Fuel To The Fire (New Adult Contemporary Romance) (8 page)

Later
that day…

I’m back
in my trailer trying to take my mind off the events of the day. I can’t help
the feeling that keeps haunting me. Every few minutes my mind transports me
back to that split second when Marco’s car was launched through the air. I
remember the helpless feeling as I watched him hurtle towards the concrete
wall. I keep thinking “what if”. What if he gets his head smashed in by that
concrete barrier? What if he dies? What if he lives? Can I really be involved
with another wheelman? Can I walk away from Marco or is it too late?

I don’t
know what scares me more. The prospect of him dying in that crash, or the
prospect of him surviving that crash?  After we transported him to the track’s
trauma center there was nothing for me to do so I just came back here to relax
and before I know it, I’m fast asleep. Then there’s those first thirty seconds
after I wake up and everything is just fine, then it all comes flooding back to
me like a damn that just broke open. I can see the wall and Marco’s crushed car
leaning up against it. I remember the race and those awful feelings of
helplessness watching Marco hurtling towards his death. And it’s not just the
one time that the damn breaks and the raging torrent of emotions overtake me.
Oh no, that scene just keeps replaying itself in my head every few minutes and
I don’t know how long I can keep my sanity under the current conditions.
Dammit! Why the fuck did I have to go and do this again? I swore that I wasn’t
going to fall for another driver, yet here I am. Then it dawns on me. I need to
talk to another driver’s wife. There are plenty of these guys that are married.
Somehow their wives have figured out how to reconcile being married to a race
car driver. If I don’t figure it out I’m going to be a basket case. If it
weren’t for Danny, I would be handling this a lot better, now that I think
about it. Danny ruined racing for me on so many levels...

My phone
ringing interrupts my dark train of thoughts. It’s either Rachael or the
hospital. I fish my phone from my purse. It’s the hospital.

“Hello?”

“Hi, my
name is Carole. I’m the charge nurse here on 2 west.”

“How is
he?”

“Fine.
He’s asking for you, so if you’d like to come and see him feel free to do so.”

“Be
there in ten. Thanks Carole.”

I hang
up before she can reply. I grab my purse, a light jacket and run out the door.
Five minutes later I’m knocking on his door.

“Come on
in Carrie.”

I open
the door and step in. He looks okay. Sure he’s got a few scratches but to me he
looks amazing given the shape of his car. Then I see his helmet sitting there
in a chair. He sees me looking at it.

“Yeah,
they gave me a little souvenir. First time I ever cracked up my helmet. Guess I
got my bell rung pretty hard didn’t I?”

I’m
speechless as I walk over to his bedside. He’s got an IV in his right arm and
he’s hooked up to a heart monitor for good measure looks like.

“Yeah,
they’re gonna be monitoring me for a couple days just to make sure it was just
my helmet that got cracked up and not my brain.”

I sit on
the edge of his bed and take his hand in both of mine. His grip is strong.
Seeing my somber expression, he tries to reassure me.

“Hey
Doc, it’s all good. This stuff, it’s just a precaution. They’re not really
worried about me. This is more of a CYA thing if you know what I mean.”

“Cover
your ass...yeah I get it, but judging by the condition of your helmet, I think
the only one here whose not worried is you, and you should be concerned. If you
got a concussion, which I am sure you do, the track doctor is not going to give
you clearance to race until he’s satisfied that you’re 100% recovered.”

“Yeah I
know the drill Doc, and I’m telling ya, I’m fine and Dr. Schumacher will agree
as well so don’t fret. So tell me, how’d Ariel do?”

“So are
you going to tell me why you made your move when Harvey specifically told you
to back off and wait?” I ask, ignoring his question.

“I saw
the opening and I took it. Not my fault somebody decided to run me over.”

“Really...is
that what you think happened out there?”

“It
ain’t what I
think
Carrie, it’s what happened.”

“Oh man,
hitting the wall really did scramble something in there,” I say as I tap him on
his head.

“Did you
come here just to argue with me, or see how I’m doing?”

“Both,”
I reply with a straight face. “So, how are you Marco?”

“Like I
said, I’m fine. I just—”

Another
knock on the door interrupts our little reunion.

“Come
in,” hollers Marco.

The door
opens and in walks Alanzo, Team Panata’s crew chief and the team’s primary
sponsor, Enzo from Red Bull. This can’t be good.

Alanzo
and Enzo pull up a chair near Marco’s bed. Alanzo addresses me first.

“Uh,
Carrie, it’d be better if you just stepped out for a few minutes. We need to
discuss some important team business.”

“Sure,”
I grab my purse and make for the door when Marco stops me.

“She can
stay,” he says. “Anything you guys wanna say to me she can hear too. So spit it
out. You pulling out, Enzo?”

“No...Said
I would stick it out for the season, and I will, provided you can drive. What’s
this I hear about a concussion and you getting benched?” Enzo asks.

“What
the fuck? I ain’t getting benched. You get me a car and I’ll be cleared to
drive it.”

“You
realize you have to win at Daytona if you want to keep your ride right?” Enzo
asks.

“Of
course I know that! Why the hell you think I’m so stressed?”

“Stressed?
Why would you be stressed, Marco? I thought you said you’re fine.”

“That’s
not what I meant, Enzo. I’m just concerned that you won’t have a car ready for
me to drive.”

“Well,”
says Alanzo, jumping into the argument. “Given your predilection for wrecking
my cars, it has been a challenge. We’ll have a car for you Sunday, but that
means you’re gonna have to borrow a ride for practice and qualifying.”

“What
the hell? I have to qualify in a different car than the one I’m gonna be racing
in?” Both Alanzo and Enzo nod their heads. “Forget it then!” Marco objects.

“No no
no,” I jump into the middle of the conversation. “You have to race, Marco! You
can’t let everybody down. It’s not just you who depends on your driving and
winning races you know. You’re supporting forty other people...families really,
and they’ll all be out of a job if you lose your ride so this isn’t just about
you! Marco, get your head screwed back on straight and get your ass ready to
race!”

“She
speaks the truth,” Alanzo replies. He gives me a grateful smile then turns back
to Marco. “You’ll be driving Ariel’s back-up car and you’ll qualify with hers
as well. Come race day we’ll have a car all put together and ready to race. You
just get your ass outta here, ya hear?”

“I read
ya loud and clear Alanzo, loud and fucking clear.”

Without
further words both men nod their heads in my direction and leave the room,
closing the door behind them.

“Is that
much of a problem, driving a different car in the race from the one you
qualified in?” I ask him.

“Depends...if
the weather changes significantly between qualification day and race day,
driving an unfamiliar car can be dangerous, really fuckin’ dangerous. Look, I’m
really worn out. You mind letting me get some sleep here?”

“Oh
yeah, of course. I’ll just let myself out. You’ll be discharged tomorrow
right?” He nods his head. “Great, then give me a call and I’ll come and get
you.”

“Great,
you get some rest yourself, Doc. You look tired too.”

I give
him a peck on the cheek and walk out. Tired as I am I really don’t think I’m
going to be doing much sleeping.

"‘Whoops’ is a word that should never be said by some
professions - Pilots, Racing car drivers, and hair colorists come immediately
to mind but Dentists also have to be up in the top five…”  Richard Stubbs

Carrie

That
Monday...

When I
haven’t heard from Marco by four I really begin to get concerned, but I try not
to let my anxiety overtake me. I’m sure the doctor checking him out and giving
him his release was just tied up with other patients and just hasn’t gotten to
him yet.

“You
should call him, you know.” Rachael suggests.

We’re
finishing a late lunch Monday afternoon and she catches me checking my phone
for messages for the umpteenth time.

“You
think I should?” I ask.

“You’re
driving yourself nuts, Carrie. Yes you should call.”

“This is
getting like before isn’t it?” I ask, referring to my life with Danny and the
times he was in the hospital and I was waiting for word from him or his
doctors. I would get all stir crazy and drive everyone around me crazy.

“No...you’re
definitely different this time,” she lies.

I decide
not to call her on the little white lie and call Marco instead. I grab my phone
and just before I can hit speed dial it rings. It’s a blocked number. I almost
don’t answer it, but it could be a doctor from the hospital or maybe his phone
died and he borrowed one...

“Answer
it already!” Rachael shouts.

I hit
the green button. “Hello?”

“Hi, is
this Carrie Zane?”

“This is
she. Is something wrong with Marco?” my heart is in my mouth and thumping so
hard I’m having a hard time talking.

“Marco
has asked us to call you to come in.”

“What’s
wrong? It’ll take me 45 minutes to get there. Don’t make me all crazy with
worry while I’m driving. What the hell is wrong with him? I saw him just
yesterday.”

“It’s
just something minor, Ms. Zane. Something we missed on his CAT scan so we’re
repeating the exam now. That’s why he couldn’t call you himself.”

“You’re
not making this any easier,” I reply. “What is wrong? Is he bleeding in the
brain or something? Did you find a tumor, is that it?” I feel like my whole
world is falling apart now. My eyes are blurry and I’m starting to shake.

“I’m so
sorry Ms. Zane. It’s nothing dramatic like that, just an anomaly that needs to
be explained before we can give him his medical release to race again. That’s
it, I promise.”

“What
the hell? Then why all the drama?” I don’t know whether to be relieved or
enraged. They let me think he was like dying or something by the way they were
talking.

“Just
come in and support him and we’ll tell you everything we know. I fully expect
him to be racing again very soon so try and relax and drive yourself here
safely.”

I hang
my phone up without answering. I turn to Rachael to explain what the call was
about, but she stops me.

“Come
on,” she says, “I’ll drive.

At
the hospital…

Marco is
still in the exam room repeating the CAT scan when we arrive, so we’re directed
to a waiting room and told he’ll join us in about thirty minutes.

“Would
you like me to stay with you?” Rachael asks, “Or would you rather be alone?”

“I might
be here quite a while Rach—”

“I’ll
stay,” she says resolutely, and I’m grateful for it.

Then
after a few minutes. “You know Carrie...I don’t remember you getting this
worked up over Danny even when he was in that serious crash on Christmas day.
This time is different.”

I look at
her for a moment, then down at my feet. She’s right. I only really got bent
when Danny died. Otherwise I was able to kinda stay detached when he was racing
and even when he crashed, which wasn’t often. I think I know why too. It took
me 8 long months to be able to say this, even to myself, but Danny was an
abuser. He abused my for the entire time we were together except for that first
two or three months when we first got together. That’s why I could remain a
little detached, because there was that behavior that I knew was wrong and I
shouldn’t be putting up with. I just couldn’t get away from the relationship or
from him.

“You
love him, don’t you?” Rachael asks.

Now
that’s a question I’m not prepared to answer. I don’t even want to ask myself
that question let alone let her ask it. This is all happening so damn fast I
can barely believe it myself. One thing I do know is that I wouldn’t have shed
tears this easily for Danny, that’s for sure.

May
13
^th
2012, Darlington SC...

The
post-race celebration is off the charts. Danny’s won his unprecedented fourth
race in a row. Rather than stay in Danny’s race trailer, we book a suite for
two glorious days at the Charlotte Hilton in Charlotte South Carolina. We
invite the entire pit crew, the owners, and our sponsors for the catered party.
Everyone is in high spirits! People are talking like number 5 is already in the
bag and setting their sights on Daytona. That’s the one feather Danny has yet
to add to his cap. He has never won at Daytona in 5 years racing. His best
finish was 11
^th
, the year before last. Last year he got clipped and
it sent him into the wall early on in the race. He got a little banged up, but
that was it.

Danny’s
crew chief is the last person to leave the party. It’s nearly two in the
morning but we’re not tired at all. The room is spinning pleasantly and I am as
excited and happy as I’ve ever been. Danny walks Stu Gustafson out and puts the
do not disturb sign on the door handle. As he walks back to the bedroom where
I’m pouring another glass of bubbly for us he is already stripping off his
lucky tee. He’s sweaty, smells like the inside of a race car and racing fuel,
but I could care less. I watch as he slips his pants down over his narrow hips
and down around his ankles. What a sight.

By the
time we pass out we’ve christened the bed, kitchen floor, coffee table, the
balcony, and just about every other flat surface we could find. It’s well after
noon when we both wake up the next day, feeling horrible.

“Dammit
Carrie, you’re not supposed to let me drink so much!”

“What?”
I’m not sure I heard that right. “That’s not my job superstar. If you didn’t
want to drink why’d you buy so much liquor then?”

“That
was for everyone else! I don’t drink, remember?”

“Guess I
must have missed that memo.”

“What
the fuck?”

“Since
when am I supposed to keep track of your drinking?”

“It’s
what the team does for its drivers,” he replies.

“The
team?”

“Yeah
the team. Everybody does their part to ensure success. If I win races,
everybody gets paid. Your job is to keep me happy, and lettin’ me drink like a
fuckin’ fish last night is not doin’ your job!”

“Look,
you’re still half lit, so I’m going to just forget everything you just said and
tomorrow we’ll just go about business as usual. We both need to just crawl back
into that bed and sleep it off. We don’t have to check out for another 24
hours. How’s that sound?”

“Not
good! Not so fuckin’ good! You still don’t get your job as part of this team
and part of your job is keeping me happy and right now you’re failing
miserably.”

“Really?
So this...” I sweep my arm around indicating the mess around us. “This stuff,
it’s just about doing a job for you and me and my job is to keep you happy?”

“Yeah
that’s it.”

“So
those blow jobs last night, that was just me working. And all that fucking we
did in this fancy bed, and in the kitchen and on the balcony that was just
work?”

“Yes.”

This
time I don’t let him finish before I smack him across the cheek. I don’t hit
him hard but hard enough for him to know he’s just crossed the line. The look of
shock and surprise on his face is priceless. I have an idea that this is the
last time we’re going to have this conversation.

I am
dead wrong.

I don’t
see the blow coming. All of a sudden my head snaps around sideways as pain
explodes across the left side of my face. Out of instinct I raise my hand, but
any thought of striking back gets lost in another explosion of pain on the
other side of my head. When I can finally open my eyes and see something other
than stars, I see Danny’s handsome face contorted with rage and I think, how
can someone who professes to love me look at me with that...that face. His
expression has become a mask of hatred. I recoil back away from him, terrified
than his next move may be to take my life.

I
scramble off the bed, grabbing my phone and purse. I dress quickly, and as I’m
about to go out I catch my reflection in the mirror. There’s a handprint on my
left cheek. My right eye looks like it’s beginning to swell in the corner. I
search through my purse till I come up with my sunglasses. They won’t cover the
handprint on my cheek but they’ll cover my eye. I take a deep breath and open
the bathroom door. I walk out. Danny is still sitting on the bed. I don’t dare
look at his face.

“Carrie,”
he begins. “I am so sorry. I never should have drank that much. It’s the
alcohol you know...this is not me...” He finishes lamely.

I don’t
trust myself to speak. I just have to keep moving and get out of there. I hurry
for the door. Once out I take a deep breath. Safe. There should be a cab in front
of the hotel so I shouldn’t have to wait. I don’t really think Danny will
follow me out, though. I can barely walk and he’s in worse shape than me I
think. By the time I get to the lobby I have four texts from him. They’re all
variations of I’m sorry, it’s the booze’s fault, you know I would never harm
you. Fortunately there are several taxis out front waiting for fares. I get in
the first one.

“Darlington
Raceway please.”