High Octane

by Ashlinn Craven

  Spencer shrugged.

  “Aren’t I?” He took his eyes off the road again to check his brother’s expression.

  “You have issues with money.”

  He gave the steering wheel a shake. “And this?”

  Spencer sighed. “Yes. The SUV you bought me. I’ll bet you could tell me how much it cost down to the penny.”

  “So?”

  “So you hold onto your earnings with both hands, and when you let it go there are strings.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You send money for Mom and Dad, but you put me in charge and you want an accounting of what I spend.”

  “For my accountant. Hell, man. I trust you.”

  “Debatable. And you’ve turned our parents into your dependents.”

  Baffled, Maddux shot him a look. “What am I supposed to do? Give them a blank check like Gramps did? That worked well, didn’t it?”

  “Of course not.” The other man sighed. “Hell, I don’t know what the answer is, Maddux. Cut them off? Do what Gramps did and let them live and die by a trust? Maybe find an accountant to take charge of their spending? Someone other than you or me. They already resent the hell out of us both.”

  “It’s never enough, is it?”

  “No. They came into too much money too young. They never matured. Add that to their shitty impulse control. If one of them had been responsible, everything for us would have been different. But their issues have turned you into—”

  “What?”

  “A different kind of freak. A control freak about money, you know? And this sport has made you paranoid.”

  “Spence, if you knew how many people hit me up, are willing to betray me for money … it’s had an effect.”

  “I get that, but even when you were a kid mowing lawns you were controlling about money. Remember you had that little blue book you kept when Mom came to you?”

  “Yeah. Who takes money from their twelve-year-old kid? Flakes.”

  “They are, but it doesn’t have to make you into … into what it’s made you.”

  Defensive, Maddux put in, “Then it might surprise you to hear I gave a few million to a charity.”

  “It more than surprises me, Maddux. I find it astonishing. Was this F1’s doing?”

  “They encouraged me to set up a foundation.”

  “They did that last year, but you didn’t follow through. Was this her doing?”

  Silence reigned in the car.

  “I’d like to meet the woman who convinced you to shell out that much cash, even if it’s just for the tax advantage.”

  “You won’t.”

  “Dr. Anna Nicole they’re calling her, and I can see that; she is one beautiful—”

  “I know why they’re calling her that, Spencer.” His hands tightened on the leather steering wheel until the knuckles turned white.

  “So what’s the deal?”

  “She set me up.” He took a corner, fast, sending them shifting in the leather seats, the tires screaming in protest. “She was part of a scheme Belamar cooked up to separate me from my sponsor so he could have an American driver on his new F1 team next year.”

  “So he planted the Fizzbang can?”

  “That was all her. Then she must’ve called or texted someone to tell them where to find us.” But when had she done that? She’d never been out of his sight.

  “She does come off looking pretty bad—I mean, she looks hot in those photos, but Carl Belamar?” he cringed. “Dude is like eighty.”

  “Seventy. She wasn’t dating him, she was … I don’t know what she was doing anymore.”

  “I have to warn you, in light of everything that’s going on this week, Mom and Dad have been approached by one of those sleazy entertainment magazines.”

  “So?”

  “So, they’re offering payment.”

  “Wow.” Maddux’s foot eased off the accelerator.

  “It’s below six figures—they wanted me to feel you out about it.”

  “Good God, Spencer,” he said, pulling up to the Circuit of the Americas, near the VIP entrance to the paddocks. “They’ll do it, won’t they?”

  “I suspect they already have. I gotta tell you, man, just when I start to envy your life, your success, I get a glimpse of what it must be like being you.”

  “And you’re glad you’re not.”

  “So glad, Maddux.”

  He put the car in park and flicked his hair off his forehead. “I thought she was different. She was different.”

  “Mom?”

  He gave his brother a sardonic look. “No. Mom and Dad stopped surprising me years ago.”

  “I think they’ll try to make you look good.”

  Maddux snorted. “You’re kidding, right? The reporter will make mincemeat of Mom.”

  “I didn’t say they would, I said they’d try.”

  “I don’t give a shit what Jack and Izzy tell the press about me. I just wish I hadn’t fallen so hard for the good doctor.”

  Spencer turned in his seat, his mouth open.

  “You? Heartbroken?”

  Maddux shrugged. “It was … different,” he hedged. “Intense.”

  “Unavailable,” Spencer nodded sagely.

  “Nah, she wasn’t sleeping with Belamar. I mean, who knows, sounds like his junk doesn’t work anymore.”

  “Dude. TMI.”

  “Anyway, she led me to believe she was traveling with him because he had health issues,” he said.

  Spencer leaned forward, fascinated.

  “So that’s why you started sleeping with her?”

  “Hell, I don’t know man. She said they weren’t really together. I let myself … I believed in her. I let my guard down and she ripped my guts out.”

  “I’m sorry, dude. I really am. Can you get your head in the game for qualifiers?”

  Maddux stared out the windshield. “Hell, yeah, man. Nothin’ to lose.” He stepped out of the Cadillac, raked the hair out of his eyes, and forced his lips upward for his crew at the paddock.

  “Later, bro,” he said, tossing the keys to his brother.

  Chapter 18

  Brynn stared sightlessly at the beige walls in the waiting area outside Jacob Green’s office. She’d arrived at San Francisco International Airport late last night on a red-eye from Dallas. She rubbed her eyes, dry now, but puffy from the bouts of tears over the past day. She pushed the memory of the phone call with her parents out of her head. “Ashamed,” her dad had said.

  There didn’t seem to be any way she could explain what had happened over the last few months.

  Here at Gates she’d seen few friendly faces. She’d approached Jacob’s office aware of whispers, stares, and the turned backs of her former colleagues as they avoided eye contact—avoided any kind of contact.

  Jacob’s secretary came out from her cubicle and said gently, “Dr. Douglas, he’ll see you now … and, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. You’re an excellent doctor.”

  She was sorry?

  It was true then. Jacob hadn’t asked her in for her side of the story. He was firing her. She got shakily to her feet.

  “Thanks, Dina. Best of luck to you.” Brynn smiled at the assistant, put her shoulders back and walked into her boss’s office.

  He wasn’t alone. She recognized Gates’s head of human resources in the chair in front of the desk. She took the chair opposite, smiling at the other woman.

  The woman didn’t smile back.

  Jacob didn’t look up from his computer. “Have a seat, Dr. Douglas.”

  Brynn clasped her hands. She would not grovel. She would accept their decision with grace and nonchalance.

  You can do this. Don’t let them get to you. Just like all those interviews for medical school and internships and residency. Only not. She’d had plenty of experience with professional rejection. She could get through this one.

  She pasted a smile on her face.

  “I am sitting, Jacob. And I don’t have all
day,” she said crisply.

  And I’m not interested in your usual power playing games. Not today.

  Jacob looked up, surprise morphing into disgust.

  “I can’t believe—”

  “Dr. Green?” the HR woman interrupted, her tone neutral. “Let’s just go through the steps as we discussed.”

  The woman turned to Brynn and handed her a manila envelope and a folder.

  His expression turned disgruntled. “We’re letting you go—terminating your employment with Gates. Brynn, what the hell were you thinking?”

  The human resources woman rose and held up a hand to Jacob, stopping his speech.

  “Dr. Green, we’re not going there. Any more personal comments and I’ll ask you to leave this meeting and I’ll file a report.”

  Of course. They didn’t want grounds for a lawsuit.

  “Dr. Douglas, The Gates Institute has elected to terminate your employment, effective immediately. I understand you were on some sort of … sabbatical or … well, anyway I’ve flagged the parts of the document that require your signature. There is information in the packet about the separation, COBRA and whatnot. I can go through each document with you if—”

  “No. That’s not necessary.” Brynn tucked the manila envelope into her purse, frantically signing, dating, and initialing the flagged sections in the folder.

  The silence in the room was deafening.

  Three minutes later, Brynn handed back the stack of papers and stood.

  “We’ll send copies of these documents,” the woman said. “Same address we have on file.”

  Brynn stared at her, blankly.

  Same address?

  She wouldn’t be keeping that apartment. No reason.

  Suddenly she was overwhelmed. This was really happening. She was out of a job. Where would she go? What would she do? The woman cleared her throat and Brynn realized she was waiting for a response.

  “Yes,” she said, calmly, hoping her body language wasn’t broadcasting the inner turmoil that simple question had created. “I’ll have a forwarding order in.”

  “Good-bye, Dr. Green,” Brynn said.

  Jacob sat looking at her, a peevish expression on his square face. “Yeah, best of luck.”

  The human resources woman frowned at his sarcastic tone.

  Brynn stared at Jacob as it dawned on her that she wouldn’t have to work with him ever again. Not on patient care issues, not with administrative things. Not any of it. For the first time in days her smile was genuine.

  Five minutes later she stood on the sidewalk in front of the building that had taken three years of her life, the glee at being rid of Jacob Green fading. If only she’d had a chance to tell her patients. But they didn’t allow that. She hadn’t been allowed anywhere near her floor—they’d taken her badge and key card as soon as she’d set foot in the place.

  Brynn walked the few blocks to her apartment, stopping in her favorite coffee shop, exchanging pleasantries with the barista in a daze. She didn’t notice the two teenage girls lounging in front of her building until she was almost upon them.

  She stopped dead in her tracks, the cup halfway to her lips.

  “Berkeley, Perris,” she cried, setting her coffee on the stoop and embracing the girls.

  “Mom said you might need some help,” Berkeley, the seventeen-year-old said.

  “But, isn’t it a school day?”

  “Teacher workday,” Berkeley said with a wink.

  “Guys. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it, but I don’t want you missing school.” Brynn shook her head.

  “We’re doing fine in school. How are you doing Brynn?” Perris, the quieter, younger sister asked.

  “I’ve been better—no, I am better. The other shoe has dropped. It’s great to see you guys. I told Sheila I’d come tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, well. She said you were going to Gates, and uh, I guess Dr. Thomas told her what all was going on—so.” Perris stared at her feet. “She wants you to come stay with us. So we’re here to help.”

  Berkeley gestured at the street. “I borrowed Mac’s pickup.”

  “Mac?”

  “Don’t ask,” Perris muttered. “Her latest.”

  Brynn laughed and let them in, picking up her coffee.

  • • •

  Nine hours, forty-two boxes, two trips to the storage facility and one across the bridge to Oakland later, Brynn stood with Berkeley and Perris in front of their apartment building.

  “We’ve talked around it all afternoon, but tell me girls, how is she doing, really?”

  Berkeley shrugged. “You know our mom, she’s trying to make light of it. She’s trying to hide how she feels—about leaving us. I’m not sure if she’s dealing with it really, really well or pretending it’s not happening, you know?”

  Brynn nodded. “Okay. I’ll try to figure out where she is. But I don’t want you guys to worry about your future. Your mom and I put everything in place, legally speaking. There won’t be foster care or any of that nonsense, and we don’t expect you to take Perris to college with you, Berkeley.”

  Berkeley grunted. “And now?”

  “Now?”

  “Now that, you know … ”

  “Unemployed,” Perris put it.

  Brynn’s stomach lurched. “I promise you guys, it’ll all work out. It won’t be hard for me to get another job,” she lied.

  • • •

  Later that night after the girls went to their room, she sat with Sheila in the tiny living room with the view of downtown Oakland.

  “Uh oh. You’ve got your doctor face on. Now for the tough part,” Sheila said, smiling.

  “The girls aren’t convinced you’ve come to terms with the fact that you’re dying.” Brynn said bluntly. They were too close and had been through too much to mince words.

  “I have.”

  Brynn’s stomach clenched at the devastation briefly revealed in Sheila’s expression. Her throat thickened but she willed it away. They needed to have this conversation.

  Sheila continued softly, “I’m sad—saddest about not being able to see them grow into the people they’ll be. It rips my heart out to know I won’t be around when they need me. Graduations, breakups, weddings. All the heartache and joy they’ll have in their lives. I’m trying so hard to be grateful for what I’ve had with them so far, you know?” Her voice broke, but she brought herself back under control with a deep breath.

  “It’s so incredibly unfair—to them, to you. And I’m so sorry.” Tears welled in Brynn’s eyes.

  “This is something I’ve been coming to terms with, waiting for the other shoe to drop, since I first was diagnosed two years ago. I’m doing as well as I can be, and I’m glad I got the extra time with them—that, I promise you. What about you?”

  Brynn groaned.

  “Oh, Sheila, I feel so ridiculous—but you know, what’s a little breakup in light of what you’re going through?”

  “Heartbreak isn’t nothing, Brynn. Add in the betrayal. And to someone naïve like you—”

  “I’m not naïve. How can you even say that? I’m an oncologist!”

  “Yeah, so you’re used to dealing with a lot of heavy stuff—I’m not saying you’re not—but emotionally, Brynn, personally, you’ve never had your heart ripped out. You’ve never trusted the wrong person—not like this. You’ve never experienced the evil of a person like Belamar in your travels through life, I’d be willing to bet. What that man did? I’d like to fry him in oil.”

  Brynn nodded. “And Maddux?”

  “Maddux is burning up in his own fires,” she said obliquely.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “That means I think he had feelings for you. Console yourself that whatever pain you’re experiencing, he is too.” She shrugged.

  “No, I don’t think so, Sheila. I—I thought I loved him,” she admitted.

  “Mmm hmm.”

  “I don’t think it was … reciprocated,” Brynn said, her hear
t contracting painfully, leaving her breathless.

  “I’m sorry, hon, I really am.”

  “I need to find something for the interim and hope this dies down. I made a few calls and Jepps wants me to meet him.”

  “Who?”

  “Andy Jepps. My friend from residency.”

  “Oh, yeah, now I remember. Didn’t I meet him when he came to a conference in San Francisco? Hot ginger guy, right?”

  “That’s him. He’s got someone in his hematology-oncology practice out on bed rest or maternity leave or something, and they’re swamped. He’ll put in a good word for me but it’s not a sure thing. He’s got partners who have to agree. I’m planning to leave day after tomorrow for DC, if all’s well here.”

  “So, temporary?”

  “Yeah, a couple of months at most. And there are direct flights from DC to SFO. I can come back weekends—if it all pans out.”

  Chapter 19

  Winning still felt good. More than good. Maddux mounted the podium and the local crowd went crazy. Nothing like a win on home turf. He grinned. Who cares that he won because the two Pantech-Windsor drivers battling it out for first wrecked on the second to last turn?

  There would be hell to pay on that team. One of those guys would be getting sacked; he’d bet Lichens would be racing for Supernova next season.

  While he would be driving for Belamar Racing.

  He grabbed the champagne from the smiling grid girl, bookended by one of the F1 executives who’d been scowling at him just this morning. He gave the man an extra-wide grin. He’d driven this race with nothing, not a damn thing to lose out there. Not his life, not his reputation, and not his future.

  That’s what happened to the guy who didn’t care about anything but racing. Formula One with its drama and sponsorships, parties and publicity … it all boiled down to Sundays. And today was one for the record books. Certainly the best race of his life, on his favorite course.

  Four hours later he’d left the after-party when the rush of seeing old friends, his aunt and uncle and his cousin, Angela, home from college early for Thanksgiving, had finally given way to the post-race exhaustion. He took off his loafers, grinning over Spencer’s enthusiastic reaction to his win. His brother had been so overcome, he’d kissed him on the cheeks like a damn European—and not ironically—when there was a knock on his hotel room door. A beefy guy in an ill-fitting suit stood on the threshold.