Gone.
He was gone.
“Becca,” she heard someone say.
Her knees gave out, the penny she clutched in her hand digging into the middle of her palm.
She heard voices. Saw legs around her. She curled into a ball. Someone said something again, she didn’t know what—she just knew that there, over there, past the murky edges of her dream world was the body of someone she loved. Only it wasn’t Randy’s body.
It was Adam’s.
She was alone.
Again.
“BECCA,” Adam said again. “Wake up.”
“No,” she murmured over and over again.
“Becca?” he said again gently.
The name hung in the air like a wrecking ball.
“You were dreaming,” he said.
“Adam,” she said after blinking her eyes more than once.
“You okay?” he forced himself to ask.
“Yes. Dream,” she said. “Just a dream.”
About Randy.
He looked away. He’d just spent hours making love to her. He’d held her and kissed her places so intimate she should be blushing right now. She’d even cried after the first time, and then had held him tight. And he’d held her, too, something moving through him at the same time she’d cried out his name.
But she hadn’t been dreaming about
him.
She’d been dreaming about Randy.
Randy.
Always Randy.
“What was it about?”
“Nothing,” she said with a small shake of her head.
“It was more than nothing,” he said. In that moment he knew that he could choose to ignore the ghost of her dead husband, or he could confront it right now. “You were dreaming about Randy.”
She flinched, then looked away, her eyes darting around her hotel room as if contemplating a lie. It was early morning, gauzy curtains casting a filmy gray light onto the dark brown carpet below, but he could see the panic in her eyes.
“Becca, tell me.”
He thought she might ignore him. Thought she might leave the ghost of her dead husband hanging between them.
To his shock, she didn’t.
“It’s the same dream I always have.”
“And
was
it about Randy?”
She didn’t answer.
He waited, knowing she’d only talk to him if she wanted to. There’d be no forcing this issue, not without upsetting her.
“Becca. I’m here for you. You can talk to me about anything.”
Her gaze became unfocused, her face growing slack. “Can I?”
He reached out, gently touched the cheeks he’d kissed so lovingly last night. She felt cool to his touch. Last night she’d felt so warm and alive.
His.
“You know you can.”
But she shook her head, resisting him still. Her gaze darted away, catching on the clothes that they’d discarded last night. “It’ll be too hard.”
“It’s not going to get any easier.”
He watched her fingers flex and unflex. He waited.
“Sometimes I dream about his funeral,” she admitted, scooting back in bed so that she could prop herself up against the headboard, white sheet drawn up beneath her arms.
“What happens?” he asked.
She took her time forming an answer, green eyes staring at the foot of the bed. “Usually, he talks to me,” she said, shoving hair away from her face. “And it’s like he’s still alive. For a second I almost think he’s still here. And it’s so good to see him. And then I’m suddenly at his funeral.”
And Adam could see pain spill into her eyes. “It all turns horrible then,” she said softly. “I relive each moment—each moment of the funeral—the conversations I had, what the pastor said, the lowering of the casket.” She shook her head, her face completely devoid of emotion.
He rubbed his thumb against her cheek, trying to soothe her, to bring her back to the present. To
him.
“Have you talked to someone about this?”
“Right after he died. I went through therapy, but it didn’t help and so I stopped. There was nothing anyone could tell me, nothing anyone could say that would make me feel better.”
“But it’s still affecting you,” he said gently.
“Only sometimes,” she said, meeting his gaze. “When I’m under stress.”
“Are you stressed because of us? Or are you still upset about whatever’s been bothering you?”
She shook her head, her eyes misting a bit as she looked up at him. “Last night was wonderful.”
He wanted, oh, how he wanted, to bend down and kiss her then. But he knew the timing was off. She was still upset, and though she smiled up at him, it wasn’t a real smile—something was missing from her eyes.
Something that scared him.
“Then what is it? The team?”
She clutched the sheet, the soft fabric crushed by the palm of her hands. “Adam, I’m not in the best of financial situations.”
“I know that. Everybody knows that. That’s why you needed to find a new driver. Someone to bolster your program.” He smiled softly.
“Me.”
“Yeah, but no one knows just how bad it really is.”
“So tell me.”
She sucked her bottom lip. “I don’t know if I should,” she said softly.
He’d just spent the night making love to her. They’d been as intimate as two people could be.
And she didn’t think she should?
“How bad is it?” he asked.
He saw her take a deep breath, the sheet rising and then falling just a bit, a hint of cleavage showing. “Bad enough that I’ve put out feelers for an investor.”
That explained the hotel room. He’d heard most owners stayed in suites. But Adam would swear Becca’s room was smaller than his. “Have you had a response?”
“One.”
“From who?”
“William Black.”
Adam sat up straighter, not sure how he felt about that bit of news. William Black was rumored to be a cutthroat, someone who would do whatever it took to win. On one hand, that might be good for Becca. On the other, a person would have to look closely before getting into business with someone like Black.
“How far has it gone?”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you signed any papers?”
“He wants me to. And to be honest, I’m desperate enough to do it.”
Adam opened his mouth, about to tell her to think long and hard. But what business was it of his? He didn’t own the team. All he did was work for her. And if he started interfering, she might take it the wrong way, and the last thing he wanted was for that to happen. Their relationship was too new. Too fragile.
“Have you talked to anyone else?”
“There’ve been other nibbles, but none as serious as Will’s.”
“What about Blain and Cece? Couldn’t they help you out?”
“They offered,” she said, the expression on her face as pensive as he felt. “But I refused.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re friends,” she said, tipping her head sideways in that endearing way of hers. “I don’t want business to get in the way of that friendship.”
“Then what about us?” he found himself asking before thinking better of it.
“We’re not friends. We’re lovers,” she said, something in her eyes causing a pit to open up in his stomach.
“Funny. I thought we were friends, too,” Adam said, unwilling to let her trivialize what had happened last night.
“Adam,” she said softly. He watched as her mouth opened and then closed. She battled with herself, he saw. The look he’d seen earlier returned, only this time he could put a name to it: detachment. She’d shut off Becca the woman and turned on Rebecca the boss. “Adam,” she said again. “You know we can’t let this go any further.”
“Do I?” he asked softly. He wanted to yell the words.
“It’ll lead to trouble. Tension among the team.”
“Are you kidding? The whole team helped set this up, including your friend Cece.”
“And I’ll have a talk with her about that. She’s not my pimp.”
He sat up, the sheet falling away from him and landing in his lap. “Is that what I am to you? A john?”
“No,” she said, looking horrified. “Of course not. I just think we should keep what happened to ourselves, and that we’re better off remaining—”
“If you say ‘friends,’ so help me God, Becca, I’ll quit.”
Her jaw locked into place. He’d never seen her do that before and he didn’t like it now. “Would you?” she asked, clutching the sheet around her, the look in her eyes growing more and more aloof.
“I would.”
She tipped her chin up. “Well, maybe that’d be for the best, anyway.”
“What? Are you serious?”
“You were the one to suggest it.”
“Only because I refuse to stay away from you, Becca. Whether you believe it or not, there’s something between us. You’re just too wrapped up in self-pity to notice it.”
She slid sideways, wrapping the sheet around her as she stood. She looked furious when she turned back. “Maybe you should leave,” she said softly, ominously.
Crap,
he thought, grabbing the remaining bedcovers and tugging them around his waist. Ridiculous to be suddenly self-conscious in front of her, but that’s how he felt. “Becca, look. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded—”
“You’re fired.”
“What?”
“You heard me, Adam. You’re fired.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not being ridiculous,” she huffed, and for the first time he caught a glimpse of the temper that went along with that red hair. “
You’re
the one being ridiculous. You can’t separate your personal life from your professional one.”
“That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”
“Get out.”
“No.”
“Fine. Then I’ll leave,” she said, bending down and scooping up the clothes he’d so tenderly removed last night.
“Becca,” he said, getting up, too, the bedspread heaving in his hands. “Don’t,” he said, shifting the corners of the spread to one hand. He used the other hand to touch her.
She jerked away. “I’ll make a formal announcement that you’re leaving Newman Motorsports today.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Don’t I dare?”
she shouted. “Don’t you dare
threaten
me.”
Damn it. How had it gotten to this? How had they gone from lovers to enemies in the space of a few short minutes?
“I just don’t want you to do something stupid.”
“And choosing to fire someone who threatened to quit on me is stupid?”
“I didn’t mean to threaten you.”
“You could have fooled me.”
He knew then that he was fighting a losing battle. The light was gone from her eyes. All that remained were explosive sparks as brilliant as exhaust flames.
“Leave, Adam.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea—”
“Fine, then I will,” she said, looking as cool as a beauty queen contestant as she pulled her sheet tighter around her and headed toward the bathroom. He knew she’d emerge a few minutes later, dressed, and that she’d leave him in her hotel room without a backward glance.
Son of a bitch.
Because he refused to allow her to do that. He banged on the bathroom door. She ignored him.
“Becca,” he called out.
When she finally pulled the door wide, she breezed past him looking completely unruffled. “Goodbye, Adam.”
“Becca, don’t.” He followed her out into the hall, tried grabbing her arm, but she wrenched away. So he followed her to the elevator. He probably would have followed her inside the damn thing except when it opened up, an older couple stared at him in shock.
“Becca, please,” he implored as she stepped into the five-by-five box.
“Goodbye, Adam,” she said again.
And as the door closed between them she never, not once, looked him in the eye.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“SHE
FIRED
YOU?” Lindsey asked, staring up at her dad incredulously.
Her dad stared right back at her, his face as grim as that time she’d tried to lighten her hair with lemon juice and turned it orange.
“She fired me,” he said again, although not because Lindsey hadn’t heard him. She suspected he repeated it because he had a hard time believing it himself.
Ba-ro-ther.
They stood outside the Sanders’ motorcoach, which was parked near Bristol’s infield. Her dad had come to collect her at the crack of dawn—or so it felt like to Lindsey. She’d expected him to spend the morning with Becca after a night of wild debauchery (a term she’d overhead Cece say to her husband). Instead he stood before her now, expecting her to just take off.