by Alice Ward
She gave me the most disappointed of glares. “That sounds to me like a cop-out, you know that, Cage?”
I let out a breath of air, indignant. I shook my head at her. “It’s not what I want. Believe me, it’s not. I’m sorry, Emma, this world sucks, but you can’t have it both ways.”
She crossed her arms. “Why? Why not? I don’t really give a crap what they think.”
“That’s not true. If you hadn’t cared, you wouldn’t have gone off on them during the last press conference. You wouldn’t have gotten all red in the face when you saw the coverage last night.”
Her brow wrinkled. “That’s ridiculous. There’s nothing wrong with us. What’s wrong is with them.”
I had no doubt she’d go in front of them all and give them a piece of mind like she’d done before. But where would that get her? Last time, it had only made the media storm worse. “You can’t tell them that. Remember the last press conference?”
She looked at her feet. When she looked up again, there was rage in her eyes. “Do you want me?”
It wasn’t that easy to answer. Right now, it didn’t matter what I wanted.
I stared at her a beat too long. “It’s a simple question, Locke. Do you, or do you not?”
“Yes, but—”
“No. Not ‘yes, but.’ Yes, the end.” She shook her head, wincing as the movement gave her pain. “That should be all that matters. But it doesn’t to you, does it? Admit it. You’re worried about your company. You don’t want anything to get in the way of you making your billions, is that it?”
Now I was more enraged than sad. Yes, once upon a time, my company had been my baby. But when she entered the picture, that all went to hell. She was the reason I begged out on meetings to be with her. She was the reason I’d made this sponsorship the most important one of all our properties. She came first.
I could feel the heat rushing to my face, which wouldn’t look good at the press conference. “That’s not it. I don’t want you to end a career that you obviously love, and you’re fucking good at, because of this media bullshit.”
“Right. And it doesn’t hurt that the further I go, the more money you make.”
I threw up my hands. “Is that what you think? You don’t know me at all, do you?” I seethed, tearing open the door. “I’m going down there right now. And I’m going to make sure you still have the career you love after this, no matter what damage it does to my reputation. I don’t want your gratitude. I just fucking want you to be able to get back on that oval, so that one of these days, you can win a Cup race, and get your due. That’s all.”
I stormed down the hallway, toward the stairs.
Before heading down, I turned back to her. She was still standing there, motionless and speechless in my wake. I couldn’t believe it. For the first time, her little smart mouth was hanging open.
“Go back to your apartment and rest, Emma,” I said softly. “Go the back way, so you won’t let the reporters see you, or else they’ll be all over you. Or just stay here and I’ll get you back later. You look so pale.”
I’d done hard things in my life. I’d started telling my mother no, that I didn’t want a second serving. I’d forced myself to run until I threw up. I’d started a business. I’d made that business successful beyond my dreams. But I’d never done anything as hard as this…
I turned and walked away without a response.
When I got downstairs to the conference room, the place was swarming with reporters. It was beyond standing room only; reporters were packed in like sardines. I’d never seen it this crowded, even for the first Drive Like a Girl conference months before. It was sad that sex sold so well, and that a simple kiss had brought out more reporters than an athlete who’d trained her entire life to do what no one in this entire room could.
I skulked behind the podium with my head down, as one of the reporters whistled at me. “Nice going, Locke. I wouldn’t be able to resist tapping that either.”
I snapped my head to him and scowled. I felt my fist tighten into a punch I wanted to throw.
I forced myself to loosen it. It would only make things much, much worse.
Laura came up behind me. “Hello, Looks-Like-Shit,” she quipped, straightening my tie and studying my face. “Did you take a shower?”
I had. I’d also shaved. I even put on a new suit. I did not look like shit. Maybe she was talking about the vibes I was giving off, the dread that came from admitting to the world that I’d made unwanted sexual advances on a woman under my authority. The woman I was also fucking in love with, and who loved me too.
How had that become wrong?
I nudged her away. “I’m good. We starting now?”
She checked the time on her phone. “Yeah. You can begin whenever you want. Statement’s on the podium.”
“Thanks.”
I walked up to the podium as if approaching the firing squad. There was the typical glass and pitcher of water. I filled a glass, downed it, and filled another, not caring what this made me look like to the press. I felt guilty.
Didn’t Emma and I want the same things? Since when had lifting Emma’s career meant that I was betraying myself?
“Good afternoon,” I said into the microphone. It crackled with static. Obviously, the issues we’d been having with it earlier hadn’t been fully resolved. Or maybe that was just my voice cracking.
Eventually, the chatter and noise quieted down, and too many sets of eyes focused on me.
Gripping the edges of the podium in my sweaty hands, I looked down at the statement that Laura had left for me. It was basically the same thing as I’d been quoted saying on the press release.
Yesterday, after she was involved in a harrowing crash at the Pocono 400, I was seen embracing Ms. Emma James, the race car driver who is the face of UnCaged Fitness’s Drive Like a Girl campaign, which caused some undue speculation that the two of us may have been involved in a romantic relationship. I am here to say that Miss James and I are friends. I am emotionally invested in the welfare of all my properties. I was merely beside myself with worry after the accident, concerned for her wellbeing. When she opened her eyes, I was overcome with emotion, which I may have expressed inappropriately. My actions were unwarranted, completely unprovoked by Miss James, and I would like to express my sincere apologies to Miss James and her family.
Bull. Shit.
Yes, I’d been overcome with emotion. Yes, we were friends. The rest of it was pure fabrication.
And yet as I opened my mouth to say the first words, I knew that once I said them, Emma and I would be over.
Forget about the fact that I’d have one mark on my record as a sexual harasser. Forget about the fact that Emma would think I was a filthy liar. Even if she forgave me for that, we couldn’t continue to sneak around after this. If anyone found out the truth after this statement, we’d never survive the resulting firestorm. Once these words were out, I’d never hold her, kiss her, or make love to her again.
I wouldn’t even be able to look at her the wrong way without trouble.
But she would have her career. And I had no doubt that with the sponsorship of UnCaged, she’d kill it.
I thought back to the day we met. What had she said she wanted? To go as far as I can.
Swallowing the bile in my throat, I knew this was the way to get her there.
“Yesterday, after she was involved in a harrowing crash at the Pocono 400,” I began, “I was seen embracing Ms. Emma James, the race car driver who is the face of UnCaged Fitness’s Drive Like a Girl Campaign.”
At that moment, I flashed back to what she had said before, right in this very room, as I stroked her knee to keep her nerves at bay. I’m big on honesty.
I couldn’t do this.
If I lied, I wouldn’t just be selling out myself. I’d be disappointing her too.
Maybe there was another way.
I cleared my throat, adjusted the microphone, and looked out to the sea of reporters.
“B
ut that isn’t what this press conference should be about. Instead, we should be looking at Miss James’ racing statistics thus far. In only a dozen races in the Cup series, she’s finished ahead of all other female drivers that have ever raced. In fact, at the Pocono 400, until her untimely accident, she was in third, better than any female racer has ever gone on that track. Emma James is not just a phenomenal woman athlete, she’s a phenomenal athlete, period. So instead of talking about a kiss, maybe we should be talking about her racing career.”
Someone in the front row asked, “The press release said that you and Miss James are just friends. Does that mean you’re not in a relationship with her?”
I stared at him, my face heating. What had I just said? It was like I was speaking a different language. I felt my temperature rising.
I looked to the side, laughing a little, about to give him a piece of my mind, when I saw Emma standing in the doorway, looking shy and uncharacteristically fragile.
But the second I noticed her, all of the reporters did too. They all swung their cameras toward her, and their flashes started going crazy.
She took a tentative step toward me. I took one toward her, and then she slowly bridged the distance. “You know you can’t win with them,” she said to me in a low whisper.
“Why are you here?” I said to her, noting that she looked a little woozy. “You need to—”
“Not without telling you this first,” she said in a rush. “Listen.”
She wavered on her feet. I wrapped my hands around her arms, holding her up.
“When I told you what was on my bucket list, what I wanted most at that time was to win a Monster Energy Cup race,” she said, tears filling her eyes. “But that’s changed, Locke. Back then, I didn’t know this…” she waved her hand between the two of us, “was even possible. Back then, I didn’t know I could be this happy. I didn’t know how loving a man felt.” She took in a deep breath, wincing as it hurt her bruised ribs. “If they’d rather focus on my tits or our kiss than my racing abilities, I say we let them. I’d walk away from it all in a second. I don’t care about any of that. Sure, I love racing, but I love you more.”
I let out a breath of air, trying to see if she really meant it. Her face was completely serious. “Are you sure? Even if—”
“Even if I never get to race another day in my life, Locke,” she said, a single tear sliding down her face. “You come first. Do you get it? You come first.”
At that moment, I did the only thing I could do. I pulled her into my arms and kissed her, long and hard, lifting her slight body off the ground as I held her. She responded in kind, wrapping her arms around me, even though I knew the movement cost her.
Yes, I was overcome with emotion. But no, this was not just an embrace. This was the truth. I loved this woman, and this woman loved me.
And what did they do, the assholes who cared more about kissing than they did about the actual race? They burst into the loudest applause that conference room had ever seen.
When I was done, and the applause had died down, I held her to my side and addressed the reporter directly. “Obviously,” I said, a laugh in my voice, “Emma and I are more than friends. I am in a relationship with Emma James, and all I can say is, I’m ecstatic about it and have never been happier.”
Flashes went off like crazy, murmurs spreading throughout the crowd. Laura, off to the side, threw up her hands, turned away, and then walked back to face me. When she did, she was smiling. Fine, have it your way, she mouthed.
I continued. “You know… Emma James may be a woman. But what UnCaged Fitness is about is that we’re not caged into any one role. She may be my lover, and yes, my love.” I squeezed her hand. “But she’s also an incredible driver who deserves as much respect and admiration as you give to male drivers. If the fact that she’s a woman or that I love her has reduced what an accomplished athlete is in your eyes, then what can I say? You don’t deserve to be reporting on this.”
My hand in hers, I turned to leave the podium, smiling at Emma, who hesitated as though she had something more to add. I moved aside and adjusted the microphone for her so that she could have her chance to speak.
She leaned forward and said simply, “I love Locke Cage.” She smiled back at me and then added, “Now that that’s out of the way, do you have any questions?”
The crowd erupted with noise. I called on the first person in the row, who said, “You were on a tear in the Poconos until the crash. Do you expect to come in first on your next race?”
She laughed and nodded. “Oh, hell, yeah. That checkered flag is mine.”
And I had to laugh too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Emma
I still loved the smell of grease and had motor oil in my veins, but after my accident, something changed. I was more cautious. War-wounded. Scarred. I’d put racing out of my mind for as long as I could, but something inside me missed it.
As I stepped out of the simulator, Bruce greeted me with a smile. “That’s your best lap time yet,” he said, clapping me on the back. “I think you’re ready to get back out on the track.”
My body stiffened. Right.
I knew the day was coming. The soreness had gone away, and the bruises had faded to an ugly yellow. I’d spent most of the week being catered to hand and foot by Locke, like I was a princess and he was my lowly liege. He’d gotten me most anything I asked for, and I even managed to get him to try a few McDonald’s fries while we laid in bed together.
It had been eight days since the accident. A week since the press conference where we’d announced our relationship. As worried as we’d been about it, the media buzz surrounding us hadn’t been a terror. Sure, People had run an article about us, showing a racy photo of us embracing on the beach after one of our workouts with the caption, Locke has Caged his driver!
But it was worth it, because now, we could hold hands everywhere we went. Make out on the street. We could be PDA-central if we wanted to be. Not that we were, but it was nice to have the option. It was nice knowing that when the cameras were taking pictures of us, it wasn’t about anything everyone didn’t already know.
And once the fluff press had gotten tired of that, they went back to reporting on the Kardashians. And what was left? The serious sports reporters, reporting on — miraculously — sports. My statistics. My recovery. My hopes for the next race.
And they reported on my brother, even doing a thirty-minute special on his new arm and how he was training to get back behind the wheel.
The wheel I was now terrified of.
Here I was, a week after I’d told everyone the checkered flag was mine, shaking like a little child, afraid of her own shadow. Locke had texted me that I had track time booked on the speedway this afternoon.
When I got the text, I suddenly felt like throwing up.
I nodded and thanked Bruce, then walked outside for some air. I tried to take deep breaths, but when the car came to take me to the speedway, I felt the heat of the flames licking at the engine. I could hear the screech of tires, the twisting of metal screaming in my ears. The weightless feeling of being cast into the air, only to be brought down, hard, my body being wrenched in different directions.
By the time I arrived at the raceway, my legs felt like they were made of lead. I couldn’t get out of the car.
It was only when I saw Brody running toward me that I pried myself from the seat cushion and opened the door.
I stepped into the Daytona summer heat, trying to will my brain to stop replaying the crash on repeat through my head.
“Come on, slowpoke,” Brody said, his new arm gleaming in the sun. “Your two hours started ten minutes ago.”
I wondered if I could delay long enough so that I would only have to be out there a few minutes. Probably not. Brody saw me dragging my feet, and I knew he was suspicious, so I broke into a jog behind him.
Things had been okay with Brody since the accident. He wasn’t one to tell me who to date, so when Locke a
nd I had come out as “together,” as long as he knew Locke wasn’t trying to screw me over, he was good with it. He was still wary that I might let it distract me, as Brody had sworn off all women while he was training, but we’d come to a truce. I thought it helped that he’d gotten fitted for that custom racing arm, and was now behind the wheel again, trying to build back up his speed.
We ran into the cool air-conditioned garage, and the first thing I saw was my black little bumblebee. It was like the accident had never happened. It was a new car, exactly like the Fusion that had twisted around me, protecting me while I’d barrel-rolled in the Poconos.
My stomach clenched.
“Get on your fire suit,” he said, motioning me to hurry up. “Let’s get you on out there.”
I felt my stomach. “I have to pee first.”
He stared at me. “Really?”
I handed him my helmet. “I’ll just be one second.”
I ran to the ladies’ room. When I was in there, I stared at my face in the mirror. No wonder he was looking at me like I was insane. I looked terrified. I splashed water on my face. Then I checked my cell phone. I still had another hour and a half worth of time on the oval, and I couldn’t delay it anymore. It was expensive, and hard to book this time. I needed to get out there.
Taking a deep breath, I headed out to grab my fire suit and yanked it on, zippering it up to my chin. I slid my hands into the gloves and tightened the Velcro. Spitting out my gum in the nearest receptacle, I fixed the helmet on my head, and slid inside the Fusion. Even though this wasn’t a race, I made sure the clock showed an even number. I’d worn my underwear inside out too.
I figured I needed all the help I could get.
I pulled up the window netting and fastened the harness, then wrapped my gloved hands around the steering wheel, trying to keep my breathing steady.
Visions of fire and twisted metal flashed through my mind like lightning. I blinked. Winced. Closed my eyes to them, but that only made it worse. With my eyes closed, they were front and center, larger than life.