-loathing rushed up to choke her. She’d give anything to be alone right now. Anything. Instead, she had a three-hour ride back to Austin, with the only break a stop for gas and food. On their way out of town, Cass swiped at the tears tracking down her face and pointed to a liquor store next to a gas station. “Stop there.”
He cast a final, worried glance her way before getting out of the car. She, too, climbed out and headed for the liquor store while he put gas into the tank. As she paid for the bottle of bourbon, she watched him walk into the food mart.
Cass waited on the sidewalk outside the convenience store, continuing to track his movements through the glass door as he grabbed a few sodas and waters, along with a couple of snacks for the ride. He lifted a bag of chips and she nodded. Whatever. It wasn’t like she could eat anything.
They settled back into the car for the long ride home. Dusk came and went and she drank steadily from the liquor bottle—escaping the car, Ronan, and her guilt.
She leaned her head against the doorjamb and stared out at the endless flat scrub of Texas.
• • •
Ronan was still an hour from Austin when his passenger slumped in her seat. He hadn’t said a word for the last two hours as she took pull after pull from the bottle before finally recapping it and tossing it, half-empty into the floorboard. Up until that disastrous meeting with the widow, she’d been coming to terms with everything mostly without drinking. After that scene, though, he could understand why Cass turned to the pain-numbing comforts of alcohol. Hell, he probably would, too. That woman,—she’d been desperate, stricken.
Twenty-miles later, Cass was still unconscious and emanating alcohol fumes when blue and white lights lit up in the rearview mirror.
Bugger.
He eased off the accelerator, braked, and pulled over
to the shoulder. He put the car in park and waited, heart pounding. He didn’t have a U.S. license—he had one from the U.K.—and God knows with his lead foot he’d been pulled over in plenty of countries. Most places around the globe he’d just offer up a few large bills and go on his way. Not in America, and not at home. Those were two places one did not give bribes. At least that’s what he’d heard. He hadn’t had the misfortune of being caught out in either of those two places.
Cass mumbled something and sat up.
“Go back to sleep,” he said, tersely, watching the uniformed officer approach in the rearview mirror.
“Why are we stopped?” she slurred. “Where’s my drink?”
“You finished it.” He powered his window down with the button. “Seriously, Cass, I’m being pulled over for speeding, so it’s best if you just go back to sleep, or just pretend to sleep.”
She frowned, sweeping the tangled mass of hair from her eyes. “I told you, you drive too fast.”
“License and registration?”
“Certainly, officer.” He leaned across Cass to find the registration easily in the rental car glove compartment. He lifted the paper and handed it to the young officer.
Then he dug around in his back pocket while the officer lit up the car with his flashlight beam. Cass cringed and put up a hand. The light swept the vehicle, stopping on the half-empty bottle of Makers Mark on the floorboard.
“I’m going to need you to step out of the vehicle, sir.”
Goddamn it.
The cop was examining his license. “You from England?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you drive here with this thing?” he asked giving the license a shake.
“I assume so; I’m driving this Saturday.”
Cassidy leaned over him. “He’s driving a Formula One car for Pan—” She hiccupped. “Pantech.”
He gave her a gentle push back into her seat.
“Hey!” She pushed him back. “Don’t do that.”
“Mr. Hawes, I need you to step out of the vehicle.”
“Stay put.” Ronan said, warningly.
She folded her arms across her chest and glared at both men.
“Have you been drinking this evening, sir?”
“No.”
“Sir, it smells of alcohol in the vehicle, and there’s a half-empty bottle of liquor.”
“Yes, my—er—” This was no time to have an existential crisis about what she was to him. “My girlfriend got some bad news today, and she had the bourbon—well, most of it.”
The man leaned toward him slightly, nostrils flaring. “It’s illegal in this state to have an open container of alcohol in a moving vehicle, sir. And grounds for a sobriety test.”
“I understand.”
“Come with me to the rear of the vehicle, please.”
Up close the stocky chap was barely more than a kid—early twenties, lean, unlined face. And clearly nervous. Ronan sighed inwardly. The rookies were always by the book.
“Do you know the speed limit on this stretch of road, sir?” The man asked.
“Uh … no, actually.” Yes, he’d been lost in thought, but considering he thought of speed signs as a suggestion for lesser drivers, Ronan never paid them much heed. And he was used to thinking in kilometers anyway. “No, no, I don’t.”
“Well, it’s seventy. And my radar indicated you were going eighty-eight.”
He acknowledged this with a grim nod.
“Sir, do you have any injuries that would prevent you from doing this testing or cause you problems? Problems with your back, legs, knees—”
“No. Let’s get on with this.” Ronan crossed his arms across his chest.
“Do you have balance issues, middle ear trouble, vertigo—”
Ronan sighed. Yep, by they book. If only they saw the tests his body had been put through as a driver for reflexes, balance, and flexibility. “No.”
The man checked a few boxes on his pad. “Now I need you to stand with your feet together, arms at your side.”
Ronan complied.
The sound of a car door opening prompted the officer to move around to the passenger side of the rental car.
“Ronan?” Cass said.
“Ma’am? I need you to get back in the car.”
“I have to pee,” came Cass’s plaintive tones. “Officer.”
“You’ll have to wait.”
“No,” she insisted. “I can’t.”
“Cass,” Ronan said in his most authoritative tone. “Get back in the car. Let me finish up here and we’ll deal with that.”
“Ma’am, back in the vehicle.”
“Maybe you should just let her pee,” Ronan suggested with what he hoped was a conspiratorial smile.
The man scowled. “If she doesn’t get back in the car, I’ll cuff her and put her in mine.”
“Then you might have a very wet car seat,” he suggested, half tempted to let him try it.
Cass staggered into the underbrush, and the officer cursed. He pulled the radio from his belt and called for backup.
• • •
Thirty minutes later they were handcuffed in the back of the police car en route to the station. Cass had been—there was no other word for it—belligerent. She hadn’t turned physical but she’d been waving her arms, interfering with the sobriety test they had been attempting to give him. The officer had finally lost patience, and who could blame him?
“Cass,” he said, as they put the handcuffs on him, “just go along with this, okay? Quietly.”
When they did the same to her she muttered, “Oh my God. Oh my God.” She thumped her head against the vinyl seatback, over and over.
“Calm down.” Could she have a panic attack drunk? Maybe he should say something before the officer whipped out his baton or taser. “Just cooperate, okay? I’ll contact a friend—”
“I need to call Anderson.”
“Okay.” He spoke, calmly. “Cass, we’ll be separated when we get there. They’ll test me, I imagine. Just please, do what they say.”
She looked over at him, eyes bloodshot. “I’m sorry, Ronan. Now I’m fucking up your life, too.”
“It’s okay, Cass. It’s all going to work out.”
She shook her head and the despair in her eyes gave him a hollow feeling in his chest.
The ride to the police station didn’t take long. It was a small town—Henderson according to the signs. There wouldn’t be much chance of a photographer or reporter who just happened to be around. The older officer brought him in the two-story building, the American and Texas flags out front the only signs that it was a municipal building.
He waited on a bench, still cuffed, for someone, probably the supervisor.
A tall, swarthy man wearing a white shirt arrived. He was about fifty and had the look of someone who’d seen and done it all.
“Evenin’, son.”
“Officer.”
“You a Brit?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What you doing speeding through my county?”
“Occupational hazard, sir. I’m a racecar driver.”
The man studied him a minute. “In town for the race in Austin?”
“Yessir.”
“Huh. Might be I know a little something about that race.” He stared at Ronan a moment more, then turned on his heel, calling for the sergeant. The sergeant, the man who had brought him in apparently, appeared from an office down the hall.
“Get the breathalyzer. Test him.”
“Okay, captain.”
A few minutes later Ronan finished blowing into the device.
“I’ll go tell the captain you’re clean.”
The older man appeared in the doorway. “Nothing?”
“No sir, zeros straight across the board.”
“I made a few calls. We’ll get the paperwork going and release you.”
“And my companion?”
“Her, too.”
“And our car?”
“Hasn’t been impounded yet. I arranged for a ride for you back to your vehicle.”
They led Ronan to the building lobby. He sat, waiting. Ten minutes passed before a subdued Cass joined him.
“God, I’m so sorry, Ronan. So sorry,” she whispered.
He strove for anger, but all he ended up with was pity. She looked so wrecked, pale and fragile with glassy eyes. “You feeling sick?”
She nodded.
He cradled her back in his arm and she leaned into him, her silent tears leaking into his shirt. Tenderness welled up. “I know, Cass. And I get what you’ve been through. I’ve seen how awful this is for you. How unfair. How gut wrenching. But drinking is making it worse. You have to figure out something other than alcohol to help you cope.”
“I know, I thought I had a handle on it, I thought I was getting better, and then …”
“Cass, the thing is, with something like this, you’re going to have good days and bad days—for a while would be my guess. And you can’t just drink to cope with the bad. Talk to someone, a professional. Anyone who can help with what you’re going through. Do you think I haven’t noticed your nightmares? The insomnia? I’ve seen you do incredibly brave things this week. Don’t think I don’t know what it cost you or how much I admire you. It’s just … the drinking. I can’t …”
“It scares me, too.”
They both looked up as the exit door opened, and the last person in the world he wanted or expected to see walked through.
Ronan was tempted to call a cab, ask a cop—anything but take a ride from Maddux. But at 1:00 A.M., in a tiny Texas town, and Cass’s complexion gray with a combination of hangover and remorse, he’d force himself to accept the offer. The effort of trampling down the walls of his pride brought him out in a cold sweat. “What the hell are you doing here?” Ronan asked.
“I grew up one town over. The deputy who picked you up is a high school buddy, so he called me once he realized who you were. I offered to come help you out, you and Cassidy. Hey, Cass.” He grinned, that good-ole-boy, aw-shucks grin.
Cass, to her credit, completely ignored him.
Ronan clenched his fists. That grin in particular begged to be wiped off his face.
High Octane Page 14