“And we’re receiving word now that NASCAR wants to talk to Mr. Drake after the race,” said the first announcer.
Oh, jeez. That couldn’t be good. They’d come down on Adam hard if they thought he’d taken Terry out on purpose.
But the fact remained that he
hadn’t
taken him out. Lance Cooper had.
Lance, who loved her like a sister.
Becca stood up, going to her living room window. Her feet echoed in the empty room, the TV still playing in the background.
If that’s not reason enough
not
to take it easy…
She kept hearing the words. And the inflections behind them.
If that’s not reason enough,
he’d said, a wealth of emotion put into those five simple words.
She covered her face with her hands.
“You gonna sit here in this big empty house and watch that race all day?”
She turned. Michelle stood there, the housekeeper refusing to leave her side even though Becca couldn’t afford to pay her now. “No, actually. Tell the movers to come and get it.” She smiled tremulously. “I’ve got someone to see.”
“NASCAR WANTS TO SEE YOU,” Rob said after dropping the safety net.
“I know,” Adam answered, wiggling out of the car. He was covered in sweat, Miami’s humid air actually feeling cool against his head.
“Not bad for a rookie,” someone said.
Adam looked. Lance Cooper walked toward him, his blond head sweaty, his orange firesuit hard to miss even with all the people milling around pit road.
“Twelfth place,” he said. “I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be. I had a good car. Probably should have won it.”
“Yeah, but you had some damage,” Lance said, eyes twinkling. “Thanks to our friend Terry Russell.”
“Yeah. Thanks for saving my ass,” Adam said, holding out his hand.
“My pleasure.”
They shook hands, both of them exchanging a secret smile because Adam knew by now that Lance had taken Russell out on purpose. Lance apparently confessed all to his crew chief who, in turn, had told Rob. Of course they were all sworn to secrecy.
Becca Newman had been avenged.
“You’re headed to the NASCAR trailer, too, I hear.”
Lance nodded just as his wife tackled him with a hug—which, given that she was pregnant, was quite a sight. “You did it,” she cried excitedly. “You took the championship away from BI Motorsports!”
“Shh,” Lance warned, looking down at Sarah with tender impatience mixed with love. “It was one of them racing deals, remember?”
“Oh, yeah, right,” she said, long, reddish brown hair bobbing as she nodded. “I’ll get the lingo down sooner or later.”
“I know you will,” Lance said, bending and kissing her.
Adam had to look away.
“You ready?” Lance asked, looking over at him.
“Ready,” Adam answered and Rob and the boys began to push his car back toward postrace inspection.
“Off to get your wrists slapped, huh?” Sarah said. “You know, I used to be a kindergarten teacher and so I might be pretty good at wrist slapping. You think maybe NASCAR will let me do it to you?”
“I don’t know,” Lance said. “But that might be kind of fun. If they say no, maybe we can do it later.”
The both chuckled as, in the grandstand, the crowd started to cheer and Adam knew they were crowning the new champion. One day maybe he’d be there. For now he was happy with a twelfth-place finish.
Had Becca seen?
He doubted it. Right now she was probably locked in that house of hers, staring at pictures of Randy as she packed.
He shook his head, telling himself he should just move on, but unable to do so. Because even though she might stare at pictures of her dead husband, Adam still loved Becca Newman.
He would always love Becca Newman.
BUT IN REALITY, Becca wasn’t staring at a picture of Randy. She was staring at his grave.
“Hey there,” she said softly.
It was the same thing she said to him every time she visited, Becca standing in the exact same spot—exactly in front of the gray marble headstone. It was a beautiful day. The kind of day that came after heavy rain. Crystal blue skies and a clear horizon, the trees around the twenty-acre park washed clean by the heavy drops.
And as she always did when she came to visit, she closed her eyes, tipped her head back, trying to see if she could “hear” Randy as she stood there. But, of course, she never could.
The pain of his loss washed over her yet again.
She opened her eyes and stared at the headstone with his name and date of death chiseled into the surface. That was all the headstone said. No outline of a race car. No verse of scripture. At the time of his death, she’d stopped believing in God. She’d directed all her anger toward the heavens and by the time she saw reason, it was too late.
“Bet you’re glad I didn’t get the headstone that played music, though, huh?”
But her smile faded as she stood there, the wet grass oozing moisture through the leather soles of suede half boots.
“I’ve come to say goodbye, Randy,” she confessed, and though she tried to hold them back, a tear still managed to escape the confines of her lashes. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with Adam, I really didn’t,” she confessed, her voice clogged with tears. “It just sort of happened. I turned around one day and there he was.”
She inhaled sharply, tipping her head back and looking up at the sky. A breeze kicked up and she tucked her hands beneath the lapel of her brown, suede jacket. “I fought it, Randy,” she told the sky. “You know I did. I didn’t want to love anybody else but you. I only ever wanted to love you. From the moment we met in high school, right up until the day you died, you were it for me.”
The tears fell faster now, the moisture on her face chilled by the breeze. “But I can’t do it anymore,” she said softly. “I can’t go it alone. God knows I tried,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh. “And look at what a mess I’ve made of things. Your team’s in William Black’s hands and I’ve lost just about everything we owned.”
She closed her eyes again, her heart pounding in a way that usually meant one of those anxiety attacks was coming on. But instead of fighting against the panic, she embraced it. Welcomed it. Told it she wasn’t afraid of it anymore.
She had Adam.
“I love him,” she said, her nails digging into her palms. “I love him and I need him. All that hogwash about not wanting to lose myself was just that. Hogwash. I was just afraid. But I’m not anymore. He needs me and his little girl needs me. Lindsey. That’s her name. And she’s the most wonderful little girl. You would have loved her.”
She felt peace.
It stole across her suddenly, calming her, soothing her pulse like the touch of a mother’s hand—a feeling, rather than spoken words
I understand.
“I miss you,” she said through a throat gone thick. “I’ll always miss you. But it’s time for me to move on. I realized that while watching Adam race. All this time I’ve been afraid of letting go. Afraid that if I lost the memory of you, I’d lose everything. But you know what, I’ve already lost everything and that’s all right. It’s really, truly all right. I’m going to be okay. You’re not here by my side anymore, but I’m going to be okay, with or without our race team. And
that’s
what I came here to say.”
The deep breath she took helped to fortify her shoulders, helped her to stand up straighter as she moved her gaze to the gravestone once again. “I love you, Randy. There’s a spot in my heart that will never stop loving you. But there’s room in my heart for another man. And for a little girl. I hope you understand.”
I do.
And this time it truly sounded as if someone had spoken. The words were so clear in her head, so undeniably Randy’s voice that she almost turned. But there was no one around, and it was time now, she knew.
“Goodbye.”
Time to go home, she thought as she turned away. Home to Adam and Lindsey.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
LINDSEY ALWAYS HATED that her birthday was in November.
Every year it was the same old story. “I would have gotten you more, but Christmas is right around the corner.”
That’s what her dad always said. And even though she knew that the real reason why she didn’t get a lot of presents was because her dad couldn’t afford them, it still bugged her. Not because she didn’t get a lot of gifts. That wasn’t it at all. It was just that Christmas always stole her thunder.
But not this year.
Oh, no, she thought, pulling on the swanky new jeans that her dad had bought her the day before, fancy flowers and swirl patterns sewn around the cuff. Today was going to be special, because for the first time in her life she was going to have a birthday party at her house.
Got it?
Her
house.
Her dad had bought the beautiful three-bedroom home less than a month ago, compliments of the pay raise given to him by the Sanderses. For the first time in their lives they weren’t hurting for money. They had a new car out in the driveway and there were a bunch of new friends coming over from her new school—friends who didn’t make her life hell like Frances Pritchert. Even Brandy was coming from Tennessee. Lindsey couldn’t wait to show off her new things.
“You coming down anytime soon?” her dad asked from the doorway.
Lindsey shrieked, holding the new shirt she’d been about to slip over her head in front of her. “Da-ad. I’m getting dressed.”
“Then why’d you leave the door open?”
“I thought you were outside getting things ready.”
“Well, obviously I’m not.”
“Duh,” she said, clutching the shirt with one hand and trying to shoo him away with the other. “Leave me alone.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“You have to.”
“Not until I give you something.”
“Oh, yeah?” she asked, visually searching for a clue as to what it was. She didn’t see anything, which meant it might be money. Cool.
“I’ll turn around so you can finish dressing.”
“Thanks,” she said, tugging the super cute new shirt over her head. It was totally awesome with its flared sleeves and tie-dyed pattern on the front. “Okay, done,” she said, flicking her hair over her shoulders.
“I think I’m having a sixties flashback.”
“Dad. You weren’t even alive in the sixties.”
“No, but I know how they dressed.”
She snorted. “Right. Like you know anything about fashion.”
“You might be surprised,” he said.
Lindsey was happy. The feeling stole over her suddenly, probably because she was standing in her very own room decorated exactly like Raven’s bedroom on TV, right down to the bright orange-and-blue beanbags, a room that was in their very own house—no more having to hear the neighbors,
thank you, Lord
—and her dad looked happy, happy for the first time since that loser Becca Newman had thrown him over.
“Come here,” her dad said.
Lindsey crossed the room and sank into his arms. Happy. That’s what she was. And that’s what her dad was, too, even if sadness did steal across his face from time to time.
“I love you, Dad.”
“I love you, too,” he said softly, then gently drew back. She watched as he fished something from his pocket. It wasn’t money, darn it, but it looked to be—
“A lug nut?” Her brows lifted to her hairline.
“Not just any lug nut,” he said. “This here is one very special, gen-u-ine, bonafide lug nut from my very first Craftsman Truck Series race.”
“Neat,” Lindsey said, trying hard to sound enthusiastic.
“I even bought you a gold chain to dangle it from. I bet your new friends will think it’s pretty cool.”
“I bet,” Lindsey said, mentally putting a finger down her throat.
“Of course, if it’s not your cup of tea, you might like this better.” He reached to his left, grabbing something hidden by the wall to the side of the door. A painting, she thought. Great.
He turned it around.
Lindsey gasped, her hands going to her cheeks.
“Oh, Dad.”
Matted beneath a black frame were pictures. She and her dad at the track when she was six. She and her dad working on a car together. A picture she’d taken when she was seven and pretending to be a model posed atop one of his race cars, and the best picture of all: the two of them in Victory Lane, her arms wrapped around him, a grin on both their faces as they looked into the camera.
“Daddy,” she said again, softly this time, her lips pushing out as she fought not to cry.
“I couldn’t have done it without you, kiddo.”
“Yes, you could have,” she said, wiping away tears. Darn it. She was going to cry off the mascara she’d snuck onto her lashes.