One Last Hold (3 page)

A decadent cinnamon roll was not on her list of healthy choices but at this point, she didn’t care. An overload of carbohydrates would fuel her chaotic nerves.

A man waited for her at the door of a large garage. Average, a tad younger than Caitlyn, with honey blond hair and amber eyes that gleamed when he shook her hand.

“You must be Adam.”

“Caitlyn.” He kept a firm lock on her a second too long. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell Wesley it was me who set this up. He doesn’t like unarranged meetings with reporters, but I heard you once knew him.”

Caitlyn freed her hand, unsure what to think. Did that mean Wesley had no idea she was coming? Her thighs shook as she surged forward, into the surprisingly clean garage. Machinery and equipment echoed in the steel building and though it was noisy, it was organized cadence. She wondered how many people were employed to keep it clean and how many levels of insulation it took to keep it quiet.

They stopped at a car, and she fished for her phone but decided against pictures until she had permission.

“I’ll go fetch Wesley.” Adam halted his steps mid-strike. “If Wesley doesn’t work out for you, I’ll grant you an interview. I never had a reporter as beautiful as you ask me anything personal.” He winked before turning away, and her fake smile landed on his back.

Caitlyn wasn’t seeking any type of relationship. Wesley had shaded her view of men so much that she was afraid she’d never find the right one when she was ready. She hoped this assignment would help purge Wesley out of her memory so Mr. Right would be easier to identify.

Yeah right. Mr. Right didn’t exist.

Wesley had been a friend. Her best friend since childhood. Why couldn’t she just remember that?

Because at one time, he had been Mr. Right.

Her fingertips tapped together as she waited for him. Times like these, she wished she smoked, to give her hands something to do.

Wesley emerged from upstairs, his focus on Adam as they chatted. Caitlyn struggled to maintain her composure. Composure? What composure? She’d never had any composure when it came to Wesley, so why would she have it now? She was a stick figure fused together by tape and glue, her speech cut and pasted in her mind so many times she no longer knew what to say.

His hair was thick, dark, mussed. A five o’clock shadow lined his cheekbones, grease dotting his face like freckles. She admired the way his black shirt hugged his shoulders, his jeans snug against his ripcord ass.

God, at one time, she’d take that grease and swipe it across his face. Laugh and run while he chased her across the shop. And once he caught her, she’d pull up his shirt and…

Stop it.

He continued to speak as he stepped off the stairs, without noticing her. She wondered if Adam had told her she was waiting, or if he had any idea who he was about to meet.

His long strides carried him toward her, but he remained deep in conversation with Chad. Had he always been that tall? That overwhelming? His presence took up the entire garage, stifling her breath, stifling her words, stifling her thoughts. Her pulse thrummed low.

Remember him as a friend. Remember him as a friend.

His radiant smile, something she thought to never see again, faded when he noticed her. His green eyes suffocated her as she observed the only man she’d ever loved.

He stopped in front of her and pinned her with a hard glare. His mouth tightened. She stood, transfixed, unable to speak. She’d look like a fool if she turned and bolted.

“Caitlyn.”

Shivery tendrils of longing shot down her spine at the way he spoke her name.

“What are you doing here?”

*

Wesley was a grown man, so why did his heart slam against his ribs as soon as he looked into Caitlyn’s baby blues?

His reaction to her annoyed him. Caitlyn stood before him, soft and petite and full of curves he didn’t remember. His mind spun across the track of Daytona Speedway as he drank in her appearance. Her hair tumbled in waves down her back, smelling of coconut and something else.

Something feminine.

Something
familiar
.

Of all the women who’d ever approached him, one glance from her and he was rock hard. Just like always.

She hadn’t answered his question yet, so he asked again, this time more abruptly. “What the hell are you doing here?”

She still had the habit of drumming her fingers together. She once told him it was because she needed something to do with her hands.

He’d given her plenty of things to do with her hands.

He swallowed his desire and blinked hard.

“I was sent here…on assignment.” She tucked a stray hair behind her ear and licked her lips. He tore his gaze away from her kissable mouth. In his older days, he’d move in and taste her. She’d cling to him and offer him everything.

“On assignment?” he asked. What was she, a cop? Wouldn’t that be ironic if she were the one to arrest him?

“I’m a journalist now, Wesley.”

He recoiled. Thoughts of tasting her lips vanished. Un-fucking-believable.

He turned away. He’d give her no chance to explain. Now he knew why she was here.

Reporters couldn’t be trusted. If Tim’s experience hadn’t taught him, his own encounters were bad enough. Caitlyn could air his dirty laundry in public with one story, or hit him where it really hurt by hanging it out to let everyone watch it dry, egging it on for weeks.

“Wait!” She reached out to him, her touch seared his arm.

“What did you think?” he asked, turning to face her. “That since we used to fuck, I’d give you a story I wouldn’t give anyone else?”

Caitlyn stormed out of the garage, fuming. Anger shielded her hurt.

When had Wesley become such a
jerk
?

Maybe spending too much time with his uncle had lessened his compassion. Tim had never liked Caitlyn. She’d always tried to avoid him and the one time she’d asked Wesley why Tim didn’t like her, he’d blamed it on her imagination. Tim was just
intense
. Wesley had worshipped Tim then, probably more so now. And now, now Tim had even more reason to hate Caitlyn.

She’d killed his sister.

She swiped her tears, the words to her next article already etched in her mind. Hopefully, she wouldn’t forget once her anger ceased.

Racecar driver Wesley Webb wasn’t too keen on doing an interview the day after his rival’s murder, but he and his team were working hard preparing for next week’s race.

She wouldn’t write it of course, but oh the things she could say.

She locked herself in the rented vehicle and phoned Blake to tell him the interview was a no-go at this time but he’d have a story regardless. She’d think of something. She always did. And she could do it without insulting Wesley.

She wanted to insult Wesley. She wanted to wrap him in hurt as she was hurting now.

But she’d given him enough hurt to last a life time. Why should he ever forgive her?

“He’ll be signing autographs tomorrow at Tim’s Race Shop,” Blake told her.

“How do you know all this?”

“Well, it’s all over the news.”

“How did you manage to get me into the garage?” she asked. She remained in the parking lot, unmoving, as cars rushed over the nearby interstate. Did Blake have a plane ticket home for her, or not?

“Uh, what do you mean?”

“Do you know his crew chief?”

“Not personally, no.”

“Then how in the hell did you manage to convince him to take me to Wesley? Wesley obviously didn’t know I was coming.” She hadn’t known it was Tim’s shop, and thank God he hadn’t been around. If she had known, she wouldn’t have gone. She would’ve flat refused.

Yeah right.

“Oh, I didn’t know he wasn’t expecting you. Do you still have your hotel room?”

“No, I don’t still have my hotel room. I refuse to stay there again.”

“I’ll find you something. Hold tight and I’ll call you back.”

The silence indicated he’d hung up. “Blake! Asshole,” she barked. “Ugh.”

She glanced at her phone and considered calling him again but that was a lost cause. Instead, she opened the browser to research her geography.

From what she’d learned so far, Wesley didn’t live too far from here and Charlotte was his uncle’s hometown. Tim had opened a racing museum to the public along with Tim’s Race Shop, a store with a large garage and fun center next to the race team’s private garage. The private garage was rarely open to the public. Blake had lied. Otherwise, Adam would’ve never let her in. Maybe she should just take Adam up on his offer, ask him to dinner, and find out how the hell he knew Blake.

That was one plan.

She considered marching back into the shop and telling them all how it was going to be but started the car and drove away instead. The door was probably locked anyway.

She’d drive to the airport and buy a ticket home. Blake could just pay her back later. But when Blake called with an address for her a better hotel, she resolved to stay one more night. The ticket could wait until morning.

*

“What in the hell was that all about?”

“Sorry, Wes. Didn’t know she was a journalist. Hell, I thought she was family the way she insisted on speaking with you.”

“How long have you known me? And you just let someone waltz in without running it by me first?”

Adam shrugged. Wesley studied his friend, wondering if he should be troubled by Adam’s shortsightedness. Adam had never in his life tried to interfere in Wesley’s business, but lately he had voiced his concern over Wesley’s lack of interest in women. He wondered if Adam knew more about his past relationship with Caitlyn than he was letting on, but quickly discounted the notion.

“I don’t know all your family,” Adam defended.

“You know the important ones, and you know not to let just anyone in here.”

“She didn’t seem like just anyone.”

“Why? Because she’s pretty?”

Adam raised his hands and stepped back, warding off the next verbal attack. “Sorry, man. How many women have begged me to meet you? And how many times have I let them? I thought she was family. It won’t happen again.”

Wesley nodded then turned and walked away. No sense in talking about it anymore. No sense in vocalizing his pain. The pain clustered in his gut even now. The pain of seeing Caitlyn. The memories she generated. It’d been so long, so long ago, but it still felt like yesterday.

She
was
family. She
was
his everything.

But that was the past. Now, they were two different people.

He’d fought hard to keep his gaze from landing on her ring finger. Was she married? Maybe she had kids? Frustration rose in rebellion at the thought.

They had planned on having kids together at one time.

Caitlyn was more beautiful than ever, and Adam could have easily been swayed by those stark blue eyes. Wesley had been swayed by them plenty of time in his past. He’d almost given up everything for her. Might have given up everything for her if things hadn’t gone differently. And now she was a reporter.

She could destroy him with merely a blink.

*

Caitlyn placed her hand on the door to Tim’s Race Shop and jerked away. Heat, cobwebs, or scary childhood stories of what lurked behind these doors would incite less fear.

She worried Tim would be here today. He hadn’t been yesterday, but today Wesley was making an appearance and signing autographs, so it was only expected that he owner of the race team would be here, too. He couldn’t turn her away as a fan.

Blowing out a deep breath, she rejected her fear and pulled the heavy door towards her. She wanted to do this. She had to do this. And Blake wouldn’t take no for an answer.

She’d spent years looking over her shoulder, expecting Wesley to come back. The simple fact was, he hadn’t. When he’d emerged in the racing circuit, she’d tracked his career but never made a move to contact him—until now.

She couldn’t walk away yet. If she did, she’d never see him again, and she needed closure.

Even if it was ten years too late.

She could write about Wesley’s past and hurt him. Blake would be happy and she wouldn’t be forced to spend any more time than necessary with Wesley. She could seek revenge for her broken heart and sell her story to someone way more notable than Blake.

But she’d never stab her family in the back. Wesley, as much as she hated to admit it, would always be family.

Racing memorabilia for sale occupied the waiting area, enticing visitors. She bought a t-shirt to give her hands something to hold when she approached him. Besides, she needed something for him to sign other than her journalist’s notebook.

She worked her way to where a throng of fans stood in line waiting to meet him. Wesley sat at an autograph table, his race car placed strategically behind him. He ruffled young children’s hair, posed for pictures, and took time to talk with everyone. His prideful glow revealed how important he considered his fans.

Her insides lurched. She shouldn’t be here, stirring up bad memories. Not for her, but for him. He’d gotten on with his life. He was happy, well-adjusted, and oh so successful. She would never do anything to destroy that. But her presence could destroy that. She should turn and run.

But she didn’t run. Instead, she moved to the back of the line in case she changed her mind. When they cut off the line, she realized she’d made a huge mistake. Last. Great. If someone had been behind her, he’d have to be nice. For show. Right?

He was dressed in his racing uniform. His dark hair mussed enough to be sexy but not haggard. Stubble shadowed his jawline.

Waves surged over her, flooding her in fear and doubt and insecurity. Why was she doing this?

The young boy and his mother ahead of her stepped up. She forced air out of her lungs and straightened her spine.

Wesley posed for a picture with the boy and his mother then ruffled the boy’s hair before they left.

Caitlyn hobbled forward on wobbly legs.

Wesley glanced at her. She clutched the shirt to her chest. His smile tightened but didn’t fall as he returned to his seat and grabbed his marker.