Beyond The Checkered Flag (6 page)

But he was in his car. The engine revving.  Crushed seashells
spewing out from the back tires as he spun around and down the drive out of
sight.

He was gone.

And this time she was the one left behind with a heart broken
beyond repair.

Jeremy Altmeyer was an arrogant asshole. A pompous prick
who’d hijacked a ride on Lauren’s rising star. Who the hell did he think he
was? Coming into Bobby Wayne’s house, pissing all over Bobby Wayne’s hopes and dreams?
Lauren was his, dammit!
His
.

But she wasn’t. Not really.

And certainly not after the way he’d stupidly walked away from
her.

It appeared Jeremy Altmeyer wasn’t the
only
pompous
prick.

Bobby Wayne paced the confines of his motor coach. Stabbed
his fingers into his hair. He had no claim on Lauren, not after their divorce.
If she wanted to have a relationship with the asshole prick, there was no ring,
no vows to stop her. And it wasn’t like Bobby Wayne had holed up, hopelessly
pining away for her after their divorce.

She’d passed on all the offers from the roadies and groupies,
and she was a beautiful, sexy superstar; there would have been a lot of men.
But Jeremy “the asshole” Altmeyer was the one she’d chosen.

Well, that just bit. Hard.

Her sleeping with every man who’d come onto her in every town
she stopped in would have been easier to take. Bobby Wayne could understand
that. After all, it was what he’d done.

“Shit.” That bit, too. Right in his conscience.

He had no right to judge her. And certainly no damn right to
have walked away from her without letting her explain. Even more, he had no
right to even
think
she owed him any explanation. She didn’t.

He’d blown it. He’d taken what they’d had and just drove it into
the wall. “Shit. You’re a fuckin’ asshole,” he muttered for only about the
hundredth time.

There was a knock on the motor coach’s door.

“What?” he growled.

Steve LeClaire, Bobby Wayne’s crew chief pushed his way inside.
Looked at Bobby Wayne and frowned. “Why aren’t you in the garage?”

“I’ve got some things on my mind.”

“There shouldn’t be
anything
on your mind, but gettin’
back in the car and winnin’.” And while Steve lectured him, Bobby Wayne’s mind
wandered right back to the problem at hand.

Sadistic had begrudgingly okayed him to drive yesterday. It
had been more like,
your tests say you’re okay, but in my opinion, you’re an
idiot. And if you don’t care if you live or die, why should I?

Bobby Wayne’s greatest fear was gone. He could race again.

And when he should be submerging himself into the sport,
burying himself in everything going on around the garage, immersing himself
with the media and his sponsors, he was sitting in his coach. Thinking about
Lauren and the mess he’d made of things. He hadn’t even called Toby, his
substitute driver, to inform him he wouldn’t be driving in next week’s race.

Maybe he really was the dumb jock who could only make
left-hand turns like Asshole Altmeyer thought he was. But Bobby Wayne knew
better.

His mind, which had lived and breathed racing since he’d been
six-years old, was no longer in it.

And his heart, well it was with a headstrong, vulnerable,
misguided woman who hadn’t had the best of teachers where love was concerned. Bottom
line: she meant more to him than racing for the cup. More than racing for the
unprecedented title of winningest driver ever.

She meant
everything
.

“It’s her again, isn’t it?”

Bobby Wayne didn’t pretend to not know what Steve was talking
about. Or who.

“She’s fuckin’ with your mind again.”

“Lauren isn’t fucking with my mind.” Bobby Wayne was. No
matter how he replayed the events of three days ago, he’d been the fucker.

“Oh, hell, yeah, she is. We have a championship to win,”
Steve told him, pointing a finger at Bobby Wayne’s chest to drive home his
point. “We have two legends to surpass. We have a mountain to sit on top of,
man. An undisputed title to hold high.”

Bobby Wayne looked at his crew chief. He heard all the words.
Hell, he’d said them himself time and time again to his crew.

Funny how that goal didn’t seem to matter much anymore.

* * *

Harrington House was the home Lauren had craved all her life.
It was more than what she’d dreamed of as a lonely child, she thought, as she
slowly walked through the many rooms which made up the mansion. Each one
lovingly renovated to their former glory, beautifully decorated with period
pieces. The generations of Harrington’s who’d lived in this home – the family
she’d unofficially adopted as her own – would be proud of her dedication. It
had graced the cover of a lot of magazines, was envied by celebrities and
politicians, but to Lauren it was really nothing but a big, old, empty house.
She dropped her suitcase by the front door and looked around.

It was four walls. And a roof. And it hadn’t taken a room-by-room
walk-thru to know what was missing. All she had to do was look to the broken
heart still somehow beating in her chest. It was the same thing that had been
missing from every home she’d ever lived in.

Love.

The promise that no matter what tomorrow brought, it was
faced together. Too late she realized she could have been happy in any of the
run-down homes her parents had dragged her through if she’d been living there
with Bobby. It wouldn’t have mattered if it had wheels and had just rolled onto
the lot, or if it was steeped in history like his house. With Bobby Wayne at
her side, she would have been happy.

It was their love that had made this house a home. It was the
same with every generation of Harrington’s who had lived here. Would have been
the same for her and Bobby Wayne, too.

She needed to find him.

She needed to explain Jeremy. And herself. And she needed to
ask – beg if necessary – for another chance. One she wouldn’t walk away from.
Or destroy. One she’d cherish for the rest of her life.

And she needed to do it before he did something crazy.

Like get behind the wheel and get himself killed.

* * *

 The race track was bustling with activity. Air wrenches
screeched from the open garage doors. Drivers and their crews were bent over
their race cars like ants on a disturbed ant hill. Black cable snaked along the
pavement and walkways from studio trucks and news vans to the reporters and the
crew who were doing sound checks. Fans lucky enough to get garage passes were
flocking to the bays of their favorite drivers.

Lauren adjusted her own track pass around her neck. She’d
begged, Tanya, ex-wife number two, for the honor and had only received it after
enduring a half-hour-long interrogation about her intentions.

It appeared at Forsythe Racing, loyalty and love and devotion
weren’t as easily tossed aside as marriage vows. Either that, or Bobby Wayne
paid his employees well.

Walking beyond the garage area, she wound her way around to
the back of the track and into the area set aside for one-on-one interviews.
There she found Bobby Wayne dressed in his fire suit, sponsor patches dotting
his chest and his arms, being interviewed by one of the sport’s former greats
now turned announcer.

Keeping out of the way of the camera crew, she edged closer
to where nine huge screens were bundled together to broadcast Bobby Wayne’s
face over all of them at the same time.

“You’ve had quite a year,” the announcer/reporter said,
glancing down at the note cards he was holding out of camera range. “A season
for the record books. Until Talladega.” The screens flipped to pre-recorded
footage of Bobby Wayne’s Chevrolet at the infamous racetrack in Alabama. Of a
car that slid into another and another until the track was a churning sea of
wreckage and Bobby Wayne’s car was airborne, end over end, fenders and sheet
metal ripping away as he flew into the wall at a speed that was only slightly
faster than the beat of her thundering heart.

“You were airlifted from that wreckage,” the reporter went on
as footage of the accident and rescue played on behind him. “Life-flighted,” he
added. “Revived twice in the air.”

Lauren gasped as pain exploded in her heart and distress
rocked her soul. Tears filled her eyes as she listened to the reporter list
Bobby Wayne’s injuries like it was a checklist. He could have been killed! And
she hadn’t known.

Her gasp was heard across the set. Bobby Wayne’s brows drew
together as he looked over the reporter’s shoulder. His eyes connected with
hers and none of the love she’d hoped to see was there shining in those bright
blue depths.

And she held her breath and stared back with all the longing
and love she felt for him shining in hers.

A frowning producer carrying a clipboard headed toward her.

Not waiting to be physically removed from the set, Lauren did
what she and generations of Foster’s did best.

She ran.

A hastened short end to his interview and an eternity later Bobby
Wayne found Lauren not far from the media room. Arms wrapped around her bent
knees, she was balanced on her haunches, her back pressed into the wall. Her
face buried. “Lauren?” He bent down beside her.

She lifted her head. Her beautiful gold eyes were swimming in
tears that trailed down her cheeks. Her face was pale. Like she’d been
delivered a shock. He supposed the sensationalized footage the network had
chosen was shocking since that was their forte. “I never knew,” she whispered,
as her head slowly shook from side to side. “You were life-flighted,” the words
fell from her trembling lips. “You almost died.”

“There was a reason for that.”

“For what?” She pressed her back against the wall. “For
dying? God! I hate this sport.”

He touched her cheek. Pushed a curly lock of hair back from
it. “For
living
, sugar. There was a reason for me to live.”

Her dark brows drew down.

“You.
You
were the reason. You and me.” He wrapped his
arms around her and dragged them both to their feet. Although he was cleared to
drive, his leg still bothered him. “Together,” he added. “Finding out what’s
beyond the checkered flag.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I retired.”

“
What?
”

“I retired. That’s what the interview was for. Not me making
my triumphant return behind the wheel, but me officially retiring from the
sport.”

“But, Bobby Wayne, you love racing.”

“Not as much as I love you.”

“But— But— I don’t understand. Why?” she whispered.

He lifted one shoulder. “My heart no longer belongs to
NASCAR. It belongs to a beautiful woman who sings like an angel and sets me on
fire with just a look. And I love her and want to spend the rest of my life
with her.

“And I’m sorry. You had every right to have a life – a
relationship. I was wrong to have said the things I said. To have acted like I
did. My only defense is that I love you, Lauren. And I was insanely jealous.”

“Oh, Bobby Wayne,” she whispered as her eyes went soft as
velvet. Her hand gently touched his hair and his cheek and shoulder. Like she
was checking him to make sure he was okay.

“You obviously cared about that man. And enough,” he quickly
went on when she opened her mouth. “Enough to have built a relationship with
him. And I was jealous,” he told her. “Because I wanted that with you.”

“You have that.” Her hand slid across his chest, the palm resting
right over his racing heart. She breathed deep, her perfect tea-cup breasts
pushing out. And then she looked up at him and all the love he could ever want
was illuminated in her eyes. “I never loved Jeremy,” she softly told him. “Not
like I loved you. And I knew when I came back home and you kissed me, I knew
with one kiss that I could never continue to see him. That he and I were
through. Because it has always been you, Bobby Wayne. Always you. And it will
always be you.”

“So,” he pulled her close. Wrapped his arms low around her
back until they were touching from lips to knees and all the good places in
between, their breaths mingling and their hearts beating against each other. “I
guess I found out what’s beyond the checkered flag.”

One year later…

The infamous picture of one of racing’s best kissing one of
country music’s finest was framed and hanging on the wall in the living room of
the new home Bobby Wayne and Lauren Forsythe now owned on the Virginia/North
Carolina border. Size wise, their new home was a far cry from the grandeur of
Harrington House, but in Bobby Wayne’s opinion perfect since he could now have
his wife on the kitchen counter whenever he got the urge. At least until she
escaped his advances and he had to chase her to one of the five bedrooms.

She was good at running. But he was better at catching.

And the chase in between was more exciting than racing for
the cup.

“Bobby Wayne?” The front door opened and closed. His love was
home. “When did you get back from Bristol?”

“A while ago,” he called out. He still owned Forsythe Racing,
although Donna, ex-wife number one ran the day-to-day operations. The daughter
of one of NASCAR’s great drivers, and a respected driver herself, she was well
qualified. And their arrangement gave him more time here at home with Lauren.

His angel in question walked into the kitchen looking
beautifully windblown and smelling of fresh air.

“Top down on the ride home?” He’d finally convinced her to
buy American. Well, actually, he’d gifted her with a Chevy Camaro ZL1 as a
wedding present. And the 6.2 liter supercharged stock engine packing 580 horses
was rarely stabled.

She eyed him up leaning barefoot against his favorite
counter. “What are you doin’?” she warily asked.

They were still working on Lauren’s trust issues. He wanted
to work on a couple other things, too. But they had the rest of their lives
together.  “Waitin’ for you, sugar,” he casually replied, waggling his eyebrows.
“It has been three days, ya’ know.” The maximum time allowed without them
seeing each other.

“Oh, no.” She put up a hand, palm out. Like that would stop
him.

“Sugar, it’s been three days,” he reminded her.

“I don’t know what your obsession is with that counter top,
but I’m not falling for it.”

He grinned. “
You’re
my obsession,” he told her as his
grin grew bigger.

Her eyes dipped down to his groin where his dick was happily
growing bigger, too.

“I’m not having sex with you on that counter.”

“Okay,” he easily replied, pushing away from it. He walked
toward her. “How about on the table then?” he asked, caging her between his
body and the table.

She rolled her eyes. “How about you look at these announcements
for the house? I need to pick one.”

They’d gifted Harrington House to the Harrington Historical
Society and since announcing her own retirement from country music, Lauren now
ran the Friends of Harrington Foundation. She oversaw the house, the grounds,
and the staff who gave the tours. Next month she was kicking off their official
grand opening with a Bliss benefit concert.

He picked up the glossy cards. Gave them a cursory glance
before tossing them down on the table, opting instead to nibble on her neck.
“You smell good enough to eat, sugar.”

“Bobby Wayne.” She wiggled against him, playing right into
his hands.

“There you go, sugar. Now you’re gettin’ into it.” Still
kissing her neck, he nimbly unbuttoned her shirt. Pushed it down off her
shoulders, leaving it to hang from the waistband of her skirt – a very short
one showing off some pretty kick-ass legs in some fantasy hooker boots.

“Bobby Wayne.” She pushed against his shoulders. Putting
space between them, she slipped her world-class ass onto the table. Sitting in
front of him, her legs were spread wide enough for him to stand between them.

“You know, I can see up your skirt.”

One dark brow arched. “Good that I put on underwear then this
morning.” She gathered up the announcements. “Now will you please look at
these?” She handed the cards to him. Nibbled on her bottom lip.

Lauren’s heart beat hard against her breast bone as she
nervously waited for Bobby Wayne to look through the small stack of cards she’d
given him. The second to the last one was the most important one.

He gave them a cursory glance. “Whatever you decide, sugar.”

“No really,” She pushed his hand closer to his chest. “Look.
And tell me what you think.”

Slowly he looked at each card… until he got to the second to the
last card. The one that wasn’t an announcement card for the Harrington House
benefit concert, but a copy of a sonogram taken at her OB-GYN’s office this
morning.

His blond brows furrowed over his beautiful blue eyes.
“What’s this?”

“Something we haven’t talked about,” she quietly told him as
she chewed on the corner of her thumb nail.

“Are you tellin’ me you’re pregnant?” he quietly asked.

Slowly she nodded her head up and down.

“Is this ours?” he asked, holding the picture out to her.

“No, I picked it out from between the Camaro’s bucket seats.
Of course, it’s ours,” she replied, wishing nerves didn’t make her so snarky
and sarcastic. “If that’s okay with you,” she cautiously added.

“Jee-suz, Lauren. Of course, it’s okay.”

She didn’t know how he’d react. She wasn’t sure yet how she
was reacting.

“A baby. We’re having a baby!” Bobby Wayne whooped, right
before he picked her up and spun her around, letting out a rebel yell that
Olivia Harrington would have been proud of.

“Should I have done that?” he worriedly asked, as he
cautiously sat her back down on the table.

“I’m fine,” she told him, allowing her fingers to slide into
his silky blond hair. She’d never forget the look of awe on his handsome face.

“We’re having a baby,” he softly and slowly said. Like he was
having a hard time wrapping his mind around that fact, just like she was.

“Damn!” A huge smile spread across his face. “I can’t wait to
buy him a car.”

“No.”

“Better yet, we’ll build our own car.”

“No, no.”

“I can take him to the garage and we can build him his own
race car.”

“
No
.”

“The guys will love it. We’ll start out small. We’ll make him
a jacked-up go cart.”

“No!”

“And then we can work our way up to midgets.”

“No.”

“Or a sprint car. It’s gonna be fun.”

“No, no,
no
! Oh my god. Will you listen to yourself?
What if
he
is a
she
? Did you ever think of that?”

“That’s okay. She can race.”

“Oh my god. Ohmygod!”

“Will you quit sayin’ that?”

They stared at each other, both remembering another time not
that long ago when Lauren had been saying that exact same thing. Another time
when she’d thought she could leave Bobby Wayne behind her, when she thought her
future didn’t include him.

He toyed with a lock of her hair, pushing it from her cheek.
“It’s amazing what we find when we look beyond the checkered flag.”

“Yeah,” she softly replied.  “We found love.”

Bliss.