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“And it wasn’t me then. I wasn’t in those pictures. There’s not even any proof it was actually my room. I promise you, I’m not running around having threesomes or more-somes and sullying the name of the family sport or of our very family-oriented sponsors. Christ, why don’t you put a freaking tracker on me just so you can prove I’m not doing this crap? You know how boring my life is.”
”Swear to me.”
I rolled my eyes since I already had, but I didn’t hesitate. “I swear I’m not out streaking, not sleeping around, not doing drugs, not speeding recklessly down city streets drunk off my ass, not being rude to fans, not feuding with other drivers, not doing any other shit. YouknowI’ve never lied to you.” All of those things had supposedly happened between the championship ceremonies last November and now. Apparently, I’d had a busy couple months.
“Shit,” he muttered.
Exactly.
Way back when I started racing karts when I was only five years old, who could have guessed I’d be dealing with this stuff just twenty-ish years later? I hadn’t ever envisioned it when I’d started driving on circuit-sanctioned tracks at fourteen. If I’d known the coals I’d be raked over, I might not have wanted to go pro at sixteen. As it was, my parents had made me wait until I’d graduated high school and was eighteen.
Their approval had been grudging, and if they’d had their way, I never would have started racing for Uncle Darius, who I only called Darius now, so as not to remind the world that we were related.
But back then, if I’d wanted a run at going pro, if I’d wanted the favor he’d promised, he had been my shot. Myonlyshot. Despite my dad managing me until I’d moved up to the professional circuits, he didn’t run a pro team. I’d had no choice but to go with someone who could put me in a high-level car, with the sponsors that could foot the hundred grand or more bill, per race, that it took to run the vehicle and its team.
I heard Darius huff. “I’ll get someone to look into this—someone outside our organization. I know a few media people. But you… Keep your nose clean. You have until you fly out on this weekend to get any shit in order.”
And he bitched at me about my language? I shook my head until his words fully sank in.
“What?” I snapped.
“I know you have…thingsto deal with back there. I know you’ve been avoiding it. I’m fully aware you haven’t been back since you left, so there must be something. So you have until then to take care of your baggage. Friday afternoon and most of Saturday, you’ll be at the fundraiser at the elementary school. One of the haulers has been dispatched up there with the demo car, so people can take pictures and shit. Sometime on that second day you’re also doing a special signing. Then there’s a ticketed dance is scheduled for Saturday evening. Sunday night, you’ll have your ass on a plane and get down to Daytona, because we need you here.”
Which I knew. I was supposed to be doing test runs and inspections and getting ready for qualifying and practices.
“I could leave Saturday after the signing.”
“No. I have Teddy running the car until you get here,” he continued, setting my teeth on edge. “He and Garrit communicate well.”
I bit back my retort. Teddy was our backup driver, who usually ran in the lower circuit. He’d been after my seat for a while. I was sure he’d be thrilled to drive in my place while I was gone. And Garrit was my brand new crew chief, who used to work with Teddy’s team before getting promoted. We hadn’t exactly meshed since he’d gotten the position.
“Something you’re trying to tell me?” I gritted out, my fingers tightening on the steering wheel of my rented clown car.
“Yeah,” he grunted. “Don’t fuck up.”
Four
Bristol
“Bristol.”
I jumped at the voice, startled as I left the library at five-thirty that night and exited into the unseasonably warm February evening. My mind had been in a muddle all day, my thoughts consumed by Axel, despite my efforts to push him away from my mind. Would I see him? Would we avoid each other? What would it be like if we came face-to-face?
And here he was…
As if to answer all my questions, as if I’d conjured him, yeah…he was really right here. Butterflies took off in my belly, which was a strange counterpoint to the twisting of my heart. The blood raced through me so fast, I felt faint. Breathing in, I closed my eyes and let my hand rest heavily on the knob I’d been locking. Darn it! How freaking close was he? I could smell him, his heady mix of spice and musk that always drew me into him.
“You’re not going to say hi?” he asked, his rumbly tone rolling over me. My shiver in reaction to him infuriated me. “You’re not even look at me?”
Was that hurt in his voice? How dare he? How…fucking…dare…he!
I finished locking up then turned slowly, keeping my outrage in check—barely—though there was no way he wouldn’t know anger blazed through me. For a long time after he’d left, I’d been hurt, brokenhearted, but then it had morphed into simmering anger. Until now, I’d thought I’d moved on to indifference and healed. I’d been wrong apparently.
“Axel,” I said coolly. God! Why did he have to look so damn good? I’d seen him plenty in media—around here, it was unavoidable. Still, standing before me now in jeans, a black T-shirt, bike boots and a leather jacket that was totally inappropriate for Michigan weather in February, he looked like a sexy bad boy personified. His shaggy, near black hair was slightly mussed, styled yet not, and his deep brown eyes… There was no missing the way they devoured me.
Another shiver prickled down my spine and through my limbs, igniting long-silent arousal. I steeled my resolve and fought not to squirm under his heady stare. My chin angled, jutting up, while my eyes narrowed.
My body might still react to him, but my heart and mind knew better. My heart gave a hard thump of protest as I shut down my system’s stupid excitement. Okay,my headknew better, anyway. My heart was apparently a masochist.
