#Swag (GearShark #3)

by Cambria Hebert

  If anything, it only made it worse. No one wanted to date someone who was just as good at driving as them, or even better.

  Plus, even if I managed to find someone who actually wanted to date me and could look past my job, just hearing the shit said to me on a daily basis would be enough to make him think twice. That didn’t even include what they said when I wasn’t around.

  Once in high school, Ellen found me crying in the kitchen over ice cream, and I talked to her about my boy troubles, but that was just one time. Frankly, it only got worse the older I grew.

  “Sometimes it is just sex, but sometimes it isn’t,” Trent replied, going right along with the topic without missing a beat.

  “Who says it isn’t now?” I challenged.

  “How many people call him by his first name? I didn’t even know it ‘til you said it. Seemed awful familiar on your tongue.”

  Every word out of his mouth was like a wisdom bomb.

  I decided not to tell him Jace called me Josie. That would just prove him right more.

  “He’s an asshole.” I sighed.

  Trent laughed. “Totally.” But then he shifted. “Even assholes are capable of love.”

  “Why don’t you like him?” I asked boldly.

  Trent pondered the question, sipped his coffee, then set it aside. “Well, there is the obvious asshole factor.”

  I smiled.

  “But maybe it’s because he’s a lot less asshole than everyone gives him credit for.”

  My eyes widened. I hadn’t expected that.

  “There’s a difference between being an asshole and being a mean bastard. I think Lorhaven acts the way he does because he has to. Because there’s a lot of weight on his shoulders.”

  “That doesn’t really explain why you don’t like him.” I pointed out.

  “Damn, it doesn’t?”

  I laughed. “Tell me.”

  “He’s a lot of stuff I’m not. Really confident. Really outspoken. His driving is close to Drew’s level…” He cleared his throat.

  “You can’t be jealous of him,” I deadpanned.

  Trent shook his head. “Not really jealous. Just, I guess part of me thought he had the ability to take over my role in Drew’s life.” He smiled lopsided. “You know, before we became more than friends.”

  I nodded. I guessed I could understand that. It was sort of the same reason he didn’t like me when I first showed up in town.

  Trent stretched out his arm and slid the magazine over between us. “Lorhaven got pissy when you took off your shirt, huh?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Told the photographer we were done.”

  Trent smiled. “A man who’s only interested in sex doesn’t do that. He also doesn’t challenge one of his own when they go after an outsider.”

  He meant the night of the street race, with Kurt.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered. It seemed like getting my hopes up would be a mistake. “He doesn’t like pro drivers. It feels like we’re from two different worlds.”

  “Nah, you’re just on different sides of the street. But you’re crossing over.”

  “He doesn’t want me to.” I tapped on the magazine, referencing the article inside. “He’s made that very clear.”

  “Yeah, and I said I was straight for a long time.”

  “You think he lied?”

  “Maybe not lied. I think when someone protests as much as Lorhaven has, it’s because they’re scared. Doth protest too much and all that shit.” He waved his hand around when he said the last part.

  “Maybe,” I murmured.

  Trent patted my knee as we heard Drew making his way back to the dining room.

  “That dude sounds like a horse,” Trent said fondly.

  “Thanks for talking to me,” I whispered.

  “Anytime, Joey. Give it some time, okay? See what happens in Colorado.”

  Drew bounded into the room, totally stealing Trent’s attention.

  It was just as well. I sat back in my chair with an oomph.

  As much as my thoughts had wandered to Jace this past week, I never thought about the fact I’d be seeing him at the NRR race.

  I’d only been thinking backward, about the night in the hangar.

  Now all my thoughts shifted to the present, to the future.

  Lorhaven

  I’d been summoned.

  The only times that happened was when I was doing something he didn’t approve of.

  He = my father.

  Our relationship was tumultuous at best. It hadn’t always been like that. Well, yeah, maybe it had. But the past few years, it became more so.

  For a long time, I told myself it was because a boy couldn’t be his own man if he was still standing in the shadow of his father.

  However, the fact I was answering his summons and stepping into an elevator at his office kinda proved, in a way, I would always be in his shadow. I guess it never mattered how grown a son became; he was still in some ways vulnerable to his father.

  A point that actually made me bitter.

  Not on my behalf, though, but on my brother’s.

  It seemed to me a powerful man such as Sullivan Lorhaven raised two kinds of kids:

  1.) Powerful, strong-willed ones who could withstand anything and had a hungry drive

  or

  2.) Insecure, shy ones who were afraid they would never meet their father’s expectations.

  I was the first kind. Unfortunately, Arrow was the second. I didn’t blame him. I blamed my father for making him that way, and that was just one more reason the chasm between us had grown.

  I also blamed myself.

  I actually thought after so many years, my father would grow to approve what I’d chosen to do with my life, but it was as it had been since he bailed me out of the betting trouble.

  Reluctant acceptance.

  There was a time a couple years ago when I thought that changed, back when I’d caught the eye of the pro division only long enough for me to notice them looking. After that, I spent all my energy trying to get a tryout.

  I failed at every turn. Rejection sucked.

  I learned my father kept tabs on me, on my career. He got me an interview and a tryout. He even came to the hangar to see my car, and I showed him how I was preparing it for the tryout.

  That tryout was a big fucking waste of my time. I felt so stupid that sometimes I still tasted the bitter flavor of it on the back of my tongue.

  Here’s the thing about the pro division: they’re a bunch of stuck-up pricks.

  A bunch of snobby, rich old men in suits who’ve never driven a car in their life (that’s what limo drivers were for, you know) called all the shots. And they liked exclusive. It made them feel superior, because without their money and ties, they’d have nothing at all.

  I didn’t pass quality control.

  Yeah, I had a rich father, good breeding, and a healthy bank account. Not even money could buy my way past the fact I’d spent all my time leading up to my tryout on the streets with people who didn’t have the right names and reputations.

  Fucking burned me up inside. Still did when I thought about.

  It didn’t matter I drove like a champ, had a father who would back me if necessary (my first choice was my own sponsor, but my father would have sponsored me in some way), and met all and I mean all of the qualifications necessary to be drafted into the pros.

  All they saw was a street racer.

  Third place wasn’t good enough in my first NRR race. You know why?

  Because it wasn’t a big enough fuck you.

  Sometimes when people refused to notice you, you had to make them notice.

  Oh, and the pro division would notice me. They’d fucking regret the day they told me I wasn’t good enough.

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one who took that rejection personally. My father did, too. Instead of taking it out on the men who made the decision, he looked at me like I’d somehow been lacking something, causing the refusal. />
  In his eyes, if I couldn’t be the best in the pro division and hopefully make it to a NASCAR race, then there was no reason to drive at all. To him, my efforts were a waste.

  It didn’t matter that while doing all this and running my own turf, I held down a job. At one of his companies.

  It paid well, so between my salary, all the races I won, and cars I sold, I didn’t need his money anymore. My trust fund literally sat untouched.

  The day I signed my sponsorship deal with Brickstone, I quit my day job.

  It was my way of giving the old man the finger.

  I’d seen him only once since then. Made me wonder why I got a call this evening, why my presence at his swanky office was practically demanded.

  I didn’t have time for this.

  We were leaving in the morning for Colorado. I should be focusing on the race. Yet here I was, stepping off the wide-paneled elevator with its sleek, polished stainless doors. The floors were made of large marble tiles the color of sand. They stretched out across the wide, rectangular room with a giant mahogany desk sitting in the center, toward the wall.

  On that wall was a large custom-created fountain. The sound it made reminded me of a rushing stream and added to the atmosphere of basically my father’s “reception” area.

  There was a large inlaid L on the front of the reception desk, polished so completely I could see the reflection of my jean-clad legs.

  Hell no, I didn’t dress up.

  I was here. That was all he was getting.

  Bethany, my father’s assistant, was sitting at her post with a Bluetooth device hooked over one ear. When she looked up, I gave her a lazy, charming smile.

  Bethany was probably my age, maybe even younger. Her long, blond hair probably wasn’t real; neither were her huge tits. Her eyes were blue, and her lips had injections. She stood as I approached, revealing her very professional outfit of a red, skintight pencil skirt and a blouse with a bunch of ruffles around the neck and a plunging neckline.

  She was an attractive woman, which was why she worked here. I wouldn’t be surprised at all to find out she was sleeping with my father. Hell, she probably climbed under his desk when he had an hour’s worth of conference calls and sucked him off.

  That’s how she paid for half her beauty.

  Yep, I was an asshole. But it was the truth.

  “Hey, Bethany,” I said.

  “Lorhaven,” she said, breathless. I wondered if she talked like that because she thought it made her sound sexy. Personally, I liked women who didn’t have to try to be sexy.

  Like Josie.

  “I didn’t know you were coming this evening.”

  That’s because you weren’t blowing my dad when he called and told me to come over.

  “Last-minute call,” I explained, and she nodded. “I’ll see myself in.”

  “Well, I should call him.” She worried.

  “He’s expecting me,” I called over my shoulder as I headed toward his office. It was located at the end of the hall behind two mahogany doors. His name was on both doors.

  You know, in case Barbie, I mean Bethany, forgot his name on her way in to bring him his coffee.

  So maybe I was angry. I had every right to be.

  I shoved open the door and let myself in. Sullivan Lorhaven was standing in front of the wall of windows stretching across the entire back wall of the office. He was dressed in a three-piece designer suit and designer shoes.

  His hair was dark like mine, almost black, without a hint of grey. I was thinking he had it colored, but I didn’t care enough to ask.

  “It’s rude to just barge in,” he said without turning.

  “It’s rude to call the son you haven’t spoken to in months and expect him to drop everything and just come over.”

  He turned to finally look at me. His tie was blood red, eyes as dark as mine, and I’d never seen him with anything less than a clean shave. “Were you busy?”

  “You know the season for the NRR started.”

  I might speak to him barely ever, but Sully knew exactly what I was up to. There was no way in hell he didn’t know everything about my career. He was too controlling to not know.

  “Going to Colorado soon, right?”

  See?

  “I’m leaving tomorrow, so if this can wait…” I spread my hands as if to say I had no issue leaving.

  He went over to a bar on the opposite side of the room to pick up a crystal glass; it was hand carved and completely stocked. “Drink?” He lifted the glass decanter filled with dark-colored liquor.

  “I prefer beer,” I said. Honestly, I liked it all. I just liked to get under his skin.

  On another note, I wasn’t going to drink in front of him. That implied I needed a drink to be in the room with him. I didn’t. I was stronger than that.

  He shrugged and poured a few fingertips of the stuff into his glass and carried it over to sit down behind his desk.

  There was a couch near the bar and a couple club chairs. He could have sat there. But then he wouldn’t be able to “intimidate” me with his power.

  I sat in a chair opposite his desk, kicking back in a relaxing manner. The ends of my leather jacket fell open and away from my body.

  All I had on beneath it was a white T-shirt. I’d been wearing a lot of them lately.

  “I read the article on you in this month’s GearShark issue.”

  It was out? How the fuck did I miss that? “Rushed right out to the stands to get it, did you?”

  “Actually, the publisher sent me several copies. They know you’re my son.”

  Was he trying to imply he was the reason I was on the cover? That I got into the NRR?

  He could kiss my ass.

  I made sure my voice sounded good and bored. “That’s right. I forgot. You don’t do mundane things such as buy magazines.”

  He sighed and sat forward. “Actually, when Bethany came in this morning, she was waving it around. I thought the copies I received were advanced. I didn’t realize they were out. But she’d gotten it at the coffee shop around the corner. I sent her back to buy the rest.”

  I didn’t say anything. Just waited for him to get to the point.

  He sighed again. “I do care about you, Jace.”

  “Don’t call me that,” I bit out.

  He frowned. He couldn’t understand why in the past several years, I pretty much chewed off everyone’s head who dared use my first name. He and Mother might have chosen that name, but that didn’t give him the right to use it.

  Not anymore.

  It denoted a certain familiarity to me. A closeness he and I did not have. My father didn’t know me. Not many people did. My first name was reserved.

  Reserved for those I deemed fit enough to use it.

  Right now, that was only two people: Arrow and Josie.

  Arrow barely used it, choosing instead to mostly call me Lor. That left Josie… the girl who maybe didn’t know me that well, but maybe would. I should have called her. Texted. Something. My pride got in the way. My need to never chase after a person.

  Maybe some people were worth chasing.

  “I know we don’t talk much, but I’m always here if you need me.” My father spoke, reminding me I was in his office.

  “What about your other son?” I challenged.

  He sat back, voice becoming tight. “I didn’t call you here to argue.”

  “Why did you call me here?”

  “To tell you I’m proud of you.”

  There were a few seconds of dead silence while I processed what he said. “You’re proud of me,” I echoed.

  “Yes, that article was well done. It’s clear you’ve made a name for yourself and your career is really taking off.”

  “Are you surprised?”

  “No, I always knew you’d succeed in everything you wanted to.”

  I made a scoffing sound. “That’s a load of horse shit.”

  He took a sip of his drink and studied me as I swallowed. “Why?”


  “You really need to ask me that?” I challenged. What was the point of this?

  “Have I not always supported you? Gotten you out of trouble, making sure the details stayed buried so you could continue to do what you do?”

  “Writing some checks isn’t what I call support; it’s making sure your name doesn’t go up in flames.”

  “Protecting one’s image isn’t something to be ashamed of. I would think you know all about that. You have quite an image and reputation of your own.”

  He had me there.

  “I haven’t shunned one of my sons, though, for the sake of my good name,” I retorted with some anger.

  “I have my plane at my airstrip. It’s fueled up and on standby. You just need to call in your flight plan so it can be filed. The pilot has instructions to wait in Colorado until you’re ready to return home.”

  “I already have plane tickets.” I hadn’t expected him to reply to my previous accusation. He couldn’t.

  “Yes, well, this will be more comfortable. No lines, airport headache, and no layovers.”

  “Why would you do this?”

  “I told you. I’m proud of you, son. I want to support you. I want to see you succeed.”

  “I took third place in my first race,” I said. It wasn’t a win. Not to me and, therefore, definitely wouldn’t be to him. He was the only person to which I would essentially slam myself to get the better of.

  “Third place is commendable. You’ll only come up from there.”

  I blinked. I wasn’t expecting that. So I tried again. “Arrow is coming with me to Colorado.”

  “I assumed as much.”

  Was this the Twilight Zone?

  “I’m trying here, Lorhaven.” He spoke. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately. When a man gets as old as me, he starts to do some reflecting, and I’ve come to regret the way our relationship has been.”

  “You? Regret?” I raised my eyebrows.

  “When your mother died, I should have been a better father, more present. I just… Losing Jackie was very hard. I loved your mother very much. You remind me of her, you know.” His face softened, which gave way for his age (his late sixties). A wistful tone I didn’t think I’d ever heard filled his usually crisp voice.

  My stomach knotted, and I swallowed past the lump in my throat. My mother died when I was five. I didn’t have a lot of memories of her because I was so young, but the ones I did have I carried close to my heart. She was a good person, kind, generous, but also strong.