Pedal to the Metal: Love's Drivin' but Fate's Got the Pole (The 'Cuda Confessions Book 3) (19 page)

“Wow.” I blinked in astonishment. “There’ll never be another Ernie. I’m so glad I got to know him.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. “You brought that man so much joy, listening to his old stories. But, more than that, you brought Dale back into his life. That meant everything to Ernie. Take the picture. Get out of here. You must be climbing the walls with all these old folks standing around. Next week, we’ll go out to eat every night you aren’t working. We’ll stuff ourselves with all the food I used to fuss at him for eating.” She lowered her head, and when she spoke, her voice scraped every raw nerve.

“But, if one more person tells me how much better off Ernie is now, or how goddamn grateful I should be because we had thirty years together, I think I’ll scream.”

“I don’t know what to say.” I hugged her, battling tears. “Thirty years is thirty more than I expect any man to love me. I miss him so much.”

“Don’t even get me started about the so-called friends who were asking what I’d take for his truck before his body got cold. Listen to me.” She grabbed my arms and pushed me away with blazing eyes. “Do you know how to pick a good man?”

I shook my head, pinned by her fierce gaze.

“Find one with a passion for his work and an equal passion for you. That’s it. All the other stuff people tell you is important, isn’t important. He’ll do things that piss you off. He’ll make you cry. But if he can make you feel special with just a look, he’s the one. He may not understand all the things that bother you, but if he gets pissed off at those things, rather than getting mad at you for telling him about them, then he’s the fucking one.”

And if I know that guy, but don’t trust him? Then what do I do, Francine?

“Go on, get out of here.” She waved both hands, shooing me toward the door.

I grabbed a tissue from the box and pressed it into her hand.

“I love you.” After another fierce hug, I worked my way through the crowded kitchen and out the back door.

I had hours to kill before my shift started, but the gorgeous spring day made me too restless to head for the dorm. I tucked the vintage phone behind my seat. The car’s seats scorched my thighs, summoning dangerous memories.

I passed the college and turned right, snaking through downtown until I ended up on Highway 29, the route that led to the mall, but after buying a dress and shoes for Ernie’s funeral, there wasn’t enough left in my account for retail therapy, so I kept straight, going nowhere in particular.

When I recognized the gas station where I’d withdrawn the cash the night I’d beaten Russell, I noted the low price of premium fuel.
Might as well fill up.

Before I could get out of the car, my cell phone dinged. I dug the device out of my purse.

My fave pic of you and Ernie. Sorry I couldn’t be there today.
Gasping through the pain of seeing Caine’s name atop the text message, I stared at the image I’d never seen before.

The hood was up on the ‘Cuda. I perched on the bar stool beside the front fender, laughing because Ernie held one end of a huge wrench to his mouth. Colt had an arm draped around my shoulder. He shook a glass jar filled with nuts and bolts like a mariachi. Jonny’s head was tipped back and he strummed an air guitar. Dale drummed on the front end with a pair of windshield wiper blades, still in the package. I smiled through my tears, recalling how their baritones almost drowned out Ernie’s off-key tenor.

Thanks. I love this. So much.

His reply was immediate.
I love you. I hate so bad that you’re hurting and I can’t hold you. I’ll miss him, too. Colt sends a hug.

I had to dial this back, or I’d die from the pain. It was too fucking easy to type shit we didn’t dare say.

Tell Jamie I said congrats. What you did? Incredible. I know Ernie’s up there bragging on you.

Seconds ticked by, then a minute. Caine didn’t respond. I supposed he felt what I felt, that more talk was dangerous. Even during the years when I’d tried to pretend Caine and Colt were dead, they’d never felt so far away.

I forced myself to remember the twenty years Dale had been alone, then recalled the rare Sundays when Mom and I used to splurge on Starbucks, and the longing in her eyes at the sight of all the couples waiting in line.

I’d find someone, eventually. The pain would ease.
Right?

The hard shaft though my chest said otherwise.

“It’s not love!” I banged a fist on the steering wheel. “How can it be? It’s speed and adrenaline, that’s all.” If Mom wasn’t dead set against me being with Caine, the attraction would wear off in a matter of weeks, and when that happened, I’d still be the one who had to leave.

The rear view mirror absorbed my lies without comment. The ache in my chest held tight, and now, my throat hurt. I dug for one of the tissues Francine had tucked into my purse on the way to the cemetery and wiped my eyes.

A tap on my window made me jerk around. My scowl faded when I spied the green cap and the Castrol patch. I lowered the window.

“Hey, Ervin.”

He smiled, casting a jaundiced eye at my dress. “Don’t tell me you been out all night?”

“My life’s not that exciting. I just came from a funeral.”

“Oh? I’m sorry. Anyone close?”

We chatted about Ernie for a couple of minutes, then he asked, “So, what’cha doin’ this afternoon?”

“Um, I’m going to fill up and head back to school, I guess. I have to work at six.”

He lifted his cap, much the way Dale did, and settled it back on his head. “Can I tempt you to make two or three runs over at my place? See, this fella’s testin’ out a new car. Rented the lanes for a couple hours. He asked me to find him an eight-second car to run against, but everybody’s up at the drag strip in Rutherfordton on Sundays.”

I caressed the wheel. “Without a crew, I’d be afraid the engines might... jump time or something.”

“Now, hear me out.” He propped his hands on the top of the car and leaned down to squint at me. “Russell introduced me to this fella, but don’t hold that against the man. What I’m sayin’ is, he’ll have his boys with him, and they can sure ‘nuff tune an Audi. Hand to God, they can. I’ll tell ‘em you can’t run unless they’re willin’ to help out.”

I hesitated, unsure I wanted to trust a stranger to tune my car. But, in the next heartbeat, I realized that Caine couldn’t be my go-to mechanic. Relationship tangles aside, he was on the road ten months a year. A few eight-second runs might burn off my restlessness—or let me outrun the ache in my heart.

“Okay. Just let me fill up.” I prayed he wouldn’t ask me to pump my gas at his place.

Ervin straightened and tapped the roof. “I don’t sell gas no more, so I’ll pump and pay. You’re doin’ me a favor.”

“Ervin,” I scolded. “You’re setting this guy up, aren’t you?”

His eyes danced with mischief. “It’s that damn hair. When the sunshine catches it, it reminds me I ain’t dead yet.” He grinned and waltzed to the gas pump to swipe his credit card. 

A truck with a boxy cover over the bed idled in front of the metal gate when Ervin and I arrived at the track. The old man stopped beside the window of the car ahead of the truck. I assumed that was the competition, but couldn’t get a look at the car until the old man unlocked the gate and I rolled into the right lane.

Not that knowing what kind of car I was racing had ever helped—or hurt—me.

This car was painted white, but the entire body was covered in squiggles that looked like a toddler had a conniption fit—as Ernie would’ve said—while holding a gray marker.

Squinting, I tried to figure out who the hell thought that stomach-turning design was attractive. The way the—
that’s not paint. It’s some kind of skin. But, damn, fella. Caine could teach you a thing or two about installing one
. It looked like someone had just slapped the vinyl over several stylistic body details, not bothering to press the film down. A slight throb flared behind my eyes. I looked away. 

The driver opened his door and stepped out, marching to the front end of my vehicle. I couldn’t decide if he was as old as he appeared—possibly in his fifties—or if he’d spent a lot of time working in the sun to earn those deep creases in his face. He squatted and I lost sight of everything but white-blond hair. The colorless mop reminded me of Marley Taggert, but I seriously doubted this macho-looking dude resorted to bleach. The thick mass was stick-straight and long on top, but trimmed neatly around his ears.

The eyes that met mine across my hood reminded me of a Siberian Husky, ice blue and unwavering. He stared so long, I wondered if he was trying to intimidate me, so I held his gaze without smiling. At last, he nodded, straightening suddenly. Marching past my window, he headed for the curved glass deck that covered the Audi’s twin turbo engines.

He spoke, but not to me, directing his tirade to the pair of men that rolled out of the pickup. Lowering my window, I picked up a few words of his rapid-fire speech,
fraulein
, of course, and
zwölf
, the German word for twelve. The two mechanics wore overalls with short sleeves, like Dale and Caine wore in the pits, but the driver had on nice slacks and a polo style shirt with a collar. A flashy dresser, like Jonny.

Stop it.
The pain in my chest cranked up a notch.

Ervin shuffled up beside me, looking in the direction of the group. “What’cha reckon that’s about?”

“Oh, something about women drivers, pretty paint jobs that don’t add any horsepower, and a twelve-second car.”

The light-haired man jerked around to stare. His smile had too much in common with the one Dale used when he wasn’t being friendly.

I was in no mood to smile, and I wasn’t here to tolerate any sexist bullshit, either. “Es ist nicht das Auto meiner Vati und es wird nicht die Lackierung, die Sie tieren können.”

“Huh?” Ervin lifted his cap and stared with puzzled eyes.

“German.” I shrugged. “I hope I told him the car wasn’t my daddy’s and it won’t be the paint job that beats him.”

The old man’s eyes lit with laughter. “Hot damn. Burn his ass, honey.” Ervin slapped the top of the Audi and hustled toward the tower.

I turned away from the other driver’s piercing eyes and sarcastic grin. As soon as my window slid up, I barked, “
Shut Up and Drive
by Rhianna.” When the elaborate stereo system loaded the song, I raised the volume and leaned over to grab my helmet from the floorboard, where Caine had left it.

The bastard was probably still laughing when he won by a car length. As soon as I managed to stop, I threw the transmission into reverse, thankful for the rear view camera and the practice I’d gotten using it the night I’d won the money for Caroline, but I sat staring at the wall of used tires up ahead.

Why the hell had I agreed to this?

I never won anything until I started racing.
But, it felt like racing had cost me everything, too. I reversed to the line, ignoring the other driver. Fuck me, an eleven point seven second run? Waste of gasoline.

Ervin stayed in the tower. One of the guys from the truck helped me line up, which forced me to turn off the music and lower the window. Focused on setting my nose on the line, I jerked when a sharp tap rang on the glass deck behind my head. The second man from other driver’s pit crew didn’t smile, but I saw no hostility in his expression, either.

“Pop the hatch.” This man looked younger than the guy standing by my front bumper. His accent was American, unlike the other two. Same slow drawl and loose-hipped swagger as my stepbrothers. It went well with his pale green eyes, longish ash blond hair, stained hands, and tan. Tattoos lined corded arms.
Fuck me, he’s hot.

Which tells me not one damn thing about his ability under the hood. 

I hesitated. He rapped the glass a second time. Reluctantly, I reached beneath the dash to tug the lever.

“Marco! Bring the timing gun,” he barked to the man standing at my front end. I opened my door while short, swarthy Marco jogged to the truck.

The white two-door backed past the line and the driver sprang out again. The ice-eyed dude wasn’t terribly tall, perhaps five-eight. Noting the driver’s raised, dark brows, I wondered if maybe his hair wasn’t blonde after all, but white. Maybe his shorter stature pissed him off so bad he went gray early.

“I apologize if I offended you. Niles Jaeger.” The driver didn’t offer to shake hands. Just one more cocky asshole with a fast car. “Du sprichst Deutsch?”

“Nicht viel.” I continued in English. “I took German in high school and college, but I learned a lot more working in the college cafeteria to pay for my room and board than in any classroom. The manager’s maybe four-foot ten, but she can throw a six-foot fit. I learned, if I spoke German, I wasn’t the one whose ass she chewed.”

His sour expression sweetened a bit. “My mother was such a woman.” He raised his palm to a spot between his shoulder and waist. “Only this big, but it wasn’t her bark I worried about. Impressive time for an R8. At least you made it a race.”

The hint of condescension in his tone made me clench my teeth. But really, did I care? I had nothing to prove to this guy. If I hadn’t let Ervin buy me gas, I’d leave.

The pair from the truck dove underneath the deck.

Marco drew back. “What the hell? Niles, c’mere.” The driver loped to the rear of my car, ducking under the raised deck. I didn’t bother to turn around. After a muttered conversation, Niles left the scut work to his minions. He stalked all the way around the Audi, eyes narrowed. After he squatted by the front end again, he appeared at my side.

“Mind if we jack it up? Just want to see what they did with those front air dams.”

“You break it, you’re buying it.” I ripped the helmet off.

I feared Niles’ eyeballs might fall out when I stood, brushing the rows of long black fringe on my dress into place. His stunned gaze dropped to my feet. I tensed for a sarcastic remark about my high heeled boots, but he strode to the rear of the pickup. Despite his wiry frame, he handled the heavy jack with ease.

I leaned against one of the cement barriers, trying not to think about Caine at the Christmas party, jacking up the ‘Cuda. Or the time spent in the driver’s lounge with Caroline while I’d waited for Dale to fix my brakes at Christmas.