Pedal to the Metal: Love's Drivin' but Fate's Got the Pole (The 'Cuda Confessions Book 3) (40 page)

She grabbed my hand and pressed a kiss to my palm. “I knew you wouldn’t let Jesse push you around. He’s a bully.”

This world was full of those, seemed like.

I could tell from her tone, she knew if Jesse and Dale went into a partnership, Jonny was out. We’d still need someone with deep pockets, in addition to some big-time sponsors. Ten million dollars didn’t grow on trees.

My ribs felt like delicate glass. If I breathed too hard, they’d shatter. Everyone’s future depended on me to make to make the right decisions. If I went after Barnes, we could all lose, Jonny and Caroline included. If I didn’t, if I just did what Jesse wanted....

God, taking the high road felt wrong. The neurosurgeon’s warnings—those possible side effects of the head trauma and the medical coma that I’d pushed to the back of my mind—stirred like the rattles of a poisonous snake.

All the fury I’d felt earlier came back in a rush. Kolby had to bleed.

Tears clotted Caroline’s giggle. “Jonny said England was talkin’ down to you. He thinks you’re just some kid. I could tell him different, but he’d wonder why the bimbo opened her mouth.”

I could see in her eyes that she’d forgiven me for being careless enough to end up perhaps carrying Jonny’s child. Dammit, if I started crying, I couldn’t work.

“Listen up.” I dropped my hand to her thigh. “The bimbo and the angry welfare case who never fit in anywhere are gone. Dale changed the future, for us. Until the season’s over and the guys can join us, we are Team Hannah.” I squeezed her knee. “As of now, you’re my CFO, and God help anyone who doesn’t give you the respect you deserve. Even if that person is you.”

I held her gaze until she nodded. “Whatever you do, I’m behind you a thousand percent. That’s why I told you about Dale. How can I help?”

“Pull up Twitter on my phone. See what fans are saying about the fight on social media.” I reached behind me for the device, but came up with Caine’s cell instead. The screen came alive. Ernie, singing. Colt grinning with the jar of bolts in his hand. Dale laughing while he played the drums on the ‘Cuda’s radiator and Jonny’s wild hair. I traced the faces in the image he’d sent me, touched that he’d used it for his screensaver.

That’s what I’m fighting for.

“Oh, God. That’s so cute. Let me see.” Caroline grabbed the device from my fingers. “Wow, I’ve never seen you look so happy. Who’s the old dude?”

“My friend Ernie. I sorta adopted him, but he died last month.” I studied the image, the family I’d always wanted. I’d already lost Ernie. I couldn’t deal if I lost Dale, too. The fear I’d battled all my life licked me like flames. I had to be worth the price Dale had paid for backing me. Either I fixed my mess or I wasn’t worthy to be a Hannah.

I had to believe Dale would feel differently about Kolby now. I couldn’t let the Ridenhour drivers continue to be targeted. I had to take aim at Barnes, but how?

Ernie’s voice seemed to come right out of Caine’s phone.
But only you have the car and a few million folks who already listen to what you have to say.

Could I convince a few million folks to take that swing on our behalf?

Scrambling to the center of the big bed, I reached for the tablet and my phone. I had to write the most important story of my life. I gave the phone to Caroline.

“One, zero, three, one unlocks the screen. Then click on the Twitter app. Tell me what’s being said about Dale. And, most importantly, what the fans are saying about Kolby.”

“Oh, God. Look.” Caroline shoved the phone under my nose. I blinked till my eyes focused. The new tweet was from the same ESPN reporter who’d asked if I planned to speak for the family.

She tapped the screen. “He’s my favorite NASCAR reporter. I don’t think he cares much for George. Or Kolby Barnes.”

Permission to use your unedited video of the drag race on 12.27.2014? Our in-depth segment will run tomorrow at 7 pm ET. Looking for the cut footage of the rear impact. Your angle’s better than mine.

Was this the reporter who’d been at the drag race?

“ESPN’s putting together footage of all the rear end clips Kolby’s done to people, Shelby,” Caroline whispered. “I been wondering why nobody’s ever done that yet.”

Cut footage? I’d never actually watched the video Caine had posted of the drag race. So, he’d clipped the end? Or had the impact damaged the camera?

“Because of George and his spin machine.”

The longer she scrolled, the higher her brows rose. “I think George just lost control of this situation. There’s a video of the fight bein’ passed around like the clap. Looks like it’s running seventy-thirty, with the majority saying Barnes is a wild card that NASCAR should cut from the deck.”

“Sign every communication with the hashtag #TeamHannah. I want people to understand that Caine and Colt still work for Ridenhour, but this is family business.”

I dictated my replies to ESPN while Caroline typed, so I could hunt the apps I needed to download to the iPad
.
To the first question:
Expect a statement from me, in addition to an update on Dale’s condition. #TeamHannah

And about the video:
Unaware of the footage you seek. #TeamHannah

“What?” Caroline’s thumbs froze over the keyboard. “I know it’s on the data card from your dash cam. I watched it. Shelby, this is what needs to happen. If people see all those pointless hits, one after another—”

I shook my head. “No. We can’t let this be about the drag race. I have to keep the focus on Dale and what happens on a NASCAR track.”

She fell backward onto the mattress. “Dammit, you’re right.” Smacking the covers, she yelled, “Arrgh! Someone needs to put a foot up that man’s ass.”

“The drivers are pissed off at Dale for not reeling Kolby in. Whether Jonny’s saying so or not, I think the other drivers are taking shots at them, as a way of expressing their frustration.”

She jerked upright with wide eyes. “Oh, my God. I thought so too, but then I decided I was bein’ paranoid. Jonny would never tell me anything like that. He might not even believe that’s why they keep gettin’ hit, but damn, Ridenhour’s had a lot of DNFs this season. Then, what can we do?”

I sucked down a deep breath. “We go after Kolby. Driving in NASCAR is a privilege, not a right. And they all drive for our pleasure.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying? You think you can get George to kick him out of NASCAR?”

“It’s my only play. Getting Kolby off the track solves everything.”

“How can you do that?” Furrows appeared between her brows. “George runs the show. He barely fines him.”

“Even George has to answer to his shareholders.”

The excitement in her eyes died. “Not really. See, one family owns NASCAR, Inc.”

Oh, shit
. “I thought it was publically traded?” I knew damn well Ernie had stock in NASCAR.

She landed on the mattress again. “Okay, see, one family owns the name, makes the rules, and licenses everything, right down to the numbers on the race cars. That’s NASCAR, Incorporated. George is the grandson of one of the two brothers who founded that company. There’s like, just two more shareholders, all relatives. They pretty well let George run things.”

Her boots drummed the end of the bed. “The company you’re thinking about is NASCAR Track Systems. NTS owns several of the newer race tracks as well as licensing all the concessions—food and souvenirs—at every race. That’s traded on the stock exchange.”

Nothing more tiresome than a leaky memory. Hadn’t I stood right at George’s damn elbow and recalled Ernie explaining the same thing?

She giggled at my scowl. “You can trust me. I watched a documentary just last week.”

“Goddammit. I know George is going to try and pin this on the drag race. He wants the fans to feel sorry for Kolby so he doesn’t have to take drastic action.” Still... NASCAR couldn’t be that different from any other major sport. “Remember the uproar about that NFL player who hit his girlfriend?”

Her eyes lit. “Public outcry. He’ll listen to the people who buy tickets.”

“Nobody who deals in the goodwill of the public operates inside a vacuum. We can hope.” My mouth went dry when I recalled the anger in George’s eyes, and his words.
You come at me, you best not miss.

“It has to be me. I’m the only one in this entire mess who doesn’t get paid by NASCAR. He can’t touch me.” And that was exactly why he didn’t want me to speak for the family. The certainty I was right settled my tummy. “I think that’s why Dale handed me the reins.” God, did he see this coming?

She turned her attention to the phone again. “Wow, Shelby, another hundred people just added you on Twitter.”

“See if they’re reporters and bloggers, or just fans.”

When the replies were done, she spot-checked the profiles as she accepted the new friend requests. “Forty-two percent racing bloggers, fifty-eight percent random fans.”

She looked up when she had finished accepting the friend requests. “Listen, George has the team on hold here for a reason. He’ll trot ‘em out behind him. It’ll look like Colt and Caine agree with whatever he says. I know they can’t speak out, but... makin’ it look like them and Jonny are part of this whitewash job don’t set right with me.”

She discarded the phone. “Too bad for George, I got a plan. I need to get out of here so you can work on your statement.”

I glanced down at my dress. “I didn’t have time to pack a suitcase, but there’s a dress in my car I bought to wear for my adoption.” Tears filled my eyes, but I tried to smile. “And a pair of red boots.”

“Just in time to kick some ass.” She tossed her head.

“Hey, read off Francine’s number, please. I’ll call her on Caine’s phone. I need you to keep an eye on Twitter for anything new you think I need to know, okay?”

I punched the buttons to dial Francine and prayed she listened to Ernie more than she let on. When she answered, I filled her in on Dale, then told her about George England. “Why would George turn a blind eye to Kolby’s bad intent? Why allow him to be reckless? What would Ernie say?”

She sighed. “The first thing George did when he took the reins from his father was to let Toyota in. I thought opening competition to foreign manufacturers was good for the sport. Ernie disagreed, and to be honest, most fans agreed with him. People were bitter because cheap imports were killing the American car market. Ernie would say that some voted with their wallets. They stopped buying tickets. Merchandise sales fell off. On the heels of that, the recession hit.”

“Then, two years ago, Dodge pulled out. Lots of folks pointed to Toyota as the reason why, but the truth is more complicated. I think they’ll be back, but anyway, they left, and when they did, more fans stopped coming to the races. And, while all that was happening, George’s twenty-year pre-nup ran out and his wife left him.”

“His wife? What’s that got to do with this?”

Francine huffed. “The judge made him split his stock with Linda, because he didn’t want to liquidate any assets for the cash to buy her out. Kolby and his brother take risks. George noticed. People come to the races expecting to see wrecks.”

“He... you’re saying George deliberately looks the other way? To have the cash to buy off his ex-wife?”

“That’s my opinion. Don’t you dare accuse him, but you asked. If it’s true that he enforces the rules unevenly for the cash doing so generates, then when would he pull back? The divorce is final, but why throttle the cash flow? On the other hand, no driver has died in an on-track collision since Dale Earnhardt, way back in 1991. George is counting on the safety record of the new uni-body car he introduced back in 2000.”

Never trust the technology.

Holy. Fuck. No wonder Bliss was a head case. “Thanks.”

I plugged in my earbuds and went to work on my speech. It had to have roots and wings. I had to keep the message positive and I couldn’t throw Richard under the bus.
And keep it short.
Caroline laid the dress on the foot of the bed, dropped the shoe box beside it, and tiptoed out of the room.

I only looked up when Caine returned. Placing a frosty can of ginger ale on the table, he stood by the bed, holding a waxed paper sleeve of crackers.

“Which way’s the wind blowin’? I can tell by your eyes, you made a decision.”

I pulled the earbuds. “I will not stand by and let England minimize Kolby’s culpability. Or, for that matter, his own. I want Barnes out of NASCAR.”

Feeling the doubt rolling off Caine in waves, I grabbed his hand. “You’ve got to trust me. I’d never cut you off from the sport that runs through your DNA. I understand what’s at stake. I have to counter the fallout from the drag race. And I have to do it in a way that makes major sponsors walk uphill to throw money at us next season.”

Caine looked into my eyes for a long moment while I held my breath. “Okay.”

I waited for the ‘but’ that never came. Overwhelmed, I thrust the tablet into his hands. “Give me your opinion, please.”

He scanned the text. “You don’t even dirty your mouth sayin’ his name.” Handing the tablet back, he added, “Rick says we’re supposed to meet in the lobby at nine-thirty. Have you seen my phone?”

I glanced at the time before handing him the device. Eight-fifty. “I better get dressed. Be out in ten. And, Caine, you have got to change clothes.”

“On it.” He opened a closet while I rushed to pee.

When I stepped through the bedroom door several minutes later, Phillip grinned from one of the lounge chairs. “Your brother, huh? Wicked.”

“We don’t take that brother-sister stuff too seriously.” I held up my middle finger, then thrust the tablet into his hands. “Be sure this won’t get me sued, please.”

In the kitchenette, Caroline leaned against the counter, watching Harry like she thought he might try and make off with the silverware. She snapped her fingers in the direction of the banquette, where my brothers and Jonny sat.

“Stand up, y’all, so she can see.”

Caine got to his feet first. He sported a black tie, covered in lavender polka dots, over a pearl gray shirt. I recognized the black Chino slacks from Christmas. Colt pushed to his feet next, turning slowly. A sparkling white shirt set his eyes aglow. His deep purple tie boasted tiny crowns embroidered in violet. Jonny wore a vivid swath of amethyst silk that popped against his black button-down.