Authors: Michele Dunaway
N
OT MUCH LATER
, she was on I-20, snug in the Corvette, tooling along a little over the posted speed limit. The car seemed happier that way, and she had to admit it was a pretty sweet ride.
The car had satellite radio, and Kellie found the NASCAR station. She listened to the announcers start the race. By the time Hart finished, he would have driven five hundred miles. She would have covered three hundred and fifty.
She reached for the bottle of water she’d picked up at the last gas station and took a drink. Charlie and Anita were right. She’d been an idiot. She’d always prided herself on being tough enough to handle anything, but when fate had given her Hart Hampton, Kellie had crumbled. She’d chickened out and run for cover, hurting him.
She paused. He loved her. She loved him. Hopefully this wasn’t a fool’s errand. What if he didn’t want to marry her anymore? Could she deal with a relationship where they cohabitated if that was all he offered?
Stop! Kellie told herself. She focused. All she needed to do was talk with Hart. She needed to look him in the eye and tell him she loved him. If he rejected her, well, she’d deal with that. If he said he loved her but didn’t want to marry her, well, she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.
She was going to live like Charlie and Hart. Risk everything. This trip was a gamble, but one for which she was ready. One day at a time. To the fullest. She tapped the steering wheel’s Cruise Control button, easing the car up another notch. She’d risk the ticket. She had a race to attend.
T
HE ONE
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AND
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A
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HALF
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MILE TRACK
at Atlanta wasn’t really in Atlanta per say, but rather in Hampton, Georgia, a town just thirty miles to the south. Hart had always like racing here�the NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Series visited two times a year. The turns were banked twenty-four degrees; the straightaways five. Average speed was usually around 143 miles per hour, meaning the average race length ran about three and a half hours.
Since the first practice hadn’t been until three Friday afternoon, Hart had flown in early that morning. Billed as the fastest track on the circuit, he’d won the pole Friday night with a speed of over 190 miles per hour. The elation had lifted him somewhat from his funk, and he’d used the final two practices to perfect his strategy, which he’d already changed several times now that he was actually out racing.
It felt good to be out on the track and in today’s top ten. He could lose himself in the race, forgetting his troubles for a few hours.
Hart rounded Turn Four and accelerated. Back from their extended tour of Europe, his parents were in attendance, high up in one of the corporate suites he was speeding by. The track had come along way in since its inception, even surviving a tornado that had caused extensive damage.
“Outside! Go low,” Matt’s voice called into Hart’s ear, and Hart took a lower groove, moving away from the wall as Dusty Burke came up on Hart’s back right quarter panel. They were almost double-wide entering Turn Two, Hart on the inside and Dusty on the out. Hart had the lane, but as he entered the turn he knew he’d need to drift up the banking else he lose speed and have to fall back, which would then let Dusty Burke move into the fourth spot.
Hart had been holding in the top ten all race. He was halfway through the miles and determined that today’s finish would be in the single digits. As he was already out of the Chase, Hart knew he should give Dusty the spot; after all, Dusty was a lucky rookie who’d made the Chase and Dusty could use all the track position he could get.
Normally Hart would let him pass and fall back a spot. Instead, he drifted up the banking, forcing Dusty back. “Ronnie’ll thank you,” Matt said, for Ronnie was also in the Chase and fighting to move forward from the ninth spot. Hart hit the backstretch hard.
“Bengal’s cut a tire on One,” Matt said in his ear. “Caution’s out.”
“Pit stop,” Wally said, and that meant he wanted Hart to pit the moment NASCAR allowed cars down pit road. They’d been racing for about fifty green flag laps, meaning everyone would be coming down for four tires and fuel.
“No adjustments,” Hart called. The car was perfect. His team could complete the stop in 13.3 seconds or better.
“Pit road’s open,” Matt called.
“On my way.”
S
HE WAS LOST
. Oh, she’d made it through Atlanta and found the race track with few problems, but she hadn’t counted on the fact that she’d have to park. Parking lots required parking passes. Or cash. Most were full. Frustration consumed Kellie. Her cell phone rang and she put the earpiece in her ear and hit connect.
“Are you there yet?” Charlie asked.
“I’m looking for a place to park,” Kellie told him. “I’ve never had to do this part. This place is huge.”
“Let me call you right back,” Charlie said as he disconnected.
Kellie drove on and finally stopped at a light. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. This was a stupid idea. What was she supposed to say to him?
Her phone rang and she connected. “Hello?”
“Hi, Kellie, it’s Russ. Charlie told me you’re lost. Glad you’re here.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. We’ve been waiting for you since this morning after your son called and let us knew you were on the way. He’s kept us posted as to your progress.”
No wonder he’d been calling her so often. Charlie’s subterfuge ran deep, but she was so relieved that her welcome was to be a warm one that Kellie decided to forgive him.
“So exactly where are you?” Russ asked.
Kellie glanced up at the street sign and told him the name.
“You’re not too far away. There’s a tunnel. Here’s what I want you to do….”
B
Y THE FINAL TEN LAPS
, Hart had moved up to third. He was two car lengths behind the race leaders: Kyle Doolittle and Dusty Burke had been trading the top two spots for the last five laps. They were nose to nose, each refusing to back down. The crowd probably loved it. The rest of the field, especially the lap down cars, tried to get out of the way even if it meant they went down another lap.
“Eight to go,” Matt called. “Donuts in front of you.”
Out in third place by three car lengths, Hart simply held back a safe distance. If Burke and Doolittle wanted to rub tires down each other as they fought for the win, let them. Third was better than Hart had done in ages. He’d take it. He powered his way through Turns One and Two, hitting the backstretch and passing through some lap down traffic with ease. See, he could run with the chasers. Third place would be fine. Best showing in a while.
Static crackled. “Your fuel’s good,” Wally confirmed.
Hart breathed a sigh of relief. The biggest risk to the race leaders would be miscalculating gas mileage and running out of fuel. That had happened many times. Last year, a non-Cup contender had won a race, coasting in on empty, since that driver could take risks such as not pitting.
“Five cars front stretch,” Matt called, and Hart wove his way through more of the field. Normally entirely focused on the sliver of the world he could see out his window, a vision of Charlie suddenly popped into his head. He was home and doing better. He’d be watching the race with Anita and eating pizza. Pepperoni was his favorite, Hart remembered. He’d call Charlie later tonight.
Hart smiled and then tried not to think about Kellie. Still, she was hard to forget. Typical male philosophy was that you went out and found a rebound girl, but Hart hadn’t done that. He had no desire. He was probably a fool, but he was holding on, hoping she’d change her mind. He figured he’d give her two more weeks and then he’d go talk with her again. After all, two months was plenty of thinking time.
“Four to go,” Matt called.
Hart entered Turn One, zipped through that and Turn Two and caught up with Burke and Doolittle on the backstretch. They were still fighting it out, driving as aggressively as they could without having NASCAR issue a warning.
As the three cars entered Turn Three, Hart saw that neither of the top two were ready to give up track position. “Bumper,” Matt called, letting Hart know that a driver was closing from behind.
Wanting to keep his third spot, Hart accelerated, closing the gap between him and the front-runners as they rounded Turn Four and hit the front stretch.
“Three to go,” Matt said.
Hart was only seconds behind Doolittle and Burke, who had begun to touch as they fought for position and championship points.
“Bumper cars ahead,” Matt said.
“See them,” Hart radioed.
Doolittle and Burke were fighting full out now, their cars battling as they headed into Turn Four and final two laps for the finish line.
“Kellie’s here,” Wally said in Hart’s ear.
“What?” The jolt was enough that Hart made the beginner mistake of lifting his foot. The car decelerated.
“Spinning!” Matt said, and sure enough, just ahead as they came out of Turn Two, Burke had sent Doolittle into the wall. Not to be left behind�alone�in the points chase, Doolittle caught Burke on the rebound and both men went spinning. Thick gray smoke billowed.
“High! High!” Matt shouted.
Not again, Hart thought. He could not have his first meeting with Kellie back at the infield care center. He swung high and entered the smoke.
K
ELLIE CRANED
her neck. Upon her arrival, she’d taken the extra seat on top of the pit box. She had a perfect view of Doolittle and Burke, and that of Hart entering the smoke. The coincidence to her dream unnerved her and she dug her nails into her palm. And then she saw him, as car Number 413 cleared the wreck and coasted into the clean air of the backstretch. Hart was now the race leader. Someone handed her a headset and she strapped it on.
“Caution’s out! Drivers have nets down and are fine,” Matt called.
“You’re good. Enough fuel,” Wally added. “Get a good jump and this race is ours.”
Kellie watched as Hart fell in line behind the pace car. “Is she really here?” he radioed.
“She’s really here,” Wally replied, and a giddiness Kellie hadn’t felt for a while returned. He
did
still care.
“Don’t let her leave,” Hart called.
“Don’t worry. I won’t,” Wally said. He gave Kellie a thumbs-up.
“Better not,” Hart said, laughing.
“She’s listening,” Wally told him. “So’s everyone else.” A lot of race fans used scanners to monitor the drivers’ conversations.
“Yeah, yeah,” Hart said. “Just don’t let my parents scare her away. You’re going to have to meet them, Kellie, but I promise it will be fine.”
Kellie glanced around. Meet his parents? As the pace car and Hart passed the finish line, she found herself oddly not nervous at all.
“P
IT CAR
on pit road next pass. We’re going green white checkered,” Matt called, and upon hearing those words, Hart wove his car from side to side, letting the pack behind him know that this race was his the moment the pace car pulled off.
Kellie was here.
Within minutes Matt was yelling, “We did it!” as up front Hart could see the black-and-white flag waving, and he zoomed across the finish line first. “You’re back!” Wally added.
No, Kellie was the one who was back. “Where is she?” Hart called. She’d finally come and he wasn’t wasting another minute.
“Right behind me with Russ,” Wally said. “Hey, whatcha doing?”
“Coming in,” Hart said, turning his car down pit road instead of staying out for the victory lap. Normally his team would race out to meet him in the grass, but Hart brought his car in.
Hart had dropped his net a while ago. He’d flipped up the protective facemask. He had mere seconds before the media descended. “Send her over,” he radioed, stopping out in pit lane just outside his stall.
He saw her immediately, climbing over the pit wall. Her blond hair was back in a ponytail and she wore a T-shirt and jeans. Hart didn’t think twice about waiting for the official moment in Victory Lane. He killed the engine, yanked the helmet off, and slid from the car.
He held out his arms as Kellie ran forward. For a second he was as awkward as a schoolboy. “I’m really grungy,” he told her.
“I’m not afraid of dirt,” she said as she entered his embrace. “I think I owe you this. We had a deal, remember?” She placed both hands on his face and drew his lips to hers.
It was a kiss to rock his world. When he could focus, Hart was aware of media cameras beaming their reunion across the nation. “Media,” he told her.
“Don’t care. Not afraid of them anymore,” she said, and Hart relaxed. He drew back but kept hold of her.
“Are you going to be here for every race?” he asked, for before his victory obligations tore him away that was something he had to know.
“I’m planning on it. If I have you, I guess you get me right back. I’ve been such a fool. I love you.”
The words he’d longed to hear. “Just promise you’ll whisper those last words over and over in my ear later.”
“I’m planning on showing you,” she said.
Hart whooped, grabbed her and spun her around. “Now that’s what I’ve been waiting for. Come on. We’ve got a party to attend.”
“You need to get back in the car,” Cynthia said, coming up behind them. Hart knew she meant for the official climbing-out ceremony held for the media on Victory Lane. As he was already out, he really didn’t have much desire to get back in, but duty called.
“Go,” Kellie said.
“Wait for me?” Hart asked, hating to let her out of his sight for even a minute.
“If it takes all night,” Kellie said, giving him a smile so full of promise that Hart thought he might burst from happiness. The emotion carried him into Victory Lane and the subsequent media interviews.
“So that’s her,” his mother said later as Hart’s winner’s tour took him up to Hampton Racing’s corporate suite, his last stop before he could return to Kellie.
“That’s her,” Hart stated. “And she won’t need your motor home this weekend. She’s staying with me.”
“Does she know what she’s getting into?” Vivian asked, her tone serious as she searched her son’s face. Hart knew she only wanted what was best for him.
And while once Hart had had his doubts, he didn’t anymore. “Yeah, she knows exactly what she’s getting herself into.”
“Then you’re a very lucky man and I can’t wait to meet her,” his mom said, smiling. “You two need some alone time now. Your father and I will call you and arrange something, say early next week?”
“Sounds great,” Hart said as he moved away. Then he paused. He was lucky. He’d won the most important race of his life. Kellie loved him. That was the best victory of all.