Pedal to the Metal: Love's Drivin' but Fate's Got the Pole (The 'Cuda Confessions Book 3) (63 page)

Marco opened the Audi’s door. Shooing away several reporters, Caroline and Marley jumped on the rear deck of the Viper, which was parked in pit box beside the Audi. They rose to their feet. Caroline’s shrill whistle split the air.

Some in the crowd called Marley’s name. She waved while I slid behind the wheel, then tucked her arm around Caroline’s shoulder. Someone had readjusted my seat during inspection. I felt for the button, only to realize the goddamn thing didn’t work.

“Replace the damn fuse,” I snapped at Marco. “How’d you move the damn seat?”

The swarthy man shook his head. “Didn’t move it.” With a smirk, he added, “If you need a pillow or something to see over the wheel, it wasn’t here when I got in.”

Like you’re tall? Why don’t you kiss my motherfucking ass?

Reaching inside, Marco pressed a button on the steering column. The wheel dropped into its accustomed place.

Oh.
I sucked down a deep breath and wished I could make my helmet jump into my hand with my mind. I winced at the gush of warm fluid when I leaned into the floor board to pick up the Fiberglass shell.

As soon as I straightened, every muscle in my abdomen locked, drawing me double. Resting my head on the wheel, I panted. Pain dug sharp claws into my lower back.

“You okay?” Niles yelled, stalking to my open door. “What’s this about you having the flu?”

Ignoring the German, I waited for the grip to relent. Maybe I needed to time these? I began a silent count.

“Shut the door.”

Five, six, seven.
I plopped the helmet over my hair and worked to fasten the buckle. Niles gave the door a heave. The reduction in noise was almost worth the spike in temperature. The windshield fogged while I panted.

Twelve, thirteen, fourteen
.

Fourteen seconds was enough to get to the finish line and back.
Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.
Ow. Holy fucking Mother of God, how did people have actual babies? Trying to birth a lima bean made me want to roll over and die.

Caroline knocked on the glass and waved Dale’s phone. “He called.”

I slung the door open and grabbed the device. She pointed to the rear view mirror. “Turn on the camera. Dale wants footage up on your site by morning.”

“Thanks. Shut that, please?” I was terrified if I moved too much, I’d bleed right through the fireproof suit. Wouldn’t that look nice splashed all over social media? I didn’t have time to plan my mother’s funeral when she died of shame.

I fumbled to connect the phone.
Okay, now I have to get my shit together.

Caine left the console operational, thank God. I paired the phone with the wireless and made the call, hooking up the safety harness while the phone rang.

“Hey, babe.”

“Hey, Dale. Let’s do this.”

If he noted my lack of enthusiasm, he didn’t mention it. “Colt done jumped out ahead of you in the prize money. Better shut his ass up ‘fore his mouth gets to rollin’.”

Caroline tapped on the window again.
You Tube. Camera
, she mouthed, pointing to the rear-view mirror.

This was going to work, Caroline being my spotter as we staggered, wide-eyed and holding hands, into the rough-and-tumble world that was NASCAR. Impulsively, I pressed my lips to the glass. The crowd could make of that what they wanted.

“Hang on, I need to start the camera.” Praying Dale couldn’t see how shaky my hands were, I spun the dial and engaged the device. When I peered through the windshield, Marco rolled his eyes. He said something to Niles, who laughed so hard, Kolby joined in.

I set the hand brake and shoved in the clutch. When I hit the gas, nothing happened.

Kolby almost fell down laughing.

Fuck me
. I reached for the key and stomped the gas. The hard knot in my lower back uncoiled somewhat when the twin engines caught and the seat began to vibrate. White smoke obscured the view out of the rearview mirror while I did my burnout. I inhaled, filling my lungs with the sweet, bitter stench.

“Kolby and Niles’ little bromance is about to have a nasty breakup.”

Dale swiped a palm across his scruffy chin. “Oh? How so?”

“According to George England, Volkswagen got creative. Something about fooling around with emissions tests on diesel units. He said the government’s about to slap them with some big-ass fines. Dad, we’re going to have to find another engineering partner, or go it alone. George told me that they’ll have to shut their racing divisions down to appease their investors.”

Dale shrugged. “I was born a Mopar man. Everything since has been a disappointment. To tell you the truth, I weren’t too impressed with the dude. Life’s too short to work with assholes.”

For a man who’d been out of it for a week, he sure as shit seemed to know what I was talking about. Could even Dale Hannah go from zero to firing on all twelve cylinders in a matter of hours? While I thought that over, I turned to stare out my window at Barnes.

Now, go do the same for Kolby, because I wasn’t smart enough to get the damn job done.

Dale’s number one problem child seemed nervous, pacing with clenched fists and talking to himself. Such an odd guy. Pure talent, and yet, he hid a lack of confidence behind all that bravado. The Christmas party danced inside my head. His not-quite-right for the occasion tux. A race car driver by profession, but he’d ordered a car with granny shift?

Kolby’d been trying to flirt with me that night, just one more missed cue on his part. But Dale had played him, for the amusement of his crew and my brothers.

One more stone?

David Northern humiliated Kolby every chance he got, then expected Barnes to follow his lead as his car chief. I sketched Colt into Barnes’ shoes—then myself—with pretty much the same outcome. If nothing was at stake as far as Audi was concerned, then all that was left was the driver’s pride, whether he knew that or not. But, did I have to lose to fix the problem? I couldn’t afford to lose.

My brain played on fast-forward.

I hadn’t seen a doctor within ten feet of Dale since Dr. Erikkson had brought him out of he medical coma on Wednesday. The information about rehab had been delivered outside of Dale’s earshot. But he’d known they wanted him to go to rehab.

Character is weighty matter. Can’t install it on a weak foundation. 
Without a doubt, Dale had been trying to teach Barnes a bit of character.

But everything had gone horribly wrong.

With a blinding flash of insight, I saw needed to happen. Dale, Colt, Caine—Hannah-Built—couldn’t move forward dragging baggage like Barnes. We sure as shit couldn’t do what I had in mind if this wreckage wasn’t way back in our rearview mirrors. Kolby would still be on the track—the one problem I’d set aside in the midst of all the rest.

Beating him would only make matters worse, but I’d die before I threw this race.

“What’cha thinkin’?”

I sucked down a deep breath, still holding the gas pedal down. “I’m thinking that you don’t make many missteps, but challenging Kolby at Christmas was the wrong thing to do. I’m thinking that taking his car was about your ego more than getting his attention. I’ve heard all the arguments in your favor, but at the end of the day, Dale, that dog just don’t hunt.”
Even a blind squirrel finds the occasional nut. Mom had nailed this.

Dale gave me a smirk, then sobered. “Got a plan to pull your old man outta the shit?”

“I do, actually.”

When his eyes burned with pride, I knew why Dale had given me his power of attorney. Why he’d put the car into my name to begin with. With millions on the line, he wanted to see how I handled the long game. I turned the idea over in my mind again, but saw no flaw in my logic.

Dale Hannah, the three-birds-with-one-stone country boy who was always four moves ahead, had played us all, Caine and Colt included, for the best of reasons.

I let off the gas and unhooked the restraint. Leaning over again was out of the question. I opened the door and hobbled to the passenger side, trying to stand straight and not fall on my nose.

The car title lay where Caine had tossed it after Ervin returned it. I scooped a pen out of the floorboard. “Be right back.”

“I always said Caine thought with his head, Colt with his heart. But you do it both ways.”

I huffed. “What day did you actually wake up?”

His eyes sobered. “I had to give your mama the commencement, sweetheart. I know it hurt you ‘cause I wasn’t there. Hell, it like to have killed me. But we’re gonna have lots of celebrations. To her way of thinkin’, she only has your graduation and your wedding left, and that’s all she wrote. Besides, if the press found out I was awake, then they’d still think I fed Caine the way to rig this thing.”

I couldn’t find the flaw in his logic, either.

“What are you doing?” Caroline cupped her hands around her mouth. I motioned. She bounded off the Viper and ran to the barrier.

“Please, tell me you figured out a way to render the code useless after the race.”

She grinned. “Just make sure I got a second to get that chip out of the camera Niles and his boy totally missed.”

Kolby’s eyes narrowed when I staggered past Marco and skirted the front end of the Porsche. I slapped the title on his hood. Unfolding the page, I asked, “Any idea where I need to sign this?”

“Huh?” Barnes jack-knifed off the wall. “What the fuck are you doin’?” His eyes blazed, sending ripples through the usually smooth chocolate irises. “What kind of trick are you tryin’ to pull now?”

Was that panic? “You know what, Kolby? I meant what I said at the party. I’d have been honored just to line up against you. But you had to go and be a jerk, so Dale reacted like a father first, and your crew chief second. You need to own that shit. Just like Dale needs to own his part in this mess. Racing for car titles was never my idea.”

I scanned the paper. Finding what seemed to be the right line, I pointed. “I’m about to sign right here. If that’s the wrong spot, speak now or hold your peace.”

“I don’t understand.”

I scrawled my name under ‘seller’. Tossing the pen to Niles, I slapped the title against Barnes’ chest.

“Let’s try it like this, then.” I jerked my thumb toward the Audi. “Baby, it just ain’t my ride. I’m a Mopar girl, like my daddy. Here’s your car back. Now, we’re just racing for fun, the way it should’ve been all along.”

“But,”—I managed to get up on my toes to look him in the eye—“I’m still gonna use it to kick your ass. And, if you wanna hold your head up after this, you’re still gonna buy me a new car. What was your best time?”

“Seven flat.” Kolby folded the title with an arrogant grin.

If my blood pooled in my shoes, I couldn’t resist the mocking bow. “I look forward to hearing your retraction. My father innovates. He doesn’t cheat. But, like you, he does occasionally lead with his dick.”

I threw out my hands and grimaced at Niles. “Men. What’cha gonna do?”

I spun and stalked to the R8. Ten hard runs later, I earned the late start, with the fastest time of my life.

Six point seven seconds. My time blazed in foot-high letters on the new sign—a full second faster than I’d turned at the drag strip in Greer. I made a slow circuit around the oval, laughing at Caroline, turning handsprings.

Dale tucked his hands behind his head, grinning from ear to ear. “I always did run faster with a light conscience.”

I wondered whether he realized he’d just told me why he really walked away from driving and never looked back.

The hardest person to forgive is yourself.

N
ews vans rumbled through the tunnel and lined up in double rows along the concrete barriers on the infield side of the strip. Reporters clung to the vehicle’s hoods. Cameramen perched on van roofs like snipers. Flashes of light streaked the stadium as fans raised cell phones and cameras.

I feared Jonny and Caine would have to install a new deck on the back of the Viper, judging from the way Caroline and Marley hugged each other and jumped up and down.

My tires—and Kolby’s—put off enough smoke to obscure the crowd, leaving disembodied screams. About half yelled, “Team Hannah!”

Then, the other half would respond, “Team Barnes!”

“Now that Shelby Hannah has returned the title to the Audi R8 to Kolby Barnes, in a stunnin’ show of sportsmanship,” Lee intoned, “the only thing at stake is the pristine, 1971 Plymouth Hemi ‘Cuda convertible. The fabled 6k ‘Cuda will either go home with the Hannahs tonight, or go back into mothballs at an undisclosed location, folks. Are. You. Ready? Hannah versus Barnes!”

Nice of Lee to try and preempt Barnes from backing out of his half of the bet.
Not that I thought anything would stop the driver from reneging. Caroline was right about him, I figured. But, I still saw no way to piggy-back an anti-bullying campaign on the shoulders of the original bet.

We’re here now, Kasey. Might as well race
. Dale’s drawl floated out of the past and into the car on a whiff of burning rubber.

Based on the fervent screams, I thought the crowd was ready.

My heart thumped, from strong coffee Caroline forced on me while Niles’ crew refueled the cars and ran a final inspection of the strip—and a surreptitious one of the R8, to Caroline’s amusement.