I’d been the one to gouge a chasm in our relationship and walk out on everything we’d shared. I should have been happy for her. Instead, I felt like charging over to the fucker who’d claimed her heart and ripping him limb from limb before carrying her off myself. Maybe I could even show her some of the moves I’d learned in the time we’d been apart.
That was Queensland Raceway.
That was immediately before I climbed in the car.
That was the first race, ever, that had ended in a DNF for me.
That was why the former love of my life had become the bane of my existence. It was the memory of her that appeared and haunted me around the race track, leaching my concentration away for vital seconds at a time.
CHAPTER TWO: ON REPORT
WITH MY HEAD cradled in my hands, I tried to clear it of all thoughts of Alyssa. I tried not to think of her dark mahogany hair that curled at the ends and was almost unmanageable in the summer humidity of Browns Plains. It was vital I didn’t focus on the memory of her light honey-gold eyes, or the long black lashes that framed them. Any thought of her boobs—so well developed since I’d last seen her—were strictly forbidden.
“Declan,” a voice called.
I glanced up to see Gary, one of the pit crew, leading one of the roving pit reporters over to me. It wasn’t the normal TV guy, who was an ex-V8 driver himself and now provided expert commentary on the race. Instead, it was a pretty young brunette who wouldn’t have been out of place as a grid girl. I flashed her one of my winning smiles, even though she was officially off-limits—and not just because she was at my “workplace.” With a growing blush, she held up a mic and made it clear she wanted an interview before I went back onto the track. I nodded. It was part of the job after all—the part that sponsors paid for, in fact.
Standing, I slipped the arms of my fireproof suit back on and zipped it up. The reasons were twofold. First, I wanted to be ready to take control of the car as soon as the mini interview was over and Morgan had arrived back in the pits. Second, all of my sponsors’ badges were displayed prominently on my outfit. The more screen time I got them, the more they loved me. It was win-win.
The plump-lipped reporter—I probably should have known her name, it wasn’t the first time she’d covered a ProV8 race that season—was already talking to the camera by the time I made my way to her side.
“I’m here with Declan Reede,” she said before moving to cover the last inch of distance between us. Her boobs brushed my forearm as she talked. “Declan, how are you feeling about your chances today in light of your recent form?”
I bristled. Of course she had to bring that up. I chose to ignore most of the question and give the standard-issue response. “The car is feeling really good today. With a bit of luck and perseverance, I’m sure McGuire and I will both be on the podium at the end of the race.”
“How about you?” She twisted her body in a way that forced her boobs to brush across my hand. “Do you have anyone special cheering you on today?”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at her. It was well known that Declan Reede did not have a personal cheer squad at any race meeting. I didn’t have a significant other—didn’t want one because it would only spoil my fun.
Instead of answering her, I checked the monitors. Morgan was just finishing lap sixty-two, and was being called back into the pit.
I was up. For a double stint at that—sixty-odd laps straight before handing it back over to Morgan to bring the car home. We’d agreed that would be the safest option; it was always sometime in the last ten laps that I choked . . . and crashed. I shuddered. Not today.
“So no special little lady here?” The reporter prompted when I didn’t answer.
It almost sounded like she was fishing for a no. Maybe she was hoping for a ride with a champion. If so, she would be sorely disappointed. I didn’t do brunettes, not anymore. It was my one rule when it came to selecting my “dates.” The fact that she was asking such ridiculous questions only made me less inclined to dance the horizontal tango with her.
I cast her a withering glare.
“I thought you were here to cover a race, not gather juicy titbits for Gossip Weekly,” I admonished before walking away, leaving her flustered and covering for the camera.
I’d probably get my arse kicked for being rude while we were live to air, but these rookie fucking reporters needed to learn that some questions were off limits. Especially by reporters with brown hair and big-arse doe eyes like the ones that haunted me on the track.
By the time I reached the pit area, it was clear that I’d been sitting in the corner of the garage for so long, not paying attention to anything but my meandering thoughts, that I hadn’t even noticed the rain setting in. I should have known, really. Rain at Mount Panorama during the Bathurst enduro was almost as regular as the race itself. That didn’t make it any easier to drive in though.
Unless the rain was a consistent downpour over the whole area, the track always ended up with dry patches. It happened because of way the bitumen stretched up over the mountain. That left all of the teams with a difficult choice: stay out on slicks and risk sliding all over the track if it’s too wet, or put on wet-weather tyres and risk chewing through the tread and slowing the car down if it’s too dry.
The decision came down to forecasting and the wrong decision could cost time later on. If we stayed on slicks and the rain continued we would need to pit that much earlier to change to wet weathers and vice versa. Luckily, we had Eden on our team. She had a knack for it, an innate ability to read a track. She very rarely got it wrong. I knew she’d already had a plan in place because she had the guys warming a fresh set of slicks. It seemed unlikely I’d be driving on a wet track for long.
I was flicking through the stats of Morgan’s last laps, checking for any information, when Eden darted to my side. Her willowy frame was flattered by the team shirt, and even though her curves were fairly boyish, the presentation did the sponsors proud. Black pants wrapped her long legs which only served to make her appear taller and thinner than she really was. She pulled her mic away from her mouth so that whatever she had to tell me didn’t accidentally get repeated to everyone.
“It’s going to be a bit wetter at first, but I think it’s clearing. You’ll hopefully be all right on slicks. You just gotta keep your head these first few laps and you’ll do fine. Watch yourself on Forrest Elbow.”
I nodded absently, running over the information I needed on the car’s handling and performance over the last few laps that Morgan had run.
“Dec,” Eden said.
I glanced up at her in confusion when she didn’t say anything further.
She grinned at me, her hazel-green eyes sparkling. With her sandy-brown hair pulled up away from her face and the giant headset on, the expression made her seem like an overgrown child.
“Relax out there,” she ordered. “You’ll do fine.”
I gave her a genuine smile in return. Sometimes, especially lately, it felt like she was the only one on the team who was on my side. “Thanks, Edie.”
I finished getting ready for my next drive and headed into position, ready to jump back in the car.
Minutes later, Morgan slid the car to a perfect stop and the frantic driver change occurred once more. The instant he was out, I climbed in, and set about reattaching everything and fastening my harness as fast as I could. The instant I’d finished, I clipped the window netting back into place and gave the thumbs up to let my crew know I was in and ready to go. I was acutely aware of the fact that most races were won and lost as much by fast pit stops and good strategy as by any actual driving. And of course, by not crashing.
The instant the car dropped back to the ground, I pressed my foot to the accelerator. Despite my rush, I was careful to keep the speed limiter on—the last thing I needed was a stop/go penalty for pit lane speeding. When I reached the end of the pits, I exploded out of the exit and onto the track.
In that moment, at that speed
, I felt invincible. Thanks to my original lead and Morgan’s perfect driving, we were currently in fifth position on track, but first overall after adjusting for compulsory pit stops. All I had to do was keep us there.
And so the dance began again.
CHAPTER THREE: HAUNTED
I’D BARELY REACHED Forrest Elbow on the first lap of my latest stint when I felt the tail start to slide. I hit the marbles on the edge of the track and struggled to retain control.
But I did. I got the car back where it needed to be, and it felt fucking fantastic.
Maybe I can do this after all.
I allowed myself to hope for a few seconds, but then my mind offered up a vision of her eyes. Red rims around honey-gold irises—the way they’d looked when I said goodbye a little less than four years ago. I shut down the images as quickly as I could when I felt my tail slide loose again. My rear kissed the side of a car attempting to come up my inside before I managed to right it.
My radio crackled to life and Eden’s voice came through my headset. “Watch it, Declan. Morgan’s asked me to remind you about the pliers.”
Focus.
Just think about the track ahead.
Concentrate.
Three more laps and I’d found my groove again. Despite the incidents at the top of the track, the lighter fuel load and drier track helped me keep the car straight. The distance between me and the other cars behind me grew.
When I came down Conrod Straight, I overtook a Ford, which put me in third position overall and still outright first. My breathing steadied as I felt the car fall into a comfortable rhythm. It seemed impossible that we could lose, but I didn’t allow myself to get too cocky. Not with my form, and certainly not at the notorious Bathurst.
Up. Down. Clutch. Accelerator. Brake. One, two, three, four. Hard to the left. Up Mountain Straight. Hard to the right. Through the cutting and Reid Park. Past McPhillamy and into the skyline. Breeze through the Esses into the Dipper. Soft right. Hard left around Forrest Elbow. Race down Conrod Straight.
Eden had been right about the track. By the ninth lap of my second stint, the bitumen was bone dry and the teams that had gambled on the rain staying were scrambling to the pits to change back onto slicks. I used the time to push even further ahead. Eden’s voice squawked over the radio, telling me that I had just achieved the fastest lap time of the day. If I didn’t have to keep both hands on the wheel, I would have given a fist pump in celebration. Things were finally going my way.
I was celebrating the small victories when I came across the top of the mountain again, across Skyline. The glare from the sun reflected in the top corner of my windscreen and I was blinded. Not by the light, but by the vision which the sun called to mind.
Alyssa.
My heart stopped and my eyes slammed closed.
Smiles and laughs; the sun glinting off her watch as we kept an eye on the time.
I could almost hear her voice bouncing around the car, laughing over some ridiculous shit we’d done during the day. We’d been so happy. So innocent. So fucking naive and stupid.
The memory was from one of the days we’d ditched school to hide out in our park. With a gasp, I swallowed oxygen down into protesting lungs. My hands shook and tremors raced through my fingers and into the wheel.
My stomach clenched as I remembered just how beautiful she’d been. She didn’t have supermodel looks, she had something better. An honest to goodness girl-next-door quality that shone through from within and made her ten times sexier than any over glossed supermodel could ever be. The truth was, as bad as the visions of Alyssa’s red-rimmed eyes were, the happy ones were worse. They became tangible reminders of how much she’d once meant to me, and I almost didn’t want to suppress them.
With two more gulping breaths, I forced my eyes open and pushed the thought away. My grip tightened on the steering wheel, but it was already too late.
Though it’d been mere seconds, I’d been in my own world—my past—for too long and hadn’t prepared to take the turn before falling into the Esses. I had no time to do anything but adjust the angle of my car as it smashed into the concrete barrier with a teeth-rattling bang. I prepared myself in the only way I could for a second crash as the car ricocheted off the wall, spun across the track, and then smashed into the side of a passing car. The sound of crunching metal and squealing rubber filled the space around me, but I could do nothing but hold on and hope for the best. My car lurched sickeningly toward the wall again, shunting hard into the concrete and rocking me into the hard surface of the door.
By the time I came to a rest, I was angled nose into the wall in a stationary car.
Unable to move, I panted as I struggled to comprehend just what had happened, aside from the fact that I’d crashed—that part I got loud and fucking clear. Closing my eyes, I mentally ran through my body to ensure I wasn’t too badly injured. I wiggled my fingers and my toes and was relieved when everything did what it was supposed to. Except for my heart racing at a million miles a minute, and the fact that I couldn’t breathe down nearly enough air to stay in control, I was okay.
My eyes snapped to the rear-view mirror when I heard the sound of protesting tyres.
Shit!
Another car, flying down from Skyline, hadn’t seen me until it was too late. Although the driver was braking hard, he wasn’t going to be able to stop or avoid crashing into me. I was too far out on the road. Waiting for the impact was maddening. It was as if time had stopped as I sucked down a breath and prepared for another jolt.
When time seemed to have restarted, it jumped to fast forward. The car slammed into the back of mine hard enough to lurch my whole body forward. My teeth smashed together, the impact rattling my skull until stars exploded behind my eyes. I said a silent thanks for the HANS device and harness holding me in place.
The nose of my car ploughed farther into the wall with a loud crunch before the tail lifted and spun my car again. The motion tossed me around like a rag doll as my car was hit once more. I finally came to a rest with the passenger side of the car hard against the barrier.
I risked a glance around to see two other damaged cars parked close to mine. The officials had the yellow flags out at last, and I had no doubt the safety car was already on its way around the track. At least it meant it was unlikely any other cars were going to join the pile-up.
“What the hell, Declan?” Eden’s voice admonished me. “Danny’s going to have your arse for this.”
Yeah, yeah, tell me something I don’t know.
I smacked the steering wheel hard before scrambling out of the wreck. The car was totalled. The once sleek red and black exterior now a mangled mess of broken glass, ripped stickers, exposed metal, and broken plastic.
I guess I win the record after all. Go me!
In frustration, I kicked the door. A sharp ache echoed up my leg.
“Fucking shitter of a fucking bastard of a fucking car!” I screamed as I ignored the pain and kicked the car again.
I knew I was supposed to leave the track immediately to avoid further injury, but I couldn’t resist kicking the car a few more times to vent my frustration.
Finally, after a few more, “Fucks,” “Fucking hells,” and kicks for good measure, I climbed over the barrier.
Even though it was clear I was okay, I headed for the medics for clearance, ripping off the sleeve on my race suit as I went. Three of them came over to me and ran me through a series of concussion tests and other bullshit. Even though my ankle still ached from kicking the car, and a pain niggled along the right side of my body, I refused to tell them. I’d ice whatever I needed to when I got home, and deal with the rest later. I didn’t have time for any of it. I just wanted to be gone. Not just from the car, but from the track. The team. The whole place. My life in general. The farther away, the better.
Eden was right, as usual. Danny was going to own my arse over the crash.
Fucking Alyssa “small town” Dawson. If it wasn’t for her, none of this shit
would have happened.
“Reede!”
I rolled my eyes at the sound of another driver’s voice behind me—Hunter Blake, with Ford’s Wood Racing. Ignoring the ache in my ankle, I walked faster to escape him. I couldn’t deal with his bullshit.
Obviously uninjured, he covered the distance between us faster than I could walk. Grabbing on to my shoulder, he spun me around. “What the fuck was that?”
I shoved him off. “Go fuck yourself, Blake.”
“You had to pull that crap didn’t you? What’s that, six in a row now?” His eyes narrowed.
“What the fuck do you care?”
“I don’t give a fuck about your performance issues, until they affect me. They’re affecting me, so you better fucking watch—”
“Hunter.” His name was barked in a sharp tone by a unique voice on the circuit. Paige Wood, the owner of Wood Racing. She was a relatively new team owner, having taken over from her father when he retired, but she ran a tight ship and her team was second only to Sinclair. “Back to the pits.”
Like the little lapdog he was, Hunter sneered at me once more and then spun around and retreated.
Instead of turning to follow him, Paige came up to me. Her short blonde hair was pristinely coiffed, and despite her garish make-up she was kind of pretty. The team polo she wore showed the benefits of her fantastic surgeon—she was full in all the right places. All in all, she wasn’t bad looking, for an older woman. A wild cougar displaying her true colours, and definitely someone I wouldn’t say no to bedding if the offer arose. “Mr. Reede.”
I nodded. “Mrs. Wood.”
She chuckled, a throaty laugh which was clearly designed to be seductive. “It’s Ms and please, call me Paige.”
I nodded, and waited impatiently for her to get to her point.
Declan Reede: The Untold Story (Complete Series) Page 13