Full Throttle Page 6

  Once a month they’d meet friends for wings and beer, and twice a month they’d swing by the local Italian place for takeout and grab a movie rental from the Blockbuster next door. She’d cajole him into watching a chick flick, and he’d convince her to let him watch the last five minutes of ESPN Sports Center. She’d be an engineer for a car manufacturer, and he’d be a—

  A…what?

  A mechanic? A salesman? A forensic scientist?

  Kane was a race car driver. Period.

  “WE HAVEN’T DONE THIS in a long time, huh?” he said against her ear.

  Her hips brushed his. “No.”

  Kane breathed in the coconut scent emanating from Lexie’s skin. There were so many moments he cherished from their relationship—the races they’d seen together, the races they’d won together, even the races they’d lost together. But tonight none of that resonated with him.

  He remembered the cards and notes of encouragement she gave him weekly, sometimes daily, in high school. He remembered the sighs of pleasure they’d shared. He remembered conversations and laughter. He appreciated her smile and her determination. He valued her brains and her body.

  At the moment, it was her body calling to him.

  The chemistry they shared—both on and off the track—was something he’d never had with anyone else. They understood each other. They connected.

  The heat they created when they touched was amazing, comforting and frustrating at the same time. He’d never had that with anyone else. Still, he’d thrown it away. Lexie was right. He’d left them long before she’d stormed away from him that night in Richmond.

  Maybe their relationship hadn’t worked out before simply because they were young. Could this time be different? Were they crazy or brave enough to try?

  As much as he’d matured and changed, he also knew there were pockets of anger and doubt inside him that he wasn’t sure he’d ever resolve with himself, much less anyone else. He still had a lot to work on. He had to find a way to capture his fierceness for racing on weekends, and still be a normal person the rest of the week.

  The career he’d chosen and fought for had greatly affected the most important relationships in his life—his father and Lexie. His racing had brought distance between him and the man whose respect and admiration he wanted above all others. His racing had brought him closer to the woman whose heart he’d once coveted, but it had ultimately driven her away.

  Did he think he’d succeed today, where he’d failed before? They would both be risking a lot to find out.

  At least they’d settled the past. He’d let go of his resentment for her leaving him and finally understood how much she deserved a man who could give her his whole heart.

  Her hand curled around the back of his neck. He closed his eyes to concentrate on her touch, to absorb her softness, her cool breath brushing his throat.

  Their chemistry was undeniable, but was she right, would one night together just make everything worse? Or would it open a whole new world for both of them?

  “I have to go,” she said quietly.

  He clamped down on his urge to hold her to him. “I know.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  KANE FLIPPED the master switch, and his engine roared to life. The resounding echo from the crowd nearly drowned out the 700-plus horsepower rumble of the cars. His heart kicked him hard against his ribs. This race meant everything. His make-or-break moment.

  After the week he’d had, he couldn’t wait to get this race started. He was eager to prove himself. He was ready to focus on something he was good at, something he could control.

  He had no doubt the night would be long and hard, trying his patience and the professionalism he was supposed to maintain. The heat and fumes were overwhelming. Turning the wheel so often, for all those laps, was exhausting.

  At least he wouldn’t have time to think about Lexie.

  Naturally, that was the moment she chose to stick her head inside the race car. “Watch your fenders,” she yelled.

  In moments they’d communicate only by radio—but a transmission anyone at the track with a scanner and headset or any fan at home who cared to log on to the webcast could hear.

  He simply nodded and didn’t dare look at her. She was his car chief, not the elegant, soft woman he’d held in his arms a few nights ago. She was all business, and he had to be, too.

  “Watch out for the rookies and the crazies. I heard Lomax and Devitt nearly came to blows earlier. Don’t get caught up in that. Be patient, then make your moves near the end.”

  He nodded. His foot hovered over the gas pedal, and his gloved hands gripped the steering wheel.

  “We need a win, Kane.”

  A military fly-over dominated the air. The crowd roared again, drowning his response of “I know.”

  “Be careful,” she said, leaning closer and laying her hand over his.

  Before he could turn to look at her, to see if he imagined the personal tone, the slight catch in her voice, she was gone.

  Harry stood in her place. “Ready, sport?”

  “Very.”

  “Keep your mind on the race.”

  And not my daughter was the unspoken warning. “I will.”

  “Clean stops all night. Clean and smooth. No mistakes.”

  “You got it.”

  Harry fastened the window net, then the car in front of him began to roll. Harry patted the hood, then stepped back. Kane followed the pace car and his three competitors as they exited pit road. They’d qualified fourth, and since starting up front, not getting lapped by the leader and staying out of trouble was advantageous, his position was ideal. He’d still encounter his share of bumping and banging, but he’d hopefully avoid too much craziness and desperation—which always seemed the hallmark of the middle-to-end pack of cars.

  It was nearly impossible to keep the fenders pristine, but it was a matter of pride and survival that he stay as clean as possible.

  As the field rolled around the track, he swerved back and forth, warming his tires. The day had been pretty hot, but the sun setting had cooled the track somewhat, and he hoped the change would translate to more grip for his tires. He mentally pictured the shifts he needed to make, and the way his car would look rolling smoothly around the track.

  When the pace car turned off, the familiar rush of adrenaline would surge through his body. He couldn’t imagine ever tiring of that sensation, that sense of anticipation.

  The promise of victory and glory hung in the air for all of them. Every fan’s driver held promise. The stories that would unfold had yet to reveal themselves. The tempers, heartaches, equipment failures and wrecks were only a vague mist in the future.

  For now they were all champions. Each driver was equally certain he’d stand triumphant in Victory Lane. Each fan was sure he or she would be the one bragging to buddies later. Each crew chief, jack man and spotter was ready to be an integral part of both the struggle and celebration.

  He and his team had worked hard over the last three days. He’d spent much of that time playing the video game version of Bristol, talking with the crew, performing the required schmoozing of VIPs, hanging out with the other drivers, and generally doing anything he could to put Lexie and the sparks between them out of his mind. He hadn’t spoken to or looked at her in anything less than a professional way. She had treated him the same way.

  And still he’d found himself losing focus at odd times. Not a good sign, considering his occupation. At the drivers’ meeting earlier, he’d only half listened to the NASCAR competition director’s warnings about penalties for aggressive driving. He’d stared into space and wondered how long he could keep up the pretense that everything was business as usual between him and Lexie.

  “Got me, K?” his spotter asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “A walk in the park, kid,” Harry put in.

  Kane smiled in spite of the nervous energy fluttering in his stomach. Time to put aside the personal stuff. Long past time. He had a job
to do.

  “I’ve got a feeling about this one,” Lexie said.

  Kane’s heart jumped. So much for his focus.

  Fasten your seat belts, guys. It’s going to be a bumpy night.

  Still, he liked hearing her voice in his ears, calm and reassuring when everything around him was about to go haywire. He didn’t want to rely on her, but he knew he could.

  “Go, go, go,” his spotter shouted in his ear as the green flag dropped.

  The field roared across the start/finish line and were into the first turn in seconds. The focus Kane had sought kicked in. As the cars scattered low and wide, all dreams of winning evaporated. Survival was the key. There wasn’t time to concentrate on much else.

  But if he could be consistent and get lucky…who knew?

  He fell into a rhythm of acceleration, braking and turning, and was grateful nobody did anything crazy. Being Bristol, that lasted almost fourteen laps.

  “Wreck in Turn Four,” his spotter said. “Slow for the caution and stay low.”

  As he rolled by the accident, the safety crews were already out, clearing the debris and escorting the drivers to the waiting ambulances. The mandatory ride to the infield care center, however, wasn’t going to be smooth, as both drivers were shouting at each other and punching their helmets into the air as if they’d like to do the same to each other.

  Barely five minutes had passed in the race.

  “Those two are going to be in trouble,” Harry commented in his ear.

  “I’m glad I don’t have to face NASCAR,” Kane said. NASCAR officials were serious about professional behavior on the track.

  “Not yet, anyway,” Lexie said dryly.

  “My nose is clean,” Kane said in mock defense.

  He could practically see Lexie grin. “After only fourteen laps? Imagine that.”

  It felt good to banter with her again. Actually, it felt good to do anything with her other than endure forced smiles, awkward pauses and careful moments of avoidance. Maybe they could have a relationship by radio. But then there were physical parts of him that didn’t see the advantage in that deal at all.

  Since cautions always bred more cautions, it was a wild night. Kane stayed in the top ten for a long time. At least until lap 162, when Danny Lockwood tried to pass him, misjudged the distance and clipped his front fender. They both spun and recovered, but lost valuable track position.

  During the caution, Kane fumed. His balance between patience and aggression tipped precariously. He’d never gotten along with Danny, probably because the guy was a reckless egomaniac whose uncompromising driving had already taken him out of one race that year. A few years ago, he and Lockwood had nearly come to blows after a race.

  All year, Danny and Lexie had been cold to each other. Kane had always assumed this was because Danny knew she was the best car chief out there, and his ego wanted her. But maybe there was more to it….

  Lexie was pretty easygoing with the other drivers, crew chiefs and car chiefs. A lot of them treated her like a sister, and their respect was always present—either because of her father’s experience or her own.

  What was Lexie’s problem with Danny? What was really going on?

  Stay focused, pal. Race and deal with the rest later.

  The anger and passion he continually fought against wouldn’t be quiet, though. “That was Lockwood, right?”

  “He’s the only one in neon green I see,” Harry said.

  Lexie said nothing.

  Which said volumes in his opinion.

  His blood already pumping hard, the idea that Danny and Lexie shared some…conflict that he wasn’t aware of made him want to punch the idiotic punk. He itched to talk to Lexie, to find out the real story.

  Was he letting his imagination and frustration control him? Like Victor Sono the other night, was he actually jealous of Danny? Wasn’t this what Harry feared, that a relationship between him and Lexie would make him lose focus?

  LEXIE’S HEART POUNDED. The ground rumbled beneath her feet, absorbing the impact of the powerful engines as the cars rounded the track. She scanned the seemingly endless crowd above and around her, pleased when she spotted the pockets of yellow and red T-shirts and caps that signified Kane’s fans. The rows and rows of stands seemed to extend so high above her, she was sure they reached heaven.

  Maybe God will have mercy on us.

  Thankfully, Kane said nothing more on the radio about Lockwood. The guy was a jerk, and she didn’t want her driver’s focus to waver. Dealing with him—and recalling the stories her father had told her concerning The Fight That Almost Happened—wasn’t healthy for Kane’s concentration and championship attempts.

  She needed him to be a hell-on-fire driver and a patient-guy-who-understood-the-big-picture. Given all the shouting she’d done this season about him regaining his spark, that was going to be a real challenge.

  Pacing beside the pit box, she tried to pretend she cared only about their finish as it related to the team standing. That was her job—get this operation into The Chase, then claw, implore, sail or luck their way into the championship. Nothing else could intrude. Nothing else mattered. Millions of dollars were on the line. Reputations and jobs hung in the balance.

  They had a good chance tonight. They’d had good practices. They’d checked every screw and bolt. They’d gone over every procedure. The crew had marked each tire for easy identification and changing during the race.

  “Trouble, Turn Two,” their spotter, Bill, said on lap 232, his voice somehow calm and urgent at the same time. “Go high, Kane. Go high.”

  Lexie leaped onto the box in time to see Mike Streetson slide by, his car spinning. Though car and driver avoided the outside wall, the front end was smashed by another car. As Streetson limped to pit road, Lexie’s gaze centered on her father.

  “Two tires?” she said.

  “No.” Her father emphatically shook his head. “We’ll need ’em all.”

  “But track position—”

  “We’d still need another caution to make it work.”

  “Look how many we’ve had already!” Lexie said, leaning close to push her point. “We’ll have another.”

  “It’s a big gamble.”

  “It’s not.” She smiled. “I’ve got a feeling.”

  Her father rolled his eyes. “If I had a nickel…”

  Into her mike, as Kane entered pit road, she said, “Let’s go with two, guys. Two tires.”

  “Two?” Kane asked, doubt evident in his voice.

  “Two,” she said firmly.

  He rolled in front of her seconds later, and she beat back the uncertainties that made her question her decision. The dance between logic and chance would always consume her job, but she felt confident with this one. She wasn’t sure why. But when a gut feeling swelled so strong and sure, she was going with it.

  She truly felt this was what made her both a good and unique car chief and engineer. She didn’t just look at the facts and figures, she gave in to the emotion of the moment. A woman’s instinct. She smiled inwardly at the ribbing the guys would give her if she ever voiced this theory.

  As Kane rolled smoothly into the pit box, the crew jumped into their choreographed ballet of servicing the car. Lexie had seen her own team, plus many, many others, on tape and slow-motion replay. Old-school crews—without the benefit of helmets and fireproof uniforms—and present crews—with all the available technology modern, big-time NASCAR racing money could buy—still had the same job. Get their driver out first.

  And their crew did.

  As Kane roared away in front of the leaders, high-fives and big smiles dominated the number fifty-three pit. Even her father, who was a card-carrying member of the Manly Stoic Club, managed a smile.

  But within seconds, they were all shuffling their feet, sliding cautious glances her way then staring at the track.

  Lexie didn’t need a psychic to know what they were thinking: Will the tires hold up? Did we just blow our chance at a top-ten f
inish with this gamble? We were running great. Did this chick screw us up?

  Maybe that last thought was a touch of paranoia. Her crew respected her, female or not. But in the closing laps at Bristol anybody had a right to panic.

  She fell back on the old standard—pacing. She listened to the spotter’s directions to Kane and tried to swallow the anxiety threatening to crawl up her throat. So much of racing was trial and error, instinct and experience.

  Then there were the crap shoots. She’d taken one. She’d suffer the consequences or reap the rewards with the grace and class that was expected from the Mercer name.

  But, damn, she wanted to win.

  As she paced, as her stomach tightened and her anxiety ballooned, the crowd roared and pit road grew more tense.

  No other caution materialized, but Kane hung on.

  Determination, strategy or engineering made it happen. Or maybe it was all three, as her driver rolled across the finish line first.

  Their team erupted with hugs, high-fives and, in her case, a few hastily wiped away tears.

  They needed this not only for the points, but the psychological boost. They all had to believe they could make The Chase. If not, it wouldn’t happen. The team had to believe again.

  And tonight, as they rushed to Victory Lane in anticipation of meeting their car and driver, they did believe.

  Teams graciously congratulated them as they made their way to the spotlight. This was the part of NASCAR that Lexie appreciated more than any other. They were all fierce competitors, but at the end of the race, they equally understood how significant any win was.

  In Victory Lane, Lexie embraced the jubilant crew. They screamed and let the cheers of hundreds of thousands of fans rain down on them from above. There wasn’t anything like a NASCAR NEXTEL Cup win—the exhilaration and the relief, the sense that you earned the respect of your competitors for at least that day, the wonder that you might keep the job you loved so much a bit longer.