In the Groove (21 page)

She dialed her mom.

"Sarah," she said immediately. "Thank God. Lance has called here at least a thousand times—"

"Mom—" Sarah tried to interject.

"Where are you? What the hell is going on? Lance told me some photos were published of you. Those weren't the same photos—"

"Mom,"
Sarah tried again, louder.

"Because if they were," her mother was saying, "I really think you ought to sue the man that took them. He can't keep on doing this without your permission—"

"MOM,"
Sarah yelled, covering her eyes with her hand even though it was pitch-black outside. The only light that made it through her splayed fingers was from a giant Best Western sign that hung overhead.

"And Lance is so worried about you. He said you're not answering your cell phone and that Rosa said you left the house."

Sarah didn't say anything. It was true. She'd been ignoring Lance's calls—all ten of them.

Finally,
finally,
her mom stopped speaking. "Sarah?" she asked, as if afraid Sarah had hung up on her, a legitimate concern given how many times she'd done that in the past.

"Mom, I'm on my way back to California."

"You're
what?"

"I'm on my way back. I needed some time away from Lance, somewhere far away from Mooresville and the whole racing community. So I'm headed back to California."

Silence.

"I know this seems sudden."
There you go, Sarah, trying to explain things to your mom. Will you never learn?
"But it's not really sudden. I've been a little weirded out since his wreck. I mean, who wouldn't be after watching their boyfriend flip a car at a hundred and sixty miles per hour? But it's not just that. I mean, I've always known Lance could get hurt. It's the whole fame thing. The media circus. The constant attention. I just—"

Stop trying to justify this, Sarah.

"I just don't know if I'm cut out for this kind of life."

More silence, the only sound the roar of the nearby freeway and a car door slamming in the hotel parking lot.
Okay. Here it comes.

Sarah braced herself for the inevitable lecture, and for the inevitable barbed comments that would make her feel as low as chicken poop on the bottom of her mother's heel.

To her surprise all she said was, "Where are you?"

"Kentucky."

"Are you stopped for the night?"

"I am. But, Mom, please don't tell Lance where I am. Please, please, please. Just tell him I need some time away."

"Don't you think
you
should be the one to do that?"

"I will," she said into her cell phone.

OK yeah? When?

"Just not right now."

"When?"

"In a few days."

"Over the phone?"

"No, I—"

Oh, jeez. What was she doing? What was she
doing?

"I just need some time," she mumbled. "I'll see you in a few days."

To her surprise, all her mother said was, "Drive careful," something that made Sarah immediately suspicious. Cripes. Her mother was probably dialing Lance right now, telling him where she was.

Her cell phone rang.

She looked down on the display.

Okay, maybe not talking to Lance because that was him. Sarah stared at the number for a full five seconds before looking away.

There were tears in her eyes when she shut off her phone.

"On her way to California?" Lance said.

"She says she needs some time," Sarah's mother explained. "That she's not certain she's cut out for life with a famous race-car driver. Or words to that effect."

Not sure she's cut out...?

"That's ridiculous," he said. "I love Sarah. She knows that. All the rest of it—" he waved his hand, staring out the window of his home office "—all the rest of it doesn't mean a thing. It's just BS that you have to put up with."

But Lance could practically see Sarah's mom shaking her head on the other end. "It's not BS for Sarah," she said. "She's not the sort of person that's comfortable in the spotlight. When she was ten her teacher signed her up to play a part in the school play. The day before the play opened, she got hives so bad her eyes swelled shut."

Great,
he thought, his hand clenching around the cordless phone. Just great. And he was only learning this
now.

"Look, Lance, she'll be here in a few days," Sylvia said, her voice sounding calm, certainly more calm than Lance felt. "I'll call you then."

"Call me every night. I want to make sure she's all right."

He thought he heard a sigh, knew for a fact he heard her mom take a deep breath. "You really do love her, don't you?"

"I do," he said, shaking his head again. "And I can't believe she's let those pictures get to her so much."

"Hives," Sylvia Tingle reminded him. "Huge, gigantic boils. She didn't go to school for days."

Shit. He had a race this weekend. And he was going to drive like crap. He just knew it. He needed Sarah. She was his dojo master. His rock. His cookie maker.

And he loved her.

"I'll call you when she gets here," her mom said.

"Thanks, Mrs. T. And when you do, would you tell her that I love her?"

"I'll tell her," Sylvia said softly.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

But it wasn't until later that week that Sarah arrived in California, and she was
not
in the mood for her mother's lectures. So when she pulled up in front of her mother's double-wide trailer, Sarah slipped out of her Bug, holding up her hand to stall the inevitable lecture that Sarah was certain her mother was waiting to unleash on her.

"Mom, I don't want to talk about it."

"I know. I know you don't, but I have something to say to you before you go inside."

And suddenly Sarah knew. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Lance Cooper was inside her mom's trailer.

"Mom, you didn't."

"I didn't what?"

"You didn't tell Lance I was supposed to arrive today."

The guilty look on her mom's face said it all. "He loves you, Sarah."

"I don't believe it."

But why shouldn't she believe it? It was Saturday. Lance didn't race until Sunday, and that race happened to be on the West Coast not more than two hours from here. She should have known this might happen. But she'd been so careful in keeping her arrival date vague.

"He's been here since last night. Someone else practiced his car today. Sarah, do you know how hard it was to arrange that? But he did it. For you."

She wanted to cover her face. She wanted to get back in her car and drive away. She wanted to run and hide.

But she couldn't hide. Not anymore. It was time to face the music.

"Wait out here," Sarah said.

"Sarah, stop." Her mom stopped her. "Before you go I have something else to tell you."

What? What more could she possibly say?

"It was Hank that tipped off the
TATTLER.
I found out after someone from the magazine called and when I confronted Hank, he didn't deny it."

Hank? Had tipped... Why, that no-good—

"I feel so bad," her mother said. "I know how much it hurt you, and how much trouble this caused and I'm so sorry. I kicked him out the moment he confirmed the truth. I may not have been a good mother in the past but I hope you know I'd never want to hurt you." She shook her head. "Jeez, I have such horrible taste in men. I don't know what's the matter with me. Why I pick such—" She stopped, straightened when she looked Sarah in the eye. "But that's not what I'm trying to say. What I'm trying to say is that I might not have such great taste in men, but I think
you
do. Lance is a winner, and I don't mean in a car, I mean with you. He
loves
you. I would give anything to have a man love me like that."

And despite herself, Sarah felt herself tearing up.

"Please, Sarah," her mom said. "Give him a chance."

Sarah held her gaze for a moment, but she didn't nod. Didn't agree or disagree. Instead she moved toward the trailer, but she hesitated near the front door until, with a deep breath and a stiffening of her spine, she opened it and went inside. The smell of the place enveloped her instantly: mac 'n' cheese and salami—what it always smelled like.

"Hello, Sarah."

Okay, why was she already crying? All he'd done was say hello.

"Hello, Lance," she said, finally gaining the courage to lift her head.

He looked good. And damn happy to see her. And so damn gorgeous. Lord, she couldn't believe a man like him actually claimed to love her.

"You left," he said, not moving toward her, something that took Sarah by surprise. She'd expected him to do what he always did—give her that boyish smile, maybe crack a joke or two, and then pull her into his arms. He didn't.

"I left," she echoed because, really, what more was there to say? She'd left and now she had to admit what a coward she was.

"Was it because of the pictures, because if it was, I've already got someone on that."

"It wasn't the pictures," Sarah said,

"Then why? Why'd you do it?"

"Because."

"Because what?"

"Because of everything, Lance. Because of the fact that I'm newsworthy enough to publish photos like that. Because of the fact that when I needed you, you were off testing cars."

"Sarah, that's my job—"

"I know that's your job," she interrupted. "I know that, Lance, and I understand," she said, sucking in a deep breath so she wouldn't cry. "And that's just it. Your job. It's so, so—" she searched for the right word "—amazing. You have this amazing job. This amazing life. This amazing everything and I'm such an ordinary woman."

"No, you're not," he said, coming toward her at last. "You're far from ordinary."

Sarah braced herself, trying not to flinch—or fling herself into his arms—when he touched her. She wore a T-shirt, but it felt like she wore nothing when his hand touched her flesh, every memory of those same fingers stroking her in different ways flooding into her mind.

"You shouldn't love me."

"Yes, I should. You're amazing, too. Beautiful, but you don't even know it," he said gently. "And your snores. Jeesh, I've never heard anything so amazing. And there's your rendition of 'Wheels on the Bus,' too." He smiled crookedly. "And I want you to sing that song to
our
children."

She wanted that, too. God, if he only knew how much. She wanted all that and so much more. And yet... "How will that be possible, Lance? How, when this thing you do for a living takes up so much of your time?"

"I don't know, Sarah. But we'll make it work. Other couples do."

"But we're not one of those other couples, Lance. I'm not one of those
other
women," she said. "I hate that women stare at you like they want you to be the father of their children, although come to think of it, they probably do. I hate that when they look at me they make me feel so inferior. I hate that I'm so damn insecure that whenever they get that glint in their eyes I want to run. But if I run, I worry that one of them will make a play for you, and when they do, if you're going to be strong enough to resist them."

"I would never cheat on you," he said emphatically, sternly, his eyes having gone hard.

"That's what you say, Lance. That's what every man says, and then something happens and before you know it, you're in bed with someone else and I'm at home wondering why you're working so late."

"But, Sarah, that kind of thing can happen in any marriage."

"But most marriages don't have to deal with trophy girls. Or, or helmet lickers. Or pit lizards. Or whatever else they're called in the garage. You should see what some of those women say about you online."

"Online?"

"Yeah," she admitted. "I've been lurking for weeks now and you should see what some of those women say about me. How I'm not pretty. How I'm fat. How frizzy my hair is. It's horrible and embarrassing and it hurts my feelings every time."

"Then don't
read
that crap."

"It's too late," she said. "I already have. The damage has been done and the truth is that I know myself well enough to know I'm not strong enough to deal with it. I may love you. I may love you more than I've loved any man in my life," she said. "But I'm not strong enough to
be
with you, to trust that you'll be my Sir Lancelot. Just the thought of trying to make this work, of all the worries and fears I'll carry with me. And now there's these... these
pictures
to deal with and just the thought of going to the racetrack makes me sick. I can't deal with it, I just can't deal with any of it. And I'm so sorry, Lance," she said, her voice clogging with tears. "I'm so darn sorry that I'm not strong enough for you."

"Sarah—" he said, trying to pull her into his arms.

She wouldn't let him, used her forearms to block him. "No," she said, shaking her head. "No," she said again. "Don't do that. Don't make this harder on me."

His arms dropped to his sides and she knew... she knew right then that he finally understood. That he was finally starting to get the message.

She looked down at her mother's seventies-orange carpet, at the numerous stains and missing patches, trying hard not to cry.

"Can I call you later?" he asked.

"No," she said. "Don't call. It'll only make things worse."

"So this is it then? This is goodbye?"

She still stared at the carpet. "It has to be."

"No, it doesn't," he said, the anger she heard in his voice causing her to lift her head. "It doesn't have to be this way and I can't believe you're ready to just walk away from this, from
us."

But she'd expected his anger. She expected him to be stubborn, too. He hadn't gotten to be one of America's top race-car drivers by simply giving up.

"I'm sorry, Lance," she said, moving to her mother's front door, opening it, still not meeting his eyes.

"No," he said. "No. You look at me and tell me you want me to leave, Sarah Tingle. Look at me right now and say the words 'Leave, Lance Cooper.' "

She closed her eyes for a second, inhaling deeply, praying for the strength. "Leave," she said, meeting his gaze and nearly crumpling to the ground at the pain and anguish that appeared in his eyes. "Leave, Lance Cooper."

"Sarah..."

"Fine. Then I will," she said because she couldn't, she just couldn't stand there another second. Couldn't continue to hurt him.

"Sarah—" he called out.

She brushed by him and then a second later, her mom, wiping tears from her eyes as she headed for her car.

"Sarah!" he called again.

But he didn't reach for her as she climbed into her car. Didn't try to open the door after she'd closed it. He stood by the driver's side and stared down at her as she started her car, Sarah feeling his gaze, hearing his calls as she backed out of her mom's gravel carport and drove away.

She drove away. But it wasn't just his heart that was breaking as she did it—it was hers, too.