Fuel To The Fire (New Adult Contemporary Romance) (7 page)

“Who is
it?” I holler.

“Doc,
it’s me. Lemme in.”

I turn
to Rachael. “How’d he know I was here?” I hiss at her. Her blank look tells me
everything. She has no idea what he’s doing here either.

“What do
you want?” I holler through the door.

“I need
to be seen by my doctor,” he replies.

“Doctor
Collins is gone for the day,” I reply, knowing full well that he means me and
not literally his doctor. “What’d you do, sprain a toe or something?”

“Just
let me in.”

“Let him
in already!” Rachael says. “Otherwise we’ll never get rid of him.”

I unlock
the door and Marco just about falls in. He must have been practically leaning
up against the door.

“So
what’s so urgent that it couldn’t wait till morning?” I ask as he barges in.

He looks
around the room, spots Rachael, then says to me. “In private please. You
know...doctor patient confidentiality and all...”

“She’s
part of your medical staff too,” I protest.

“Carrie!”

“Fine,”
I reply. “Let me get my stuff.

“You
sure you want to do this?” Rachael asks me when she catches my eye.

“Yeah
I’m sure,” I reply. She shakes her head at me.

Marco
follows me out the door and over to my trailer. We go inside and I direct him
over to my couch. Hopefully he behaves himself this time.

“What’s
so important that it couldn’t wait till tomorrow?” I ask him.

“Aren’t
you going to at least sit down?” he asks me. “I promise I won’t bite.”

“You did
the last time you were in here,” I reply, looking at him with a meaningful
expression.

“I think
I did a little more than just bite, it memory serves me correctly.”

My face
suddenly begins to burn as the memory springs to life in my mind. Yeah, that
was a memorable time.

“So why
are you here Marco?” I ask again.

“After
the day I’ve had...
we’ve
had, I figure we both could use the company.”

“Look,
why don’t you make yourself comfortable while I jump into the shower.”

“Go
right ahead, Doc.”

Without
giving it a second thought, I go to the back of my trailer, strip down, and hop
into the shower. I wash up quickly. I don’t want to give Marco enough time to
start thinking that my trip to the shower was an invitation for him to join me.

Ten
minutes later I emerge, clean, refreshed, and wearing a pair of shorts and a
comfortable tee. I walk back into the living room. He’s got the TV on, tuned
into the Speed channel. They’re doing a broadcast about NHRA drag racing. I
walk into the room, a comment about the TV frozen on my lips as I drink in his
naked body sprawled out on my couch. I hold my breath as I stand there, letting
my eyes sweep over his muscular frame. His muscles are well defined without
being grossly muscular. He obviously spends time at the gym, but he hasn’t made
a career of it. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as my body begins to
respond to the sight of him. I knew bringing him here tonight was a bad idea.

“Finished
looking?” he asks.

His
sudden voice makes me jump. Busted. I had no idea he saw me standing here.
Then, as if he can read my mind he explains.

“It’s
your TV that did you in. I can see your reflection, Doc. Now why don’t you come
over here and make yourself comfortable.”

“You
know, I just took shower so you wouldn’t have to deal with my sweat. What makes
you think I want anything to do with yours?”

“Oh you
do,” he replies with his insufferable confidence. “You’ve been standing there
for...” he pauses and looks at his watch. “You been standing there staring at
me for a half a minute now. I’m pretty sure you’ll put up with my masculine
scent, Doc.”

Shit, he’s
right. I want him, dammit. I slip my shorts down over my hips, but leave my
panties in place. He has to work a little for it. I pull my tee over my head.
Should have worn a bra. I walk over to him and stand directly in front of the
TV. His reaction is nearly instantaneous. I sit on the edge of the couch,
determined to make him make the first move. He does. He shifts a little to the
left and cranes his neck so he can see around me. Damn him! Just as I am
steeling myself to resist his nearly absent charms my hand encounters his
swollen member and I can’t help but caress him.

“Well
you didn’t hold out long,” he says, grinning mischievously.

That’s
it. I let go and smack his thigh, quite a bit harder than I intended to. He
winces, then grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me against his hard body. Our
mouths find each other's and our tongues tangle to the tune of the Speed
channels expose on drag racing. I lose my grip on Marco’s shoulders and he
inadvertently bucks me clean off the couch. I can’t quite get my arms in
position to break my fall before my head meets the tiled floor.

18
months ago…

My head
hits the floor with an audible crack. It’s hard enough to scramble my brains
and make me wonder what the hell I’m doing lying on the floor dressed in an evening
gown. I open my eyes to a blurred face looming over me. I press the palms of my
hands to my eyes and rub vigorously before opening them again. This time the
picture’s clear, crystal clear. An ugly grimace replaces the ever-present smile
on Danny’s face. He’s bleeding from a split lower lip and I have to wonder, did
I give that to him? I start to get up but a polished shoe on my chest forces me
back on the hard tiled floor. I don’t understand, what could I have possibly
done to deserve this kind of treatment. I must have royally fucked up!

Danny
wipes his mouth on the pristine white sleeve of his dress shirt; it leaves a
long bloody trail mixed with saliva.

“I-I’m
s-sorry,” I stutter.

“Sorry?”
he asks. “Sorry for what?”

“For
what I did,” I reply. I’m not even sure at this point what my awful
transgression was, but it must have been significant.

“You
don’t even know,” he says with a sneer.

No, I
don’t. And I don’t understand how such a loving, good man could look at me this
way, and with those eyes. They’re blazing with hate. I have to try to get
through to him or he’s gonna really hurt me this time.

“Look
Danny, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m not myself right now. I should treat you
better, I know. Please forgive me...”

My voice
trails off. I just don’t have any conviction behind what I’m saying and I
wonder if he can pick up on it. My head is pounding. I must have a knot the
size of a grapefruit judging by the pain I’m feeling. He takes his foot off my
chest and this time when I move to roll over on my side he doesn’t prevent me.
Slowly, with great care, I bring my knees up to my chest, then roll sideways to
where I’m on my knees. My elbows and head are still on the cold tile. I open my
eyes, turning my head slightly to the right. I can see my fiancé’s shoes. He
hasn’t moved a muscle to help me stand up. I raise my head from the floor, then
I straighten up. I’m on my knees still, but I’m halfway to a standing position.
I turn my head and look up at him. The rage seems to be gone from his eyes and
now he’s just looking at me absentmindedly, almost curiously, like he’s trying
to figure out what I’m up to. I will myself to ignore my pounding head and grab
the kitchen countertop to help me stand. Once on my feet, I’m still a bit
wobbly, but my head actually feels a little better.

Danny
looks at me a moment longer then says, “Get me a beer will ya?” Then he just
goes over and sits down on the couch and turns on the television and just like
that, it’s like nothing ever happened.

Present
Day…

I sit
up, stunned and more than a little disoriented. Instantly Marco is at my side
apologizing.

“You
okay babe? I’m so sorry. I got a little carried away. Won’t happen again, I
promise.”

“What? I
sure hope it happens again,” I reply. “Well, not the head hitting the floor part,
but everything else, yes.”

He fawns
over me for a few more minutes then helps me back on the couch where we spoon,
basking in the afterglow of our lovemaking. Why can’t Marco be an investment
banker or a doctor or lawyer? Why do I have to fall in with another driver? He
seems different though, and I have to repeatedly remind myself that he is not
Danny. Not even remotely close. But if he is okay why is it so damned hard to
convince myself of that? The pit box! That’s what’s really bothering me. Not the
fact that my head hitting the floor caused another flashback. It’s the fact
that in the heat of losing a race, blowing up his only car, in the blink of an
eye he goes from mister nice guy to mister
beating-the-crap-out-of-his-crew-chief kind of guy
.

When is
that latent anger going to be turned on me?

“Once you’ve raced, you never forget it… and you never get
over it…”   Richard Childress

Carrie

Atop
the Spotter’s stand at the Food City 500, Present Day...

“How’s
Marco running?” I ask.

I’ve
just joined Harvey and the other spotters for today’s race. It’s a little cool
for my taste up here. The ground temperature is 56 degrees, but the thermometer
up here is a good five degrees cooler. When you factor in for the constant
breeze today that must put it somewhere around 50 degrees. I’m sure the drivers
are loving the weather today, and with no rain on the horizon it’s going to
stay this way.

“Not bad
actually.” Harvey responds. “He’s staying just ahead of the pack and out of
trouble. You see him there?”

He hands
me an extra pair of binoculars. It takes a second, but I finally zero in on the
number 7 car right next to number 8. I can’t help but feel the anxiety watching
Marco race. I’m not so much afraid he’s gonna die in a wreck as I am he won’t
finish the race. Every time he doesn’t finish it affects him and his level of
confidence. If he can’t finish a single race before Daytona, how’s he going to
have the confidence he needs to win the big one? Short answer, he won’t, and
that’s the reason for my nails being worn down to the nubbins. If the team
disbands and Marco loses his ride I’m pretty sure no team will touch me. Race
car drivers are extremely superstitious. A nurse that is always on the losing
team won’t be allowed within a hundred yards of any other team.

“Hey,
look at that!” shouts Harvey, pointing at Marco.

I follow
his finger till I see Marco. His bumper is glued to the number 8 car, they’re
tandem racing. It’s given them just the right amount of speed to begin moving
up.

“How far
back is Marco now?”

“Fourteen
and fifteen, on lap nineteen.”

“Long
way to go,” I reply.

The next
several hours are almost unbearable. Marco is racing like his late father. He’s
turning some amazing lap times. Now, with only ten laps to go, number 8 has the
number 4 spot and he’s got the number 5. This will be his best finish in a long
time if he can just hold on. There is one thing I am curious about. I wait till
Harvey is finished talking to Marco before I talk.

“What’s
the deal with those two?” I ask him.

“You
mean him and Ariel Bronwyn, in the number 8 car? I worked out a deal with
Ricky, her spotter. We work together as a team to get each other in position to
possible take the checkered flag. They stay together until there are three laps
to go then all bets are off and it’s every man for himself...or woman.”

“I
didn’t know you could do that.”

“Do
what? Make deals with other drivers and teams? They been doing that since day
one, baby girl.”

“There’s
a lot more strategy going on here than I thought.” I reply.

“There’s
as much strategy to a car race as there is to a game of chess. It all just
happens a helluva lot faster when you’re racing.”

I guess
so. I resume my watch and keep the rest of my questions to myself. Seems like
the more time I spend with Marco, the harder it is to watch him race. It’s like
I’m more vested in the outcome of each race. It’s not just a job anymore. I’m
not sure what it is, but It’s definitely not just a job. As much as I try to
tune Harvey out, I can tell he’s having the time of his life. His driver is
tearing it up and the race is nearly finished.

“How
much longer?” I finally ask.

“Two
laps and we’re in fourth and moving up on the Irwin Fletcher’s number 99 car.
The plan is to stick on his ass all the way until the last turn and blow by
him. I think we saved enough fuel racing with Bronwyn to be able to make our
move.”

Holy
crap, Marco’s doing it! He’s living up to his father’s name once again.

Marco

Inside
the number 7 car…

“Time to
make a move yet?” I holler to Harvey.

“Not yet
tiger, not yet. You just stay on his ass end a little longer.” Harvey replies.

“You
know, Fletch knows exactly what I’m going to do, Harvey. The moment I make my
move, so will he. If he does, he’s going to put me in the grass.”

“I got
your back Pa
nada.”
Harvey
replies, making fun with my last name again
.

“If I
win this, you gotta promise to stop with the
nada
stuff.”

“Marco,
if you win this I’ll call you Sir for the rest of my life.” Harvey replies.

“Done.”

I can’t
believe this is happening! After the shit I’ve been through this season, losing
my father, the crashes, not finishing races, everything, it’s finally all
paying off. Not only am I gonna take third away from that asshole Irwin
Fletcher, but I may just steal second from Kyle Baker. Now that would be
fucking sweet!

One lap
left. Time to make my move. I look to my right. I can just make out Ariel’s
car. Looks like she snuck up on me while I was daydreaming. I give her a
friendly smile and wave, she replies in kind. Now there’s one driver I really
wish the best for. I look to my left. It’s hard as hell to see through the net,
but there ain’t a car in site. I’m still sitting on Fletcher’s ass, got plenty
left in the throttle. Time to make a move.

“Harv,
I’m making my move!”

“Too
early Panata!”

“If I go
now he won’t expect it. I can pass him and lose him on the next turn, I know
it!”

“Wait!”

I tap
the brakes to get off Fletcher’s ass, drop down off the groove, then hit the—

The
sound of crunching metal is unmistakable. So is the awful feeling when you no
longer have four tires on the track, or any. The impact spins me around like a
top. They say that when you’re about to die, your whole life flashes before
your eyes. If that’s true, I didn’t accomplish shit cause not much is flashing
now. I remember watching the Wizard of Oz as kid and I was always fascinated by
the tornado and that scene with Dorothy’s house spinning in circles, rising
higher and higher surrounded by farm animals and debris. I imagine that’s what
this whole scene looks like now, only instead of the house it’s my number 7
car, and instead of cows and chickens it’s car tires and quarter panels. This
is some seriously fucked up crashing I’m doing and it’s gonna hurt like hell
when I land.

Carrie

Back
on the Spotter’s stand…

“What’re
you doing? What the fuck are you doing?” Harvey shouts.

I look
on in shock as Marco makes his move at the exact wrong time. He drops off Irwin
Fletcher’s bumper, then cuts a hard left to the bottom of the track and right
out of the groove.

“Not
there you fucking idiot!!” shouts Harvey. “He’s out of the groove, he fuckin—”

The move
slows him down immediately and it’s enough to make the number 12 car slide
right up his rear underneath Marco’s right rear bumper causing his car to go
airborne.

“Fuck!”

I turn
and sprint to the steps. I arrive at our pit box in record time as Rachael is
pulling out. Fortunately, she sees me in her rearview mirror and skids to a
halt. I climb in out of breath as she hits the gas again.

“Carrie,
what the hell? I just about left you in the box!”

“Sorry,
I was with Harvey. Saw the whole thing go down.”

“And...”

“This
one’s bad Rachael, real bad.”

Marco’s
car flew out of control before striking the wall at the beginning of the last
turn. The question is, did he strike on the side, bottom, or the top of the
car? I’m praying for the bottom. I rubberneck as we pass another car with
significant front end damage. Could be the car that struck Marco when he pulled
in front of him. There’s an ambulance there as well as a fire truck, but
fortunately there no fires to put out. We follow the trail debris to what’s
left of the number 7 car, lying against the wall and from the looks, it hit on
its top.

Almost
before Rachael brings our rescue unit to a full stop I’m out of the vehicle. I
sprint the short distance to what’s left of Marco’s car. I’m trying to remain
objective here, but how could anyone have survived the mess we just pulled up
on? My hands are starting to shake, by breath is coming rapid and shallow. My
fingertips are going numb and the edges of my vision are turning black. What
the hell is happening to me? I have this urgent desire to just sit down, put my
head between my knees and just breathe.

“Carrie,
are you alright?”

Rachael
comes up to me, trauma kit in hand. I walk around to the front of the car
hoping I can squeeze myself between the wall and the hood of the smashed
vehicle.

“Marco,
can you hear me?”

Just
when I think I heard a voice, 41 cars pass by.

“Marco?”

The
silence is deafening. I start pushing, pulling, shoving, and wrenching hot
metal car parts until I find a space big enough for my small frame to fit
through. Finally I have eyes on Team Panata’s only driver.

“Marco,
can you hear me?”

As I ask
that simple question my brain is working overtime taking in the wreckage of the
inside of the car. I don’t see any blood, but I also don’t see any movement
beyond the gentle rise and fall of his chest. At least he’s breathing. I wedge
myself further into the car until I can reach Marco with my outstretched arms.
I tap on his shoulder. At first I get no response. I gently take hold of his
shoulder and shake ever so tenderly.   

“Carrie,
can you see him?” Rachael is yelling from the other side of the wreckage.

“Yeah,
but he’s out cold. He’s breathing on his own but definitely unconscious.”

“Well
come back out. Fire rescue is here and they’re going to pull the car apart for
us.”

It’s a
little harder getting back out, but with some effort I manage it. Reluctantly I
stay back and let the fire people work their magic. It takes close to five minutes,
maybe more before they finally pry apart the car enough so we can effectively
work on him. It’s only after I remove his helmet that he starts waking up.