My feet are screaming, but I am going to have to find him on foot nevertheless. Since Justin is nowhere to be found, it would probably be frowned upon to take one of the golf carts parked outside. I lean against the building and take off the beautiful but painful Jimmy Choos. I hook the straps together and set out in pursuit barefoot. Then it hits me—I have no idea of where to even start looking for Ryan. He could be anywhere at this point.
I reach Ryan’s team hauler first, and it’s empty. I take my iPhone out of my clutch. Then, I throw my purse and the shoes into my duffel bag. Before I walk any further, I call Ryan’s cell phone. It doesn’t even ring. The call immediately rolls into his voice mail, which means he either ignored my call or his phone is turned off. Both are good possibilities. I groan.
I decide to try Ryan’s luxury motor coach next. I knock warily, not sure of what I might find. I wait, but no answer there either. I pull the door handle anxiously. It’s locked. Damn it! I stand back. Think, Whitney. Think! The garage is locked up. Ryan’s car is locked up. Maybe he left altogether, but with whom? Max and his security team are at the reception. He never leaves the track during race weekend, unless he is breaking into my hotel room, that is. I laugh to myself.
My last resort is our pit box, but those haven’t been set up yet. I walk listlessly down pit road. I walk over to the infield and run my bare feet over the cool grass. It feels heavenly on my swollen and sore feet. I sit down on the edge of pit lane and sink my feet into the grass. I sigh, defeated. The event is almost over by now. Garrett is going to be ticked, but I can’t find Ryan. Maybe we need to install a tracking device on him. I inwardly roll my eyes at myself.
I am broken from my reverie by an incoming text alert on my phone. I swipe the home screen to read the message.
___________________
Looking for someone?
____________________
It’s Ryan. A huge sigh erupts from my lungs. I text him back.
___________________________________________
Yes, namely you. I am in trouble for let
ting you disappear again.
________________________________________
______________
Where are you?
______________
As I hit send on the text message, I look around. He must see me. Then, I hear a loud crash that comes from the grandstands. I raise my head quickly to look through the seats, but I don’t see anyone. The overhead lights are blinding, and I have to shield my eyes from their brightness. Another text comes through from Ryan.
___
Up!
___
I look into the stands again and see nothing. Another text prompts me.
______
Higher
______
I look higher into the stands and up into the press box. Nothing. Then another loud crash that sounds like glass breaking makes me jump. I look up higher. Then, I see him. I can barely make him out as he waves his beer to me from high atop of the spotter’s perch that overlooks the front straightaway. Sweet Jesus! How did he get up there? I hope he doesn’t expect me to come up there because it ain’t happening!
My phone beeps again.
___________
Coming down
___________
Thank God. I walk across the grass as I wait for him. I find myself walking across the start/finish line and into turn one. I am surprised at the embankment and the degree of the corner. I can barely walk up it. I had no idea it was so steep.
As I patiently wait on Ryan to come down, I walk back over to pit road and sit on the makeshift barrier wall. I feel him approach me from behind long before he reaches out to caress my bare back. I take a deep breath to stand up and steady myself, but goose bumps run down the length of my spine. Ryan pulls me into an embrace with my back resting on his chest. His breath is hot on my neck, and it’s intoxicating as ever. I close my eyes, very aware of the fact that we are intimately standing together in the middle of this huge super-speedway where anyone could be watching us. And with that thought, the large overhead lights go out on the track. It is completely dark.
I spin around and gasp, “Ryan!” He immediately envelops me in a passionate embrace and kisses me deeply. I lean into his feverous grasp and smell/taste the beer on his breath.
Then suddenly, Ryan pulls back. “I am still pissed about earlier!”
I step back, stunned from the change of tack. I open my mouth, but he puts his hand up to silence me. I am taken aback by his confession and not sure what to say, but Ryan starts to speak again.
“I am not good with this…this feeling.” From his stuttering speech, I can tell Ryan is drunk. “It is something that I am not used to, and I don’t handle it very well.”
“What feeling?” I mutter.
“Jealousy,” Ryan says flat out. “If Colton so much as lays another hand on you, so help me God, I will kill him!” he whispers through gritted teeth.
Oh!
With that statement, Ryan reaches out and pulls me back into a heated embrace. “But…right now…all I can think about is ripping that dress off you!” he mutters against my lips.
I can’t breathe, but before he kisses me again, I manage to protest, “Ryan! You’re drunk! We can’t do this here!”
“I can and I will make love to you on this track or any other place I damn well please!” Ryan exclaims determinedly as he lifts me off my feet, carries me effortlessly across the infield grass, and lays me down across the start/finish line of the Daytona International Speedway.
Chapter 26
The green flag falls on Saturday night. Finally! I take a deep breath and settle into my seat. The sun is going down, but it is still dreadfully hot. I am sweating from every orifice, it seems. Ryan leads forty-four cars across the start/finish line to start tonight’s race in Daytona. I laugh to myself as I watch the cars fire across the starting mark as I recall my intimate experience on this racetrack. The race is just starting, and we have almost 160 laps to go, but I can’t sit back. The atmosphere at the racetrack and the fact that we have the pole position makes this race more exciting than usual.
I listen closely to my headset at the communications between Ryan, Bobby, and Mike. Everything sounds to be running smoothly. Let’s see how long Ryan can keep the lead. The more laps we lead, the more points we accumulate, and even though Ryan had a rocky start to the season, I am hoping that he is making a turnaround. He seems to finish better each week, and that means he is rising higher in the points standings.
The cars fly around the track at speeds ranging from 160 to over 200 miles per hour. With these speeds, I can’t sit still. The adrenaline is too much for me to fight tonight. I stand up and decide to go check on Jake, our Make-A-Wish patient, who is Ryan’s guest tonight at the track. He was scheduled to sit with me over pit road, but decided to sit with his parents instead after he heard the starting of the engines. I could tell he was getting tired after having his picture taken with Ryan, the crew, and several of the other NASCAR drivers, including Garrett. Jake is on cloud nine, though, and it gives me so much pleasure that I was able to make it all happen for this precious little boy.
I walk up into the spectator box, and I can tell Jake is exhausted as he lays his head in his mother’s lap. His mother smiles warmly at me. “I don’t know how much longer he will last.”
I smile. “Can I take him for one more event?”
Jake raises his head, curious.
“Sure,” she responds.
I hold out my hand to him. “The first pit stop is coming up. Are you interested?”
Jake nods enthusiastically.
As he takes my hand, I hoist him up onto my back, which is effortless for me because he weighs about fifty pounds soaking wet. His terminal illness is taking a toll on his little body. We descend down the stairs and then back up the small ladder onto the top of the crew pit box. I remain standing so Jake can get a good view as the cars start filing down pit road for their first scheduled pi
t stop.
Ryan slides his #62 Chevrolet into his pit box, screeching the tires. The smell of gas and burned tire rubber fills my lungs. These smells and the sounds are all exhilarating. They ignite my excitement all over again. Jake shouts and waves exuberantly to Ryan, but it is quick, loud chaos, and within 14.5 seconds, Ryan squalls the tires and is gone again. After his pit stop, Ryan maintains the lead.
There are one hundred laps down and still sixty more to go. I have gotten Jake settled into Ryan’s luxury motor coach with his mother to rest, but I had to promise that I would wake him up before the end of the race.
When I reach the pit box, I find out that Ryan has fallen back a few spots but is still in good position. Garrett is running in the middle of the pack around twelfth position, but he is famous for a last-minute attack, so we won’t know what he may have up his sleeve until later on the race.
As the laps wind down, I adjust my headset as I hear team communications start to pick up. Ryan has pushed back up to third, but his car is still strong. I hear Ryan call out, “I need some help up here! How far back is Dad? I need a drafting partner!”
Help? What does he mean by that?
I take my headset off and look over to Ben. “What is he talking about?”
Ben laughs and starts to explain, “This track is governed by restrictor plates because of the high speeds and the draft. You have to have a good drafting partner to maintain position.”
I hold up my hand. “You lost me!”
Ben takes his headset off. “Here’s the deal. Because of the length of the track and its dynamics, like thirty-one degrees of banking into the turns, this is considered a super-speedway because of the speeds that the cars can achieve, which could be two hundred miles per hour or more. A few years back, NASCAR implemented a device called a restrictor plate. This device confines the intake of power to an engine, and each car is required to have one because it limits speed and provides another level of safety for all drivers.” He pauses for a breath.
“Now, since those plates restrict the speed and downforce on the car and the car’s spoiler, drafting helps the drivers get some of that power back.” Ben lifts his hands to demonstrate his point. “If Ryan runs nose to tail with another driver, he can push him through the high pressure faster and reduce the aerodynamic resistance on the car’s rear spoiler.”
I wave my hands candidly at Ben and exclaim, “Too much information!”
Ben laughs at me. “OK, the annotated version is, two cars are better and faster than one!”
I laugh and point at him. “Why didn’t you just say that? I can understand that!”
Ben shakes his head at me as he finishes his explanation. “If Ryan doesn’t have someone behind him to push him, or if the car that is behind him shifts his line to follow another driver, Ryan will drop positions like a brick in the water.”
Oh wow! I nod enthusiastically at Ben because I finally understand. “Gotcha. I am on the bus now!” I exclaim as Ben mockingly rolls his eyes at me and slides his headset back on.
Now that I can make sense of what is happening on the track, I can understand what the cars are doing. There are two draft lines that are trading the lead back and forth. Ryan leads the outside, and another Ford stock car driver leads the inside line. The laps are whittling down now. According to Ben, the race doesn’t get interesting until the last lap.
With twenty laps to go, I walk over to Ryan’s bus to grab Jake so that he can watch the end of the race. I enter the bus to find him and his mom both asleep on Ryan’s couch. They both look too peaceful to wake, but I did promise Jake. I softly nudge his mother, who opens her eyes wearily. She is just as exhausted as little Jake. She acknowledges me and begins to wake him up.
I slip back out of the bus and literally run back over to the pit box. As I climb up the ladder, Ben yells, “Come on!”
I sit back down in my seat next to him and slide on my headset just in time to hear Garrett say over the radio, “Did someone call for help?” I laugh. Garrett has advanced his position to sixth and has fallen in line about two cars behind Ryan. This is getting good.
The radio crackles as Ryan says, “Come on, old man, let’s do this!”
Garrett remains quiet on the radio while he manages to negotiate another position through turn one. He is now directly behind Ryan, pushing him through the draft. Ryan holds his line and advances into first place with his dad’s help. Yes! I jump up with excitement. Ben stands on his feet too.
Ten laps to go. I continue to stand as I watch the monitor closely. Garrett continues to push Ryan around the track, and cars pile up behind them, but they are both battling the inside draft line. With the constant change in positions, there have been about twenty different race leaders today—and there could be twenty more before it is all over.
As both lines navigate turn four, NASCAR safety throws a caution flag for debris on the back straightaway.
“Damn it!” Ben shouts. The pace car comes out to slow the speed of the cars while the safety officials clear fragments from a damaged car off the track. There are only six more laps to go. Ben is starting to get antsy and paces the pit box. “It’s going to be a drag race to the finish!” Again, I don’t know what he means, but then again, I don’t think I want to know.
As the cars slowly make their way around the track, each stock car weaves back and forth in the current line to keep debris from sticking to their tires and also to keep those tires warm for the restart.
The radio crackles with Garrett’s voice. “Son, you ready for this? You better hang on!” I laugh out loud at their exchange. I know Garrett has something up his sleeve, and I can’t wait to see what it is.
As the lineup navigates into turn four, NASCAR pulls the caution flag and exchanges it for the green flag. The pace car dives down onto pit road and out of the way as the stock cars roar back to life across the start/finish line. The sound of the acceleration ignites the fire back in my heart, and my adrenaline level spreads throughout my blood. Into turn one, Garrett abruptly dives down low and joins the inside drafting line, leaving Ryan high and dry.
“Oh No!” I gasp. Ryan drops positions like he is dead in the water, just like Ben described. Garrett is now pushing the inside line in second place.
The radio crackles. “What the hell is he doing?” Ryan fumes. Though he falters a few positions, another driver in a Dodge stock car comes to his rescue and picks up the slack. He begins pushing Ryan back through turn two.
The radio crackles again as the cars fire down the back straightaway. “You didn’t think I was going to just push you over the finish line, did you?” Garrett is joking but serious. Ryan remains quiet.
I watch the monitor intently as Ryan picks up positions thanks to the help of his new drafting partner. The inside and outside lines are still battling it out with only four laps to go. By the time Ryan hits turn three, he is pushing 192 miles per hour. He accelerates over 200 onto the back straightaway, taking back his lead position for the outside line of cars.
I hear the radio crackle again, and this time it’s Ryan. “I hope you want to finish third because there is no way you’re gonna get around Matt.” Matt must be the lead driver that Garrett is behind.
The radio crackles again, but it’s Mike. “Ryan keep calm. Hold your line.”
The cars circle around with two laps to go. I realize that I am barely breathing, and the humidity, mixed with an eighty-five-degree temperature at night, isn’t helping matters. I watch as the inside and outside lines still battle back and forth. I really have no idea how this will play out. I am almost shaking. Ben and I now stand in silence as we watch the final laps unfold. As the cars race down the back of the track again, Ryan has the lead, but only by a fraction of a second. It’s too close to tell even on the monitor. And then there is Garrett. I know he is going to make a last-minute move. I guess this is why Ben says that this race doesn’t get interesting until the last lap.
As I think those thoughts, NASCAR throws out the white
flag signaling one lap to go. The cars are coming down to cross the start/finish line, to begin the last lap of the race. I want to jump down onto pit road with the rest of the crew, but I’m scared I will miss something. This is so intense.
Ryan maintains his fraction of a lead through turn one, then turn two. The cars come down the back field one last time, sparkling under the bright lights of Daytona International Speedway. It’s anyone’s race at this point. I watch the monitor intently as the cars speed into turn three. Garrett gets a run on Matt, the driver on the inside draft lane. Matt checks up, and Garrett plows him from behind but keeps on moving, never missing a beat. Matt’s Ford stock car makes a hard left turn off the track and spins into the grass, but no caution flag is thrown.
Ryan and Garrett are now racing nose to nose within a matter of seconds. The dueling Carter cars throttle out of turn four and drag race to the finish line. Both cars have solid drafting partners, and it’s like a train wreck—I can’t take my eyes off of what is happening, but the intense action is about to send me into heart failure. I don’t even look at Ben; I focus on the monitor. Come on, Ryan! Come on!
The crowd is going absolutely crazy and have been standing on their feet for these last spectacular laps. Ryan and Garrett barrel down to the finish line. The checkered flag is waving, and Garrett takes the win by only a fraction of a second. Oh my God! I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Technically, I work for them both, so a win is a win either way, but I desperately wanted Ryan to win.
“Son of a bitch!” Ben exclaims, breaking me from my reverie. “Come on, let’s go down! I knew that bastard had something up his sleeve.”
I can hear the radio crackle with banter between Bobby, Mike, Garrett, and Ryan, but there are too many people talking to keep up with the conversation. I hope Ryan isn’t pissed. I take off my headset and jump down off the pit box as Garrett and Ryan bring their cars down across the finish line again. Both Chevrolets accelerate and spin simultaneously across the Daytona International Speedway logo imbedded in the infield grass. The crowd roars!
Smokin' & Spinnin' Page 18