by Kaylee Ryan
“I’ll take care of it. I really appreciate you helping me.”
He nods and walks back into the garage. I wait, not sure what he’s doing, but when the garage door closes, I realize I’ve been dismissed. Looking down at Camber, who is still attached to my side, I give her another rub behind the ears. “How do you put up with him?” She doesn’t reply, not that I expected her to. I say goodbye to Camber, before climbing in my car and driving home on my spare. Looks like I’ll be spending my day off in the tire shop.
Walking into work Friday morning, I’m still off-kilter. As soon as I got home on Wednesday night, I started searching the internet for him… Blaine. My search was fruitful as I discovered his name is Blaine Bishop of Bishop Racing Enterprises. I also learned that they call him Checkmate. Apparently, he’s a force to be reckoned with on the track. He’s won back-to-back championships, and if he wins this year—and by what my research tells me, he’s on the right path—he will be the youngest Dirt Late Model driver to not only win three championships, but win them consecutively.
He’s kind of a big deal.
I guess that explains his attitude on Wednesday night. I get it. I was a strange girl in his shop or headquarters… whatever in the hell I’m supposed to call it. However, that doesn’t give him a free pass to be a dick. Mr. Checkmate seems to have a chip on his shoulder. Maybe he was just nervous about the race? I think about it and then quickly dismiss the idea. It wasn’t nerves that had him acting that way. It was just him. Blaine “Checkmate” Bishop in his full glory. I guess it could have been worse. I could have had to work on him instead of Rick. At least he was grateful.
I can’t seem to figure him out. What’s worse than that, is that I want to. I’ve done nothing but think about him and his contradictory mood swings. There has to be some good in him somewhere; he did help me with my tire. Then again, he probably just wanted me off of his property, and the fastest way to do that was to help me. I can’t seem to figure him out. He’s nice, and then he’s a jerk. He’s contradicting himself at every turn. The tire was irreparable, per the man at the tire shop. I have a feeling he just wanted to sell me a new tire, but what do I know? He knew that I had no clue, and I’m sure he took advantage of the situation. It’s not like I have anyone to call or go with me who would know about these things. I probably could have asked Isaac, my best friend Maria’s husband, to help me out, but I hate asking him. I feel like I lean on them, especially Maria, more than I should. They’re really all that I have.
“How did it go?” Jackie asks from the doorway of my office.
“It was fine. He was pretty stiff. He’ll need another session.” There is no point in telling her about Blaine. Besides what would I say… his sexy boss was an asshole. Then he was nice and fixed my tire, then went back to being an asshole? I confuse myself just thinking about it. I can only imagine how it would sound if I spoke the words aloud.
“Yeah, it must have been bad for them to call in a favor from a sponsor.”
“Definitely,” I say, glancing at my laptop screen to see my patient schedule for the day.
“I’ll let you get to it. I just wanted to stop in and see how it went and to thank you again.”
I stop and look up. “Sorry.” I realize I was being rude. “Just getting ready for the day. You’re welcome.” With a nod, she leaves my office, and I go set up my treatment rooms for the day. There is a receptionist who checks the clients in, but I take care of bringing them back and cleaning my own rooms. It’s not a huge deal as a clinical hour is fifty minutes and a clinical half hour is twenty minutes. I have plenty of time to clean one room, while my next patient is getting ready in the room next door. I’ve done this so many times over the last few years, I have it down to a science. I feel like I could prepare the rooms, and maybe even massage, in my sleep.
The day moves on at a steady pace. I have a full schedule, but I like it that way. It keeps me busy. Sitting in my office, I’m watching my computer screen, waiting to see if my last patient for the day has arrived. A quick glance at the clock, I see that they are already four minutes past their appointment time. The screen turns to “no show” status just as the phone on my desk rings.
“Hey, Aubree, this is Angie in reception. Your four o’clock just called to cancel. I explained the no show policy and marked them as a no show,” she explains.
“Thanks, Angie. Did they mention why they were not coming?”
She laughs. “Yeah, something about a race tonight that he forgot about.”
“Thank you.” Hanging up the phone, I lean back in my chair. How is it that I’ve worked here for over four years now and this is the first I’ve heard of this racing epidemic? Shaking out of my thoughts, I finish up my charting for the day and am actually out the door at five, which is a rare occurrence for me.
Once I’m in my car and on the way home, I call Maria to see what she and Isaac are getting into tonight.
“What’s wrong?” she asks in greeting.
“Um, nothing. Why?”
“Because you’re supposed to be at work.”
My best friend is a worrier. I met Maria at the coffee shop just around the corner from where I attended massage therapy school. We were standing in a long line waiting for our caffeine fix and started chatting. She invited me to sit with her and we hit it off. I was new to town, didn’t know a soul, too busy working retail at the mall and going to school to make new friends. It was just me. Now I have Maria and, by extension, her husband, Isaac. They’re my family.
“I’m fine.” I chuckle. “My last patient canceled. Something about a race.”
“Oh, I wonder if it’s the same race we’re going to?”
“You go to the races? How did I not know this about you?”
“I’ve been to a few dirt track races here and there. Isaac gets pit passes through his work. They’re a big sponsor for this weekend’s event.”
“Weekend? How many races are there?”
“One big race, but there’s qualifying and things like that.”
“Huh. I guess this racing thing is a big deal.” I want to tell her about my Wednesday night adventure, but with privacy rules and all that, I keep it to myself.
“It really is. You’ve never been, I assume?”
“Nope.”
“You want to come with us? Isaac has four tickets. He’s bringing his brother, Chris, but we have an extra.”
“Thank you, but no. I have some laundry to catch up on.” What I don’t tell her is that I’ve had my fill of racing for the week.
“Come on, Aubs. It’s been forever since we’ve hung out.”
“I was just at your place last weekend.”
“I mean, when we’re not at my house or yours,” she amends.
“Thank you. Maybe next time.” I don’t know why but the thought of running into Blaine has me on edge. I’m not positive that he’ll be there. I’m assuming since it’s dirt late model racing, he will be. It’s not like I can’t handle myself around him, that is if I don’t let myself get lost in how good-looking he is.
“I’m going to hold you to that,” she warns.
“I promise. Next time. It’s been a long week. I’m ready to just go home and chill.”
“All right. I’ll call you later. We’ll be at the track all weekend. It’s a three-day event. If you change your mind, you can drive up and meet us. It’s only, like an hour away from here.”
“Thank you, really, but I’m good. Promise.”
“Fine,” she grumbles. “Next time I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“Deal.” I end the call as I pull into my apartment complex. It’s nothing special, just a small one-bedroom, about seven hundred square feet total. It’s plenty for me. However, I do wish I could have a dog. Unfortunately, this complex is no pets allowed, and really, I work so much it wouldn’t be fair to keep a dog cooped up and alone all day. My mind immediately goes to Camber. It’s hard to believe blistery Blaine is her owner.
Walking into m
y quiet apartment, I almost regret not taking Maria up on her offer. Almost. I know that I need to get out more. I know that I work too much and that Maria and her husband are all that I have. The day I turned eighteen, I couldn’t get out of town fast enough. I left that small town in northern Tennessee and never looked back. Shaking out of my thoughts, I kick off my shoes and head for the shower. I always feel like I have oil all over me at the end of the day.
Refreshed from my shower, I find myself standing in the kitchen, staring into the fridge. It’s hard to cook for one and really not much fun. I settle on a box of instant macaroni and cheese. This is my life. It may not be exciting and full of fun and laughter, but it’s safe. I’ve created a home for myself when I had nothing. My little one-bedroom apartment isn’t grand, but it’s safe and warm and all mine. I’ve worked hard to get where I am. Working two jobs to make ends meet, putting myself through school. I’m proud of that. I’m content in my life, and I have everything I need.
Stepping out of the living quarters of our hauler, I look around. All is quiet right now. Yesterday when we got here, it was a flurry of activity getting ready for last night’s qualifying race. It was only an hour’s drive for us to get here, so the crew and I were well rested and raring to go. It’s nice when we race close to home; it’s less time we actually have to spend away. Closing the door to the hauler, I call for Camber, and we walk down to take a look at the track. Volunteer Speedway is 4/10 of a mile of red dirt and clay. It’s known as the world’s fastest dirt track. I don’t disagree. I’ve had some good racing here and hope that this weekend is no different. I’m aiming to win a points championship after all.
Crouching down, I dig my hand into the red dirt and let it fall through my fingers. We set a fast time last night, which puts us with a mark on our back this weekend. We’re the team to beat. I was three seconds off from breaking the record and setting fast time for this track. I guess you can’t win them all. This is a special holiday weekend race, three nights. Normally, they don’t drag it out like this unless it’s a big money race, and often times they still condense it into two days. This, however, is not only a sanctioned race for the Outlaws, but a benefit for a fellow racer. Camber nudges me with her nose, and I laugh. “What do you think, girl? We going to bring home the win?” She licks my hand where the dirt used to be. “Come on, let’s go help unload the car.”
“I see how it is,” Rick calls out as I approach the back of the hauler. “You sneak away while all the work is getting done.”
“You caught me,” I say, stopping to stand next to him. “Looks like you guys got it all worked out.”
“Yeah,” he says, twisting and turning.
“How’s the back?”
“Good. Aubree is a damn miracle worker. I’m sore, but the pain is gone.”
I can see it on his face that he’s in much better shape than he was this time two days ago. Looks like she’s more than just a pretty face and a rocking body. “Good.” I clap him on the shoulder and step inside the hauler to find Kevin.
“There he is.” He beams. “Blaine ‘Checkmate’ Bishop, Mr. Fast Time for this weekend’s festivities,” he says in his best announcer voice.
“How in the hell did I get branded with that nickname anyway?” I ask, already knowing the answer. My first year that I decided to run with the Outlaws instead of just hopping from track to track on my own, I came up the ranks quick. I was racking up points fast. I was the new guy, a young punk, and somewhere along the way, I was branded with the nickname Checkmate. All the drivers have nicknames, and the announcers love to draw them out during driver introductions.
Kevin holds his fist out for me. “They can’t escape you, brother.”
I bump my fist with his, trying to contain my smile. When it comes to nicknames, it could be worse. I am a force to be reckoned with out on the track. “They can’t escape me because I’m always out front.”
“Modest as always.” He grins.
“Hey, I’m just being real. I have the championship trophies to prove it.” He nods, unable to argue the fact. “What’s left to do?”
“Nothing, man. Setup is on point, tires are good. Fluids are being topped off. You were fast, so we’re not changing anything. Now it’s up to you to not tear anything up during the heat races.”
“Like I said,” I point to my chest, “out front. Kinda hard to tear anything up when they can’t catch you.”
“This is true,” he says with a laugh.
“We’re all set,” Jacob, another member of the crew, tells us as he joins us in the hauler. “Just topped off the fluids.”
“Now we wait,” Kevin sighs. “This is the worst part. I mean, I’m glad the car is good and we’re not racing with the clock to get it where it needs to be, but all this downtime sucks ass.”
“Go call your wife,” I tell him. His entire demeanor changes at the mention of Ashley.
“Yeah, she’s at work, but a quick hello is exactly what I need.” He steps out of the hauler, I’m sure headed to the motor home, which we refer to as a “toter” home since it serves dual purposes, to call her. It’s the same midnight black as our hauler, they’re a matching set, and it’s where we all stay when we’re on the road. Well, except for my parents. They claim to be too old to sleep on a pull-out couch, so they get a hotel room. I try to tell them it’s a waste of money and that they should be using that money to travel. They counter with “we are traveling.” I’ve always had their support 110 percent. I wouldn’t be where I am today without them.
“I’m starving,” Rick says, bringing me out of my thoughts.
I reach into my pocket and pull out some money. “I’ll stay here with the car, you go grab us some burgers or something. Whatever it is, get a lot of it.” He snatches the money out of my hand and practically runs toward the infield concession stand.
Hopping up on the counter, I rest my head back against the cabinets. It’s quiet without my parents here to tag along. Mom not fussing over us, feeding us. We have food we could have made, but I know Kevin is in there talking to Ash, and even though I’m not married, or hell even attached, I can hedge a bet that if that were me talking to my wife, I wouldn’t want all of the guys hanging around. No, in fact, I would want her here with me, and that is precisely why I’m not married. Well, part of it. The other part is that I don’t really have time for the distraction. I’m bound and determined to win the championship this year and make history. I’m so close. I’m not going to let anything get in the way of that.
Finally, it’s go time. Untying my racing suit at my waist, I then slip my arms into the sleeves and zip it up. With practiced ease, I slide into the car through the hole where the window should be. Kevin hands me my helmet and helps me connect my HANS device. Wearing it is second nature to me. One thing my parents insisted on growing up was safety was number one. I started racing go-karts when I was five. Dad likes to tell the story that in my first race I was fearless and never lifted while Mom claims I took ten years off her life that day. I don’t remember my first race. I do remember working out in the garage with my dad on our kart, and he and Mom driving me to local tracks on the weekends.
I skipped my junior and senior prom because I was in the middle of the season and leading the points. Priorities and all that. Besides, why dress up to go out on some fancy date when I have girls ready and available for me at the track? Mom hated it, Dad gave me the speech about being safe. I was selective but not innocent. That’s my routine, and it works for me.
“Don’t tear anything up!” Kevin yells, tapping the roof of the car with a grin and walking away.
Locking the steering wheel in place, I grip it and wait to be called out into the track. I’m fast time, but they chose an invert for the heat races, which means that I’ll be starting at the back of the pack. That’s fine by me. It doesn’t mean as much if I don’t earn it. The top three winners from each of the six heat races will advance to the feature race tomorrow night. That’s the big money race. Tonight, is ju
st proving you’re good enough to make the show.
Kevin waves, giving me the signal to go, and I follow the pack of twenty out onto the track. Ten laps. I have ten laps to make it back to the front. No problem. When the green flag drops, so does my foot. I press the accelerator to the floor and never lift. Weaving in and out of lapped traffic, throwing the car into the corners, it’s a rush like nothing else I’ve ever known. I live for this. The thrill, the excitement, the adrenaline that courses through my veins. Merging in and out of traffic, passing car after car as I make my way to the front. When the checkered flag drops, I’m leading the pack across the finish line.
My crew greets me in the pits as I drive my car back to the hauler. “You fucking killed it!” Jacob cheers as I hand him my helmet and climb out of the car.
“All in a day’s work.” Kevin laughs. “Check-fucking-mate.” He holds his fist out for me and I bump his knuckles with mine. “How’s the car? Any changes?”
“Perfect.”
“You heard the man,” Kevin tells Jacob and Rick. “Let’s get her cleaned up, top off the fluids, and loaded for the night.”
Inside the hauler, I grab two bottles of water and down them, before jumping in to help my crew. I’m more than just a driver. This car being right is a top priority, and I keep myself involved as much as possible. I’ll be driving this thing at upwards of 120 miles per hour. I want to know every bolt has been tightened, and every hose is anchored down. I seek the thrill, but I’m not crazy. Safety comes first.
“Checkmate?” a sultry voice asks. Turning, I see a blonde, big tits, short shorts, and her T-shirt, the one with my car and number on it, is tied, showing off her flat belly. “Can I have your autograph?”
I give her a panty-dropping smile that I perfected years ago and grab a towel, wiping off my hands. “Sure.” I hold my hand out for whatever it is she wants me to sign. She bats her long ridiculously fake eyelashes at me. Who wears fake eyelashes to a race track?