Trust in Me (28 page)

He felt Margo hug him hard, tell him she loved him.

He heard Uncle Linc say,
We know you can do this, buddy
.

And, last, he heard Doc Holt grumble,
Quit callin’ me Mr. Holt, boy. You make me feel like an old man.

Tucker had grinned. Tucker, who’d been so nice to him, it made Ronny feel bad that he’d been so rotten in return.
Yeah, I guess I’d prefer Tucker to “that bastard.”

Maybe he’d jumped the gun about Quaid and his mother, maybe this jail thing was going to help him to—

Suddenly, he was attacked from behind, almost knocked off balance and dragged into an alcove. Fear rose in his throat and he tried to think about the self-defense classes he’d taken with his mother and Annie and Matt.

“Hey, man, we been lookin’ for ya all day.”

Ron’s whole body sagged. After a second, he yanked away and whirled around. “Christ, Maze, you scared the shit outta me.”

“Just jivin’, buddy.”

Loose stood behind Maze. Both were grimy in dirty jeans and wrinkled hooded sweatshirts.

“Don’t do it again,” Ron warned. He studied their faces and saw signs of booze and pot. “You guys have a rough weekend?”

The trio headed down the hall as they talked. “Nah,” Maze said shooting a sharp glance at Loose.

Loose smiled. “We had our usual weekend pussy.”

Maze mumbled under his breath, “And we ain’t the only ones.” Louder, he said, “Along with a pile a pills. Man, sex, speed and Scotch are a great combo.”

Ronny didn’t comment.

“And we spent Saturday at Crocodile’s.”

“How you get in there?” Ron noticed, for the first time, that he started talking like them when they were around.

“Fake ID. And the new chick bartender’s on my list.”

“What list?”

“Jesus, buddy, you blind? My supplier list.”

They reached the lav and went inside.

“You dealing?” Ron asked.

Maze’s face darkened. “Shut the fuck up.” He went to the stalls and checked for occupants. Satisfied there weren’t any, he took a seat on the sink while Loose leaned against the wall.

“You young as hell, Ronny boy. I been dealin’ since I was twelve.”

Ronny scowled. “I’m not young. But
you’re
pretty stupid to be doin’ that. You gonna end up in the real pen, not just some weekend jail like me.”

Maze’s skinny body stiffened. His eyes bulged. But his voice was calm when he said, “They gonna have to kill me before I’d let ’em lock me up.”

Ron shrugged. Maze was acting even more crazy than usual.

“And you ain’t just stupid. You an innocent, man.”

“Whatdaya mean?”

“We got an eyeful Saturday night.”

“Of?”

“Your Mama.”

Ron’s throat clogged. “My mother?”

 “Yeah, at Crocodile’s. She was cozyin’ up to your arch enemy.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Maze came off the sink fast. He grabbed the front of the sweatshirt Ron wore and fisted it in his hands. “I know, sissy boy. I saw them bumpin’ and grindin’ on the dance floor with my own eyes.”

Maze let him go and Ron sagged against the sink.

“Your old lady’s fuckin’ the dude who killed your father. It ain’t my fault.”

Ron went numb. He grasped the sink for balance.

Loose said, “Hey, Ronny boy. We your buddies. We wouldn’t lie to ya.” The bell sounded. Loose chucked him playfully on the arm. “Remember that, man.”

As they left, Ron heard Maze say, “He’s an asshole. We gotta reassess our connection with him. We don’t wanna ruin...”

The last words trailed off. But it didn’t matter. Ron had heard the ones that counted.

Your old lady’s fuckin’ the dude who killed your father.

o0o

SIPPING his coffee, Tucker stared at the partially assembled car in Doc’s garage. He could feel the mild mid-April breeze off the lake and languished in the smell of the grass and earth as it sneaked in through the half-open door. Although all wasn’t right with the world, things sure felt a might better.

He could still summon the feel of Beth in his arms as they’d danced at Crocodile’s. She’d fit into every nook and cranny of his body and had felt like heaven against him. Lately he’d begun to think he’d deserved a piece of that paradise.

I want to kiss you
, she’d whispered out by his car in the parking lot of Crocodile’s. He could still smell the leather she wore and the sexy perfume that also belonged to Margo.

I want that, too
, Tucker had told her, wrapping a hand around her neck. He’d settled for a hug, because of where they were. No telling what would’ve happened if they’d been alone.

“Even the kid likes me a little,” Tucker told the car. “You can see that, can’t you, when we work on you?”

Feeling like a fool, he shook his head at his whimsy. He always used to talk to his cars. Rising from the stool, he crossed to it. Slowly he rubbed his palm across the unpainted panel he’d showed Ron how to solder the week before. “It’s because of you, sweetheart. The damn kid’s even makin’ me like you again.”

The words were out before he could stop them. For years, since Danny Donovan’s death, Tucker had denied himself the joy of racing, of loving the car, the track, the smells and the downright fun of his career. When he quit, he’d forsaken everything, like a monk who’d given up the pleasures of life to suffer for his sins.

Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to live that way anymore.

The door to the garage burst open. It slammed angrily against the wall, rattling its glass windowpane.

Tucker spun around to see Ron in the doorway. He was about to ask what the kid was doing here at noon—he wasn’t due till four—when he recognized the look on the boy’s face.

“Ron, what—”

Quicker than braking for the pit, Ron was on him. Surprised, Tucker stumbled backward, dropping his coffee mug. The ceramic shattered on the cement floor.

“You lying son of a bitch.”

They hit the car with a thud and Tucker heard the thin sheet metal crunch. His eyes clouded as his head connected with the frame underneath.

Still he didn’t react.

Ron raised his fist and slammed it into Tucker’s jaw.

Primal instinct took over. Bigger than Ron, he pushed against Ron’s chest. The kid was forced back and Tucker rolled away.

“What the hell—” Tucker shouted.

Ron bent over, lunged forward and tackled him.

Together they careened backward, like a car out of control, bounced off the wall, smashed against the shelves and hit a stepladder. Tucker’s back took the brunt of the contact. The sound of aluminum cans tumbling off the shelves echoed in the garage.

He saw the fist coming again and grabbed for Ron, stilling his arm, if not his curse.

“You cocksucking—”

Suddenly Ron was pulled off him. Doc was behind the kid, grabbing him in a headlock.

Tucker panicked. “No, Doc, stay outta this. Your heart—”

Again his words were cut off. Wild-eyed, and adrenaline pumped, Ronny tried to throw off Doc. It didn’t work. Ronny tried twice more, then finally he succeeded.

It happened in slow motion. Doc stumbled backward. Into the car. His head banged it hard.

Then his face contorted.

He grasped his chest.

And slid to the floor.

“Oh, my God.” Tucker rushed to him.

Doc was out cold.

Don’t move him. Call for help.

He looked up at the boy, who stood white-faced and frozen in mid-stride. “Ron, grab that phone over there and dial 911. Tell them we need an ambulance right away.” Blindly he clutched Doc’s arm. “
Ron
,” he barked when the kid didn’t move. “
Call!
”

Ron came out of the trance and dived for the phone.

Tucker held onto Doc and prayed for the first time in ten years.

o0o

“YOU all right, kid?”

They’d sat across from each other in the ER without speaking, like strangers at a bus stop, just as they’d driven to Glen Oaks Hospital in silence. The tension in the car had reached the nervous pitch Tucker felt before a Daytona 500. He’d barely looked at Ron, who sat sullenly in the passenger seat. Now, concealing his own concern, he watched the boy on the sly; Ron had gone from shocked to scared to resigned. But the hollow sadness in his eyes finally prompted Tucker to ask how he was doing.

“I’m fine.” At least the white rage that had possessed the kid when he’d burst into the garage and attacked like a wild dog without warning was gone. Tucker still had no clue what had brought on this new round of fury.

The ice broken, Ron glanced at the treatment rooms, then back to Tucker. “How much longer, you think?”

“No tellin’. You heard the doctor say she’d come out when they had a diagnosis.”

Though the conversation was stilted, it seemed to ease Ron’s mind. Tucker started to ask if he wanted to talk about why Ron had tried to beat the crap out of him, but the door to the ER waiting area opened, halting his question.

“Ronny?” Beth hurried into the room looking harried and upset. She still had a white apron tied around her waist over which she’d thrown her tan canvas jacket.

Slowly, Ron rose and just stared at Beth; then he flew across the room and flung himself into her arms. Deep in his gut, Tucker wished he could do the same.

“Oh, honey.” Her fine-boned hand smoothed down Ron’s hair, as she might’ve when he was a little tyke. “What happened?”

Silence. The boy held on tight. Tucker’s gaze connected with hers. The last time she’d looked at him, there’d been passion in those eyes.

Now, her face was filled with questions and concern. She squeezed her son’s shoulders. “Ronny?”

Finally, the kid drew back. Swiped at his cheeks. “It’s my fault, Mom.”

“What is? What happened? All you said on the phone was you were down at the hospital, but you weren’t hurt.”

“I did something terrible. The worst thing I ever...” His grown-man’s shoulders started to shake again. “Doc had a heart attack and it’s my fault.”

Each stiff movement of Ron’s body and the raw suffering in his voice was familiar to Tucker. All those years of blame, of guilt, were ahead of the boy. Unless...

Without second-guessing his gut reaction, Tucker stood abruptly and strode to Ron. Grasping his arm, he spun the kid around. “No! This isn’t your fault.”

Ron’s mouth gaped like a hooked fish. “How can you say that? If I didn’t come out there, gone after you...” He swallowed hard. “It
is
my fault.”

Gripping Ron’s shoulders, Tucker shook him hard. “You aren’t responsible for accidents. Sure, you did something stupid, but you didn’t cause Doc’s collapse. He’s got a history of angina and they’ve been trying to get it under control.”

“What’s angina?” The hope in Ron’s voice gentled Tucker’s tone.

“Severe chest pains caused by not enough blood gettin’ to the heart. At his last checkup, the doctor talked about doing some angioplasty, but Doc didn’t want it.”

“Angioplasty?”

“Where they insert a small tube into the artery. There’s a balloon on the end that gets inflated, to open up the arteries.” He glanced at the doors where Doc had gone. “The old coot wouldn’t go for it.”

“But I—”

“No!” Tucker shouted. He’d be damned if this kid would do to himself what Tucker’d done when he’d killed Danny Donovan.

Suddenly Beth’s words sounded in his head...

You’re here to pay a debt you don’t owe, Mr. Quaid...Auto racing is a dangerous sport... Everyone out there is at risk.

Oh, God, was the same true for him? Had he been wrong to blame himself, too?

Beth interrupted his thoughts. “Will somebody please tell me what happened?”

Tucker stared at her. The worry grooves on her face had deepened. His fists curled with the need to touch her, to soothe her. But he only said, “Doc had a heart attack. At least we think that’s what happened. He passed out clutchin’ his chest.”

“How could Ron have caused that?” Her eyes narrowed on Tucker’s mouth, which he knew was swollen and had bled. “What did he mean, he went after you?”

“That’s not important now.”

“How can you say that?” Ron’s tone was disbelieving.

“Because I know what guilt...” Tucker’s voice trailed off when the double doors to the treatment area opened and the doctor who’d taken Doc’s case came through them.

She headed right for him. “Mr. Quaid?”

Tucker’s whole body stiffened. Images flashed before his eyes: the first time he’d met Doc and the old man’s sneer,
What makes you think you got it, boy?
Tucker’s first win—and watching Doc beam like a proud father. That time he was hurt and Doc spent the night in his hospital room on a sad excuse for a cot.

“Is he...” Tucker’s voice cracked. He jammed his fists into his jeans pockets. “How is he?”

The doctor’s smile eased the severe pain in Tucker’s own chest. “Mr. Holt is stable. He suffered a concussion and is in some pain.”

“Concussion? I thought he had a heart attack.”

“No, he passed out because he hit his head on the car.” Her tired blue eyes flickered with exasperation. “He told us he was in some...scuffle. He
did
have a severe angina attack, though, which leads us to think his condition is unstable now.”

“Unstable?”

“Yes. His previous angina attacks were less severe than the last two. At the onset of the first one, he took some nitroglycerin, but it didn’t work. Then he had another attack during the scuffle.” She glanced from him to Ron with an admonishing frown.

Tucker’s shoulders sagged. “What does all this mean?”

“The occurrence of two attacks so closely together, as well as the severity, may indicate he needs more advanced treatment.”

“Bypass surgery’s been mentioned, but his arteriosclerosis wasn’t bad enough.”

“We’re still not sure if that kind of radical treatment is called for. We need to do tests first.”

“What tests?”

“An ECG. Then an arteriogram.” She explained the heart-monitoring exam and the dye injection which would show how clogged Doc’s arteries were. “We’ll know more after we run these tests.” She glanced at the clock. “We’re going to do them now. Then, we’ll determine what procedure to do.” She smiled again. “If it is surgery he needs, or angioplasty, we’ll probably just keep him in the hospital and schedule it for tomorrow morning.”