Fuel To The Fire (New Adult Contemporary Romance) (6 page)

I go
around to the other side, kit in hand and prepare myself for the worst. But
he’s not in the car. Surprised, I straighten up and look around me. Maybe
another crew pulled him out to treat him. That sometimes happens when another
driver is really bad off. I spot another ambulance and start that way when
someone calls my name.

“Lookin’
for me, Doc?”

As
pissed as I am at him, something about his voice just melts me. I shove all my
inappropriate feelings down safely inside and turn on my business attitude.
Walking over to me is a patient who has been in an accident, and I have to
treat him for possible head and spinal injuries.

“You
shouldn’t be walking around here,” I tell him, “You took a pretty hard hit.”

As we’re
talking, my eyes are scanning his body, watching the way he is walking,
monitoring his speech patterns, and basically just looking for any indication
of an injury that is not obvious. My fifteen-second inspection of his car tells
me exactly what I need to be looking for in my patient. The scene of a crash
can tell you a lot about the kinds of injuries your patient may have received.
As you walk up to an accident, you use that information to guide your initial
physical exam. As he walks up to me, Rachael appears out of the haze of oily
black smoke pushing a gurney.

“Climb
aboard,” she commands.

I’m more
than a little surprised when Rachael takes a seat beside Marco in the back of
our rig. Normally that’s my spot and she drives us to the hospital. Obviously
she thinks I’m too involved with Marco to be able to objectively care for him.
It’s an insult actually, and one that will have to be addressed when the day is
over. Now I’m pissed at not only Marco, but my best friend as well. This has
not been a good day!

Marco
checks out okay and by the time we make our way back to our pit box the race
has ended with Andy Fitipaldi taking the checkered flag. Mr. Fitipaldi is the
principal driver for Fitipaldi Racing and is our primary arch enemy. Fitipaldi
Racing fielded two cars in the race today, Andy and his protégé Calvin Johnson,
2009 rookie of the year. Fitipaldi Racing basically stole Calvin right out from
underneath Team Panata. Andy took the checkered flag and Calvin finished fourth.
That gave the team an impressive 83 points for the day and Team Panata a giant
goose egg. More and more it’s looking like Daytona is our only chance for
redemption.

“You
okay?” Rachael asks as we clean and restock our vehicle.

“No I’m
not!” I reply, a little harsher than I mean to.

“Is it
because I took over patient care with Mr. Panata?” She asks.

“You
know it is!” I reply.

I don’t
like fighting with Rachael. She is my closest friend and she got me through the
hardest time in my life after Danny died. She also helped me realize just how
fucked up our relationship actually was. I couldn’t see it at the time, but
looking back now I can’t believe how blind I was. It kinda makes me wonder
about myself now. If I was that blind to the truth last year, how wide are my
eyes open now?

“Look,”
she says. “Maybe I should have checked in with you before taking over, but I
didn’t think we had time for a conversation like this one right in the middle
of a crash. I did the conservative thing and took over patient care. Now tell
me I did the wrong thing Carrie.”

“No...it
was the right move. But I’m still pissed.”

“I know
you are, and I would be too if the situation was reversed. So how are you? Are
you really getting involved with Mr. Panata or is this just some fling?”

“To tell
you the truth...I really don’t know.”

It’s an
honest answer. I really don’t know what I’m doing. All I know is that my body
responds to Marco’s like never before. Instinctively, he knows exactly what my
body wants and mine knows what he wants. There was none of that awkward
exploration that often accompanies a first time romp in the hay. It was like we
have been lovers for years, but with the passion of young love. Weird, I know.
And right now, for better or for worse, I’m not ready to give that up.

“Nobody remembers who finished second but the guy who
finished second…”   Bobby Unser

Carrie

18
months ago…

“What
the hell are you wearing, Carrie?” Danny asks me.

He’s got
this ugly expression on his face. Something’s wrong, but I have no idea what
has him riled up.

“What?”
I ask. I look down at my black mini thinking I must have spilled food on it or
something, but it’s clean.

“Tell me
you’re not going out in that thing!” he replies.

Once
more I look down at myself. Is it too short? Could it be the bare shoulders
thing? That must be it. He always tells me I have bony shoulders.

“Carrie!”
he yells. I better figure out how I’ve transgressed, and I’d better do it
quickly.

I walk
over to the mirror in the hallway, thinking that must be it, but what I see is
an elegant evening dress that is neither too risqué nor conservative. How can
he find fault in this? But to make him happy I go back to my bedroom, pull a
cashmere sweater off the hanger and put it on. Now both my shoulders and my
chest are hidden.

Thinking
I have resolved the issue, I grab my purse and car keys and go over to where
he’s sitting watching the race. I lean down to give him a kiss when it happens.
It’s so fast I don’t even see his hand. My head snaps around as the back of his
hand strikes my left cheek. I’m so shocked that the pain doesn’t even register
for a few seconds, and neither does its source.

I
stumble backwards, hands to my face, mouth open in shock. My vision blurs as my
eyes fill with tears. I don’t know if I’m angry, in pain, afraid, or just in
shock. I’m confused. I don’t understand what I’ve done wrong.

Seeing
the look on my face, the rage that masks his normally handsome features fades
away and the Danny I know and love comes back. Then he’s on his knees, a long
winded eloquent apology spilling off his tongue, but it just doesn’t register.
My fiancé hit me. Danny hit me with the back of his hand. I open and shut my
mouth a couple times and my jaw actually pops at the hinge. Has he just broken
my jaw? I look down at him again but I can’t even see straight. I wipe my eyes
on the sleeve of the expensive cashmere sweater he bought my last week and I
don’t even care that it’s covered in tears and snot. He’s begging my
forgiveness.

“...You
should know better than to bait me like this,” he is saying. “You know I don’t
like other guys staring at you yet you deliberately dress like a slut. What do
you expect me to do? It’s your fault really. When you actually think about
it…it’s your fault I had to slap you. You understand that right?”

The only
thing I understand is nothing. My cheek stings and my heart aches and my whole
face burns in shame. How could I have brought this on myself? He loves me. A
person who loves you doesn’t do that to you. Unless...unless I really did
something to hurt him. I look down at him as the anger begins to fade. He is
crying openly, not something that happens often.

“I-I’m
sorry...” I begin as I kneel down in front of him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,
Danny. I should have known better than to wear this stupid dress...”

He looks
up at me, his eyes shining. “You understand right?” he asks. “You understand
why I had to do that don’t you?”

I nod.
“I swear, I won’t do that again. I promise.”

I’m
practically begging his forgiveness. He takes my hands in both of his and
stands, raising me up at the same time.

“All is
forgiven,” he looks at the clock. “Look, you still have time to change and go.”

He
kisses my forehead tenderly. I look up at him. Yeah...I could probably change
and still meet Rachael in time for the movie but I just don’t feel like going
out now. He places his hand underneath my chin and gently lifts until my lips
are pointing upwards. Our lips meet and we share a kiss—slowly, tenderly at
first before it picks up momentum and passion.

Suddenly
his hands are everywhere. First my sweater comes off as he tears it from my
body. He grabs the hem of my mini and with surprising strength pulls it up and
over my head. As it drops to the floor he begins kissing my neck and the tops
of my shoulders. Goose bumps break out and a thrill of pleasure springs from
his lips and tongue and travels up and down my spine giving me the chills.

He
pauses for a second, allowing me to unbuckle his belt and when I can’t get his
pants undone fast enough he pushes my hands away and does it himself. He shoves
me up against the wall and rips my thin lacy black bra from my breasts. For
some reason, by the end, I’m pleading with him to forgive me for provoking him
to hit me. How fucked up is that?

The
Bank of America 500, Present day…

We have
high hopes for today’s race. Two days ago, Marco turned in his fastest
qualifying time ever. This is the best start Marco has had since his rookie
season when he won the pole on his second ever NASCAR race. During the final
pre-race team meeting today they were doing everything but toasting champagne
over his victory that many think is already in the bag. Marco is back in the
new and improved number 7 car and they seemed to have found the sweet spot with
the new engine and they’ve been turning in lap times a full three seconds
faster than the previous three months.

I’ve got
all kinds of thoughts running around in my head as I climb the stairs up to the
spotter’s stand. Harvey invited me to watch the race with him again and I
accepted the invitation. It’s a hot one though. According to the official
thermometer it’s 93 in the sun and I have a feeling it’s going to get a good
ten degrees hotter by the time the race is over. The nice thing about hanging
out in the spotters stand I don’t have to wear a safety helmet like the pit
crew and I can loosen up the collar of my Nomex suit and let it breathe a
little.

I scan
the cars lined up all nice and neat waiting for the national anthem and those
four famous words: “Gentlemen, start your engines.” I count four rows before I
come across the number 7 car. Marco is lined up on the inside of the gold and
green number 111 car. I have no idea who it belongs to, but I do know that
Marco would have had to beat him in order to get the inside spot on their
number 5 row. I’m just about to ask Harvey who the other guy is when the
National Anthem begins. I face the flag and mouth the words as my heart begins
to hammer in my chest. Finally I’m starting to feel the pre-race excitement that
the whole crew has been talking about all week. Harvey looks over at me.

“Are you
ready for this?” he asks with a huge smile on his face.

And just
like that the entire arena is filled with the thunderous roar. I can feel the
throaty engines rumbling in my chest and it just makes my heart pound even
harder. I watch with renewed excitement as the cars begin going around the
track following the pace car. I look over at Harvey as the pace car pulls off
the track and the race begins in earnest. I wonder if he has lost that feeling
of excitement that brought him to the track the first time. Looking at him now,
I’d guess his first race was a little over forty-three, forty-four years ago. I
bet that when he was a little boy he probably dreamed of racing as well. I
wonder if he ever raced. Because of the vast knowledge you have to have as a
spotter it only makes sense that he would be a former wheelman. I’m just about
to ask him when he lets loose a long string of four letter words before ripping
his headset off and throwing it as far as he can throw off over behind the
spotter stand. Seeing my bewildered expression he stops mid rant.

“He blew
up the engine,” he said before making his way to the stairs.

Feeling
completely crushed, I follow him down and back to our pit box. Going from a
state of extreme excitement to crushing defeat in an instant is more than a
little difficult to handle. At least when your car completes the race it’s a
softer let down when you lose, you see it coming. To blow up your engine on the
first lap is completely unexpected and utterly depressing. So many high hopes
and so much work just went up in smoke! I totally get why Harvey reacted the
way he did.

I reach
our pit box just before Marco comes jogging up. He’s sweaty, out of breath, and
has an ugly look on his face. He pauses for a second like he’s looking for
someone.  I’m just about to say,
I’m right here
, when he makes a beeline for the corner of the pit
box where crew chief Alanzo is standing. Just before Marco reaches the two men
he lowers his head and shoulders and charges Alanzo. He hits the man squarely
in the chest and they go flying head over heels. At first the pit crew just
stands there in favor of letting the two men work out their differences, but
when it looks like Marco intends to do far more than just
work it out
, they all intervene and pull the
two angry men apart.

“What
the fuck was that?” yells Alanzo. He is bleeding from a split lip and it looks
like his eye has begun to swell.

“Thanks
to you we’ve lost the only engine we have!” Marco rages.

Now
here’s a side I have never seen. He is normally calm, collected, and doesn’t
let the little stuff get to him. I guess he considers this the
big stuff
. Other than ruffled hair it
appears that Marco was doing all the hitting and that’s why the crew
intervened. Smart move. Just because fists are no longer flying doesn’t mean
the situation has been diffused. For the next 45 minutes or so fingers are
pointed, accusations fly as crew members attempt to make sense of what just
happened and what they’re going to do about it.

The team
has just a matter of weeks to field a car for the FEDEX 400 at Dover
International Speedway. As to whether that is possible or not depends on which
crew member you ask. Since me and Rachael’s day is over we head back to her
trailer to pop a few cold ones and stay out of the heat.

“So how
are you?” Rachael asks as she passes me another Corona.

“Fine,”
I reply.

“Fine,
really?”

“What do
you mean?” I ask. I’m not sure what she’s getting at.

“It’s
just that you seem to be doing the same thing with Marco that you did with
Danny.”

So this
is what the brews are all about. She wants to know about me and Marco. She’s
concerned I’ll get hurt like before.

“This is
different, Rachael. No one is slapping me around or screaming and yelling. He
respects me and I respect him, so please don’t compare Marco with Danny.”

“It just
looks like—”

“So he’s
got a little temper on him...who doesn’t? He’s passionate about racing and
doesn’t like it when someone from the pit crew ends his race almost before it
even gets started. I’d be pissed too."

“I’m
just looking out for you, Carrie. I don’t want to have to put you back together
again after some asshole rips you apart like Danny did.”

“Not
going to happen, Rachael. Now let’s just forget about Marco and relax. The next
two weeks are bound to be a little crazy. And to tell you the truth, I could
use a little break from Marco and all the drama so let—”

A sudden
banging on my trailer door puts an abrupt halt to our conversation. Now what?
As I walk over to the door I can feel my shoulders begin to tense up and my
heart quickens.