Not ever again.
SHE DREAMED ABOUT Randy that night, the kind of dream that seemed so real when you woke up that the pain of loss was fresh all over again. They’d been at a race, in Victory Lane, and he’d been telling her something. But she couldn’t hear the words because the crowd was so loud. He kept mouthing things at her and she kept straining to hear and when she opened her eyes, Randy was gone.
She’d wiped away the tears and then forced herself up and out of bed, as she had every day since his death.
It was a big day today, she reminded herself. Actually, it was one of her favorite days because by the end of the test session not one, but two drivers’ lives would change. Whether Adam was included or not, two men would get their shot at the big leagues.
She dressed quickly, her stomach complaining loudly as she left her room. But she didn’t want to linger. If she lingered she might run into Adam. Or Lindsey. Lindsey might be harder to face because she had such high hopes for her dad. She didn’t want to think about what it’d be like if Adam didn’t do well.
They bused everybody up to Martinsville, Becca smiling when she caught site of Lindsey sitting in a seat next to her dad. Sure, it might have been faster for her to take a helicopter, or maybe even a jet, but unlike other team owners, Becca didn’t own a private jet. She hated flying. Hated it so much she preferred to drive to race tracks. Yeah, it was probably irrational—planes crashed far less often than cars, but she couldn’t contain her fears and so she preferred to ride with the drivers traveling on the special “Variety Show” bus.
When they arrived, Becca shot Lindsey and her father a small smile, then got off the bus as fast as she could. She didn’t want to walk with everyone, but she especially didn’t want to walk with Adam and Lindsey. All she needed was talk of favoritism.
So she hurried across the infield well ahead of the pack. Pop-up tents offered shade along pit road, toolboxes and tires stacked nearby. The drivers would go out one by one, changes to their truck allowed every twenty laps—just like in their first test session. Only today the crew chiefs would be making the call. Once they’d warmed up, they’d race against each other. During that time they’d be judged on how well they handled themselves in traffic. It usually made for an interesting day.
“Gonna be a hot one today,” her NASCAR Craftsman Truck Series crew chief said, air ratchets whirring and tools clinking against each other as the crew members out on pit road examined the chrome-plated wrenches for flaws.
It
would
be hot, hotter than Concord had been the day before. She was glad she’d worn a team blouse, the white fabric hopefully keeping the sun at bay. “I think you’re right, John, but at least it’ll level the playing field.” When they’d put the drivers through their paces beneath partly cloudy skies it’d made for some uneven lap times. Adam’s had still been the best, but there’d been talk that they’d only been that good because of the cooler track conditions.
Today would tell the tale.
“I guess there’ll be no second-guessing,” she murmured.
“That’s true,” he said, his tan face wreathed in smiles. She’d employed John for two years now and she’d never regretted bringing him up from one of the touring divisions. She just wished she could find him a driver worthy of his talent as a crew chief. The last one had spent more time behind pit wall than on the track.
“Who’ve we got today?” he asked, his blue headphones resting around his neck.
“A few good ones,” Becca said. John hadn’t been to the test in Concord—too busy at the shop—so she took him down the list, weighing the pros and cons of each driver. When Adam’s name came up she stated his strengths and weaknesses without bobbling once, but when she looked up and caught John’s eye, he was smiling.
“He’s the one, isn’t he?” he asked.
“He’s the one what?”
“The guy with the little girl.”
Becca felt herself relax a bit. For a moment there she’d thought…but never mind. “Yes. That’s the one.”
“He seems pretty strong,” John said, noting his lap times.
“Yeah, well, we’ll see how he does under some
real
pressure,” Becca said. “The other day he didn’t think he stood a chance. Today he knows he’s competitive. That might mess with his head.”
“Yeah,” John agreed. “Today’ll separate the men from the boys, that’s for sure.” He slipped his headphones on, clapping his hands and saying, “Let’s get the show on the road,” in a loud voice that Becca would bet reached all the way to the grandstands.
Cece arrived then, one of her ever-present Star Oil ball caps in place, her white polo-shirt the same as ever, too. She and Blain had flown out on their helicopter to the track, their smiles wide as they walked onto pit road. The three of them worked quickly to pair up the drivers for the test. Adam would go early that afternoon, and when Becca thought about what it’d be like to watch his test, her stomach heated and then turned. No matter how many times she told herself not to show favoritism, she really wanted Adam to do well. For Lindsey’s sake.
The next couple of hours passed in a blur, Becca, Cece, Blain and the two crew chiefs watching from atop the Sanders’ Racing hauler. It was still early in the morning, but the sun radiated up from the aluminum platform beneath their feet, and Becca felt sweat trickle around the plastic padding that rimmed her headphones. She pushed her sunglasses up her face, wishing she’d worn a ball cap like Cece’s.
Out on the track a driver named Art Miller tried to bring his truck up to speed, but it became obvious after a few laps that the guy just didn’t have it. John made changes to the truck on the driver’s behalf, just as he would if this had been an actual race day, but it didn’t help the driver out. If anything, his times dropped off, the rhythmic drone of his truck’s engine echoing off the empty stands.
Four more drivers to go.
She felt sick.
But that was because those four drivers were in front of Adam.
You’re too close to him.
Focusing her attention on other details didn’t help, either. No matter how many notes she made in the margin of a driver’s test sheet, her pages occasionally ruffled by a cool breeze that kept things bearable atop the hauler, she couldn’t keep her mind off of Adam. Even when Sam Kennison went, the kid acing his solitary test, she didn’t perk up.
Because right after Sam came Adam.
“Who’ve we got next?” John asked via his radio less than half an hour later.
Becca tensed even more, her stomach feeling like a tire that had come off a rim. Flip. Flip. Flip.
“Adam Drake,” Cece said, and the way she said the name—A-dam Dra-ake—she sounded like a teenager teasing her best girlfriend.
“Oh, good,” John said. “I’m looking forward to seeing him drive. His stats are impressive.”
“His shoulders are impressive, too,” Cece said with a wicked grin in Becca’s direction.
“Oh, really?” her husband asked.
“Well, Becca thinks so,” Cece said.
“I do not.”
“Sure, you do,” Cece teased.
Her friend had been giving her grief all morning, ribbing her about her fear of flying and asking impertinent questions such as if she’d sat next to Adam on the bus ride up. Or stared at him. Or had fantasies about him.
Becca wanted to push her over the aluminum balustrade that encircled the viewing pad.
A truck started up on pit road and suddenly there was silence. Well, not quite silence. Air compressors still rattled away. Air ratchets still whined. But Becca couldn’t hear any of it. Her hand clenched around her pencil, her mind focused on one thing and one thing only: Adam’s turn. This was it.
They all watched as he took off down pit road, his truck’s paint glittering beneath the morning sun. Within a few minutes he had the truck warmed up.
She heard the first lap’s time coming through her headphones, which she recorded.
“21.95,” she reported to the group after Adam passed the start-finish line.
“Not bad for a first lap,” John said.
His next lap was even faster, and when he came in for some adjustments, it wasn’t long before he was running equal to or better than the lap time they’d set as the mark to beat.
“He’s good,” Blain said as Adam shut the truck down.
“Really good,” John said. “His lines were awesome. And did you hear how smooth he was? He hardly revved the motor once, and when he got on the brake, he didn’t cause the exhaust to pop.”
“He’s better than good,” Cece said. “He’s great. I only wish he was trying out for us.”
And Becca said nothing. When she glanced at her lap it was to note that her nails had put dents in the yellow skin of her pencil.
Oh, jeez.
“Where you going?” Cece asked as she shot toward the opening in the platform’s railing.
“Restroom,” Becca said.
“Oh, great, I’ll go with you.”
Becca thought about telling her to stay put, but she knew Cece would see right through her and so she chose instead not to look her friend in the eye.
“Becca!” Lindsey cried practically the moment Becca’s feet touched solid ground, the aluminum ladder rattling behind her as Cece came down. “Did you see him? Did you see him? He kicked butt out there.”
“Is this Lindsey?” Cece asked after landing next to Becca.
“Holy crawdad,” Lindsey said. “You’re Cece Sanders.”
“Guilty,” Cece said with a laugh.
“I’m Lindsey Drake. Adam Drake’s daughter.”
“So I gathered. And it’s a pleasure to meet you, Lindsey,” she said, holding out her hand. “Lance and Sarah told me all about you the other night.”
“They did?” Lindsey said, her red brows lifting. “Wow.”
“They were very impressed.”
“Well, I was impressed with their jet. Ohmygosh, it was
so
cool riding on that thing. I asked if they’d take me to Hawaii but they said no.”
Cece huffed with laughter right as a masculine voice said, “Lindsey. You didn’t really do that, did you?”
Becca’s breath caught. Adam, his hair still mussed from his helmet, stood behind his daughter, his blue firesuit tied around his waist, a white fire retardant, long-sleeved shirt clinging to his wide shoulders. Jeesh. What’d he do? Jump out of the truck and run?
“Good job driving,” Cece said, saying the words that Becca couldn’t quite pass through her tight throat.
“Thanks,” he said.
Becca felt his stare, knew she had to say something, too. “Are you ready for the next round?” she found herself asking, taking a deep breath before she met his gaze.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he said. He looked pale. And she was pretty certain his hand shook as he lifted it to scratch the back of his neck.
Oh, dear.
Please don’t choke,
she silently prayed, only to chastise herself immediately for even thinking that. It was none of her business if he choked or not.
Except somehow it was.
They heard more footsteps descending the ladder.
“Potty break,” James, Sanders’ Truck series crew chief, said.
“Adam, did you meet James on the bus?” she asked.
“No, actually, I didn’t,” he said, holding out his hand. “But I heard your voice on the radio. Thanks for helping John with some of those calls.”
“No problem,” James said. “Nice driving.”
“Thanks.”
Becca looked between the two. There was an instant easing of both their shoulders as they shook hands, Adam’s smile a bit forced, but genuine nonetheless. That was good. A crew chief was nothing without a good wheelman, and while James didn’t work for her, it was nice to see that Adam seemed to appreciate everyone’s help. There was nothing worse than a cocky driver who thought his talent was all that mattered.
“John told me I was the last one out,” Adam said.
“You were. We’ll start the group tests in just a minute.”
“Who am I going out with?”
“Sam Kennison, Tate Evans and Jordan Fowler,” Becca said with a reassuring smile.
“Sam, huh?” Adam said, a wry smile lifting his masculine lips.
“Yeah.” Becca turned toward the garage. She hadn’t really wanted to do that. With the bad blood between Adam and Sam’s dad, this would make his seat time all the more stressful. But both Cece and Blain had thought it a good idea to pair the best with the best, pointing out that it was Carl Kennison who had the problem with Adam and not Sam.
“Hey,” Cece said. “It could be worse. You could be going out with the dad.”
“Who’s Sam Kennison?” Lindsey wanted to know. “And why would it bad if you drove with his dad?”
Becca looked between father and daughter. Lindsey remembered her mom leaving her dad but, obviously, she didn’t remember the circumstances surrounding the breakup.
“He’s nobody, honey,” Adam said.